A/N: Thanks for reading! Well, I'm absolutely a newbie at this sort of thing, but oh well… anyway, tell me what you think! This story was inspired by this weird dream I had the other night. UK/UK pairing, so don't like it don't read it! Rated teen for some swears and, of course, for precautionary sakes. I do not, and though I wish to will never own Hetalia and make a thousand dollars a day.
Water as Red as Roses
Chapter 1
Darkness. That was all that Arthur could see, hear and feel. It surrounded him like a blanket. A cold, demonic blanket to be precise. He tried to fight off the darkness, but it was so powerful, so thick, that it could not be fought. It slowly devoured him, bit by bit, leaving just nothingness behind. Arthur knew, in the back of his mind, that it should have hurt. There should have been some sort of feeling, yet there was nothing. Absolutely nothing.
The official-looking men sat upright at a long desk. Each had a different look upon their face. A little Italian smiled happily, eyes closed, face pointed towards a tall, burly looking man with a kind but stern expression on his pale face, while a flirty French man and a shaking Canadian had a one-sided conversation. A group of Asians merrily chatted, and near the back a disturbing looking man with a thick, cream scarf sat, his smile not really reaching his pale violet eyes. All was well, each nation relatively cheery. All but one.
A tall blonde man sat quietly in the front, his clear, sky-blue eyes squinted in a look of confusion and worry. His normally peppy, loud voice that would normally boom around the room talking about some ridiculous accomplishment or idea was silent.
"Alfred?" A peppy voice called out from behind him.
"Hum?" the American asked, turning around in his hard wood chair to face the Spaniard standing behind him.
"¿Estás bien? Are you okay?" He asked, his deep, wide chocolate eyes looking over the American in fatherly concern.
"Oh, I'm fine!" Said man laughed in his loud voice. The Spanish man looked at him sternly.
"Don't lie, mi amigo." He said in a serious tone. Alfred sighed.
"Well, I just noticed that England wasn't here…" the exasperated American said. "He's always so on top of things, and if he can't make one of these meetings he'd call ahead of time. I'm not worried or anything, uh, I'm just curious. Have you seen him?" Alfred asked with a voice full of hidden anguish. The Spaniard peered around the room.
"No, I don't see your British friend… have you tried calling him?" Antonio asked.
"Yep, I've tried." Alfred sighed and smiled at the Spaniard. "Thanks for your concern!" He bellowed and turned away.
"No hay problema, mi amigo." The tan man said and walked away, a cheery stride in his step, to an annoyed-looking, short Italian in the corner.
"Where are you, Arthur?" Alfred murmured under his breath, "Where are you?"
Thanks for reading! I have big plans for this story! And where is Arthur…? Sorry for the short chapter!