Disclaimer: Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya.
"Hi, Artie."
"Arthur," the Brit corrected, eyeing the girl with glowering, green eyes as she crossed the room.
Amelia sighed lightly, her smile fading quickly. "Yeah…" she agreed lamely coming to a halt right in front of him. Her intent had been to engulf the stuffy, rock star into a hug, but suddenly that didn't seem like such a good idea.
A silence fell over the pair as the door finally shut with a dull thud. The dark room was only illuminated by the street below. Amelia had forgotten the light switch in her haste. Stupid, she chided herself, watching as Arthur sat on the couch once again. It was dumb; why had she immediately gone to hug him: instinct; muscle memory; habit? Shouldn't those things be long gone? It had been years after all…
Amelia folded her arms and glanced about the dark room. Everything looked spooky in the dim light: the records and awards hanging from the wall to the row of clocks that displayed international times. Should she go turn on the light? Would that be awkward? Probably no more awkward than just standing in the dark room, she reasoned.
Wait, why hadn't Arthur turned on the lights? Why had he been waiting in the dark? Amelia turned to regard the man, only to find him staring at her. Though she couldn't be certain, it looked as though his face was a bit flushed. Amelia's own face grew hot as she spun around on her heel. "Um, I think Beilschmidt might want some help tracking down the Prez, so maybe I'll just-"
"Don't be daft, Amelia." The British voice snipped from behind her. Turning, Amelia saw Arthur was standing once again, eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance, with a rosy dusting to his cheeks. "Mr. Beilschmidt will likely return with the President any minute now, and if we can't even wait for him in the same room…" his voice trailed off and he sighed in apparent annoyance. "Please, just sit."
Amelia frowned, turning back to face him. "You're one to talk, you're the one who is always avoiding me," she mumbled, striding to the sofa and sitting down with a huff. She felt the cushions shift under new weight and knew that Arthur too was sitting.
After sitting in silence for a few minutes, Arthur cleared his throat. "So," he asked quietly, "How have you been?"
Amelia did not respond right away. Though she was surprised that Arthur was making an effort, she was still a bit irked at the tone he had used earlier. "Good," she finally answered. "And you?"
"I've been well, thank you for asking."
Another pregnant pause.
Amelia sighed and looked up to meet somber, green eyes. "Arthur, why can't we just be friends again?" she asked. "I hate this; it's like I can't even talk to you anymore."
"You know bloody well why we can't be friends Amelia," Arthur snapped quietly, his hands clutching into fists and brows arching slightly.
It was true; Amelia did know Arthur's reasoning.
Four years ago, in order to be rid of her tyrant of an agent, Amelia had fought to become an emancipated minor. Arthur had begged her to reconsider; by becoming emancipated and ending her contract, she would also be leaving the band…leaving Arthur.
Amelia had tried-she really had; she had bitten her tongue more times than she could count; too god-d**n much, if you asked her. Her agent kept taking a healthy percentage of her earnings as his commission and held her funds in a trust, inaccessible to the teen. Being an orphan without a mother or a father, everything she needed or wanted had to go through him. Every detail in her life had to be approved by her agent; from the way she walked, talked, dressed; hell, he even decided what brand of toothpaste she could have.
Life under his reign was intolerable. Though he was, arguably, a competent agent, he had been demanding and left the teen without any other choice. With the help of her friends, Francis and Gilbert, Amelia had taken her case to court.
She had won and left the band. Arthur still hadn't forgiven her for it.
"Arthur, that was four years ago," Amelia said exasperatedly. "Can't you let it go?"
Before the Brit could retort, the office door burst open and a loud voice rang out, "Mi familia!"
The pair flinched as the lights suddenly flickered to life. Blinking, Amelia only had time to glance a blur of olive skin and a mane of dark hair before being engulfed by a strong arm that lifted her into the air.
With Arthur tucked in the crook of his left arm and Amelia clutched by his right, Roma Vargas held his young celebrities close in his bearlike hug. Though he was the grandfather of the Vargas twins, Amelia had a hard time believing that this man could be any older than forty.
"G-grandpa Roma," Amelia gasped, "I can't breathe."
"I'm sorry," Roma laughed, sounding only slightly sheepish as he set the pair down. "You're both just so cute! You remind me of my sweet little Feliciano and my darling little Romano!"
"Roma," Vice-President Beilschmidt cautioned from his position near the door. "It looks like we came at a bad time." The older blond looked first at Arthur and then to Amelia, scrutinizing them from a distance.
"No, of course not," Arthur assured the two elder men quickly, sending a poignant glance to Amelia. "We were just talking."
"Yeah, whatever," Amelia muttered, dropping the subject and marching over to one of the leather chairs in front of the President's desk.
"Oh, okay," Roma nodded, blindly accepting the weak explanation. He motioned for Arthur to take the chair next to Amelia as he walked around the desk and seated himself. Mr. Beilschmidt followed and stood directly to the right of Roma. Though he did not seem to accept Arthur's account, he kept quiet.
"I'm so glad that you two seem to be making amends nicely. That makes this whole business a lot simpler." Mr. Vargas continued airily, smirking at the pair.
"What business would that be, exactly?" Arthur asked. Amelia did not have to see his face to know that it was scrunched and suspicious; she could hear it all in the tone of his voice. "And why am I in a meeting with Her?" He continued, putting a venomous emphasis on the word.
"Oh yeah?!" Amelia snapped to face the Brit to her right, standing abruptly. "Like I want to be anywhere near you, you tea-loving jerk!"
"I-I beg your pardon?!" Arthur too was now on his feet, scowling at the girl.
Roma stood, his chair rolled backward, hitting the window behind him with such force that it was a miracle that the glass didn't shatter. "Now, now children," he bellowed over their bickering. His voice was loud and firm, ceasing the dialogue between the young adults. Returning to his seat, the President sighed dramatically and laced his fingers together. "That's better. Now, as to why I called you both here tonight," he grinned widely, "I have a proposal."
At this, Amelia stopped glaring daggers to the side of Arthur's head to regard the President. A chill ran down her spine. This didn't sound good…
Mr. Beilschmidt cleared his throat, cutting into Vargas' monologue. "I've gone over the numbers, multiple times, and it appears as though the public interest surrounding the agency is down slightly from last year." He sighed, glaring at Roma, before continuing, "Nothing to be too concerned about, it's only down by a point or two. However-"
"However," the president intervened, "I cannot allow these numbers, not so close to the Agency's twenty-fifth anniversary show! Slipping even marginally is unacceptable!" He smirked wickedly to the young musicians. "So…" he let his next statement linger, toying with their imaginations.
Amelia frowned, "So…what?"
"So," Arthur mused, his voice deadpan "you want us to do something to drum up the paparazzi; a publicity stunt."
The pop star blinked, regarding the president's growing smile. "Dude, you mean like, a battle of the bands kinda thing, right?" She stole a quick glance to her British companion and smirked. "Because, I'd totally kick his butt in a musical throwdown."
"Ha!" Arthur scoffed "As if! There is no way that your American-Pop drivel could ever compare to real music."
"Actually," the Italian man interjected, before the bickering could continue, "I was thinking that we could catch public interest with something a bit more…romantic…" He raised his eyebrow suggestively.
Amelia frowned and returned the raised eyebrow, confused. Turning to Arthur for a clue as to what the President was suggesting, she found that the Brit's face was crimson. Well, that was no help. "Ooookaaaay…and what exactly are you hinting at?" She could hear Arthur groan incredulously at the question but chose to ignore him for the moment.
"To put it simply, I want the two of you to pose as a happy, little couple." Mr. Vargas' eyes twinkled dreamily. "Just imagine it! So cuuuute!"
"HELL NO!" Amelia and Arthur cried out in unison.
"See," President Vargas laughed, "you two are already in perfect sync with each other! It'll be a historic coupling, former friends-turned rivals, falling in love! The press will have a field day!"
Amelia felt intense heat rise to her cheeks and she felt sure that she was now just as red as Arthur. "W-wait a minute!" she cried out "What about Francis?!" As eyes turned on her, Amelia felt compelled to continue, "A lot of the agency's fans ship Arthur and Francis together, w-why not give the fans what they want?!"
"What the bloody hell does 'ship' mean?" Arthur snarled.
The American couldn't help the smirk that grew on her face. "It means that they pair the two of you together and want you to fall madly in love and live happily ever after!" She turned to the president, slammed her hands on his desk and stated, quite seriously, "I ship it."
"Well, I don't!" Arthur seethed, crossing his arms. "And why can't it be you paired with that bloody frog?!"
"Because he's your old rival; because you've known him longer; he and I simply don't have all of the sexual tension between us that you guys do; and let's not forget the allure of angsty boys' love!" Amelia counted the reasons on her fingertips. "Take your pick." Arthur flushed even deeper but couldn't seem to find the proper words to retaliate.
Roma laughed heartily. "Bella, you surely must know that there are many fans that 'ship' you and Arthur as well."
"Yeah, but-"
"Besides," Roma continued, effectively shushing the American, "Monsieur Bonnefoy is no longer in the music business, it would not be a current rivalry between him and Mr. Kirkland. But you two; the tension is fresh and we can use that to our advantage."
"And if we refuse?" Amelia pressed, her blue eyes serious.
"Well, we can't make you go along with our little plan," Roma conceded. "However, if our ratings don't go up in the next few months, it could be very difficult to push through the paperwork necessary to approve things like new singles, albums, shows…"
Arthur crossed his arms, "Funny, the way you put it; it almost sounds like blackmail." Amelia was glad that, for once, it was the president and not her that was the subject of the British man's disdain.
"Does it?" Vargas asked cheekily, as he scratched his chin. His grin never leaving his face as he neither confirmed nor denied the allegation. The president's eyes flit back and forth between Amelia and Arthur, waiting for their next response.
For a moment nobody spoke.
Arthur swung his head to face Amelia. "And how do you think your little Russian boyfriend will take this situation?"
Although she knew the comment was meant to irk her into action, to tell the president to step off, she just could not do it. Amelia was deeply stung by the cold words. "Well, I dunno," she replied, her voice shaky and barely above a whisper, "Ivan and I broke up a few months ago so…" She shrugged, looking unwaveringly at the floor.
Again, nobody spoke for a long moment as the American girl continued to look down at her shoes.
"Bollocks…I'm sorry, Amelia. I didn't know." His voice was so soft and gentle, as though he were afraid that she may break. Amelia had forgotten that he could sound like this, it was nice.
Clearing her voice and faking a smile, Amelia looked up to face Arthur. "It's all good, dude! Heroes don't dwell on things like that, so why should I?" She tried to laugh but it sounded more like a sigh of exhaustion.
The only sound to be heard was the ticking of the international time clocks on the wall. Even the ever-present New York traffic seemed to fade away for the moment.
"Why don't we leave it here for tonight," Roma suggested, his voice much quieter than before. "I know that this is a lot to ask, especially by springing it on you by surprise. I didn't expect an answer right away; you should both sleep on it. Just know that, should you accept, I have people who will work with you to make our little charade a success." He stood; ready to walk his stars out.
"I'm in." Amelia stated.
"You…what?" Arthur asked as the president and vice-president exchanged glances.
"If the company needs this publicity stunt so bad, then I'll do it." Amelia explained, slowly sinking into her chair. She really didn't mind the thought of pretending to be Arthur's love interest. If it meant that they could spend time together again, then it would be worth the heartbreak that was sure to follow.
"What?!" There was the irate tone again; there was the Arthur she knew so well. "Amelia, do you even know what you're agreeing to?" He looked to the president, "I do not agree to this."
Roma, stunned by the sudden outburst, simply nodded. The vice-president stepped in, "Neither of you need to accept or decline anything right now. As the president said, sleep on it and let us know your decision in the next few days."
Arthur and Amelia were walked out of the office and bid a goodnight by the company heads. "Goodnight, you two. We'll be in touch." Beilschmidt said, holding the door open for the pair.
"Yes," Roma agreed, "And welcome home, both of you!"
"Thank you, goodnight," Arthur said stiffly as Amelia smiled to the men and waved childishly.
As they walked down the hallway, Amelia could almost imagine that it was like the days when she and Arthur sang together in his band. But now there seemed to be a cloud of tension between them. Actually, there was usually some kind of tension between them, even when they were on good terms. The tension now just seemed to be growing somehow.
From behind there was the sound of the president's door quietly shutting.
"What are you trying to do, Amelia?" There it was, the tension that she had vaguely been aware of.
"What do you mean, Artie?" she asked in a sing-song voice.
"You know bloody well what I mean." Funny, he didn't sound really angry anymore, "And don't call me that." He sounded more tired than anything. Well, at least that was an improvement.
The girl shrugged, "I meant what I said, dude. No big mystery."
Arthur frowned, "You can't be serious."
Amelia twisted a lock of hair around her finger thoughtfully, letting it unfurl before re-winding it again. "I don't know what you think, Arthur. But, I don't hate you. Who knows, it might be fun to work together again." She smirked playfully at the wary Brit, "But that is now completely up to you."
The look on his face was priceless.
Welcome to the conclusion of chapter two, hopefully the summary is making a little more sense now.
A big thank you to all who have Favorited or Followed, you're all wonderful! Also, I'd like to specially thank Willow Breeze the first and Buttery Toast Babe for their lovely comments. I hope the update didn't disappoint! I tried to keep a balance of healthy-awkwardness between Arthur and Amelia while keeping the scene realistic.
Also, if anyone knows of a fandom human name for Germania I would be most appreciative! I know that he was never assigned an official name, but referring to him exclusively by VP or his last name is a bit odd.
'Til next time!
Published: 6/11/2016
Word Count: 2,653
