A/N – Hello, dearest reader. My name is Mage, and I'm glad that you've chosen to read my newest fanfiction, Eternal. Please leave a review if you enjoy reading this! I'd love to see what you think.
Disclaimer – Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I only own my interpretation of his series and the plot of this fanfiction.
Enjoy!
Chapter 1
Today was especially shitty, the young man concluded as he walked down the deserted street. He slipped his hand into the pocket of his leather jacket and fingered the smooth pick inside of it. His fingers itched to play something to distract himself from the growing feeling of despair, but he was still a good minute away from his house.
He made due with humming the chorus of a song he had been working on the past week or so. It was fairing better than any of his previous works; they had all ended up in the trash after only a day or two. This one wasn't any better than the others had been, but he had yet to come to the disheartening understanding that he could never share the music he had poured his heart into.
For that was the fate of a man like him. The most he could ever amount to was flipping burgers at the local fast food joint. His passion remained a closely guarded secret, one more piece of the truth that was buried underneath the uniform of a McDonald's employee.
He looked up and saw that he had arrived at his house. While he could hear the loud banter of a party from one of the houses bordering his own, the other house was far quieter. He had never said a word to either of his neighbors, but he knew exactly who they were. His ability to gleam someone's name simply by seeing them was another one of the many unsolvable mysteries that his life was constructed of.
He retrieved his key from his pocket and opened the door to his house.
Something immediately felt off. The hallway looked exactly as he had left it before, but it still felt as if something wasn't quite right. Before he could figure out what was bothering him, he heard something moving about in his living room.
He slipped into his room and grabbed his baseball bat. It would be a shame if something were to happen to the antique, but if he was dealing with a burglar, he would need some form of protection. Now armed, he made his way towards the living room.
And then found himself staring a young man sleeping on his couch.
He nearly dropped the bat in surprise. He wasn't exactly sure how the man had gotten in, or why he had chosen to fall asleep in the middle of a robbery. To add to it, he didn't look particularly like someone trying to sneak into a house. His clothes were bright and colorful, and his hair was bubblegum pink.
The thief suddenly arose from his slumber. He looked around groggily, his beautiful blue eyes falling on the man standing in the doorway to the room. His gaze slowly traveled to the bat, and then back up to its owner.
"Who are you?" the man innocently asked; he had a British accent.
He held up the bat. "I should be asking you that." He narrowed his eyes behind his sunglasses, taking a menacing step towards the man before him. No name came to him as he stared at the youthful face of the thief.
"I'm Oliver Kirkland," was the prompt response. As the man got to his feet, he adjusted the scarf that had been lying haphazardly across his chest. He gave him a warm smile that made his heart flutter. "You're Allen Jones, aren't you? And this is your house?"
After a moment of hesitation, he nodded. He couldn't understand what Oliver Kirkland – he had never heard of anyone with that last name prior to now – was getting at, but he guessed that going along with it was the best way to get answers.
The smile grew. "That's a relief," the young man said with a sigh. Then he promptly drew a knife from the depths of the bright green jacket he was wearing and stabbed him in the heart.
Yes, Allen Jones decided as blood began to stain his shirt, today is an especially shitty day.