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One: Alfred

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"What, pray tell, have you been sitting on to get all of these ants in your pants, mon petit lutin fait face aigre? I am guessing an ant hill."

England gave a displeased glare over his shoulder at the smiling Frenchman walking alongside him down the busy streets of the city, absentmindedly twirling his hair as he watched the tense Briton. Well, what could he say? Today was the first morning of yet another monthly conference.

"None of your business, frog," he countered, making sure to tuck his briefcase closer to his side so as not to hit anyone else by accident.

France didn't look disturbed by England's snappy remark at all, far too used to them by now. "No, I suppose it isn't. I am just being polite and making small talk."

"Well, don't. I don't see why you even bothered following me anyway. Annoying wanker that you are, I can't fathom you making any sort of talk when nothing useful comes out of your mouth," England remarked bitterly. It was bad enough he had to deal with this man on a regular basis from practically the dawning of his existence, but it was another thing entirely to have to put up with him in the mornings as well.

The mornings on his way to his coffee shop.

France sighed with a small snicker whilst following England across the crosswalk. "It is only coincidence that I awoke around the same time you did. And since we are both here on business, it's only natural that our destination is the same as well." France stopped in his tracks with a jolt when England spun around, scowling and shooting his hand out to stop the Frenchman.

"That is where you're wrong, as per usual." England was harsh with his words, wanting to get his point across quickly. He wasn't going to let France ruin his morning and follow him all the way to his curious sanctuary. "I'm not going the same way you are, so leave me be and part ways now. I'll see you at the meeting hall."

With that, England pivoted his feet and stormed away down a different street, not even casting another glance towards the baffled but amused blonde behind him. He grumbled under his breath, "Annoying twat."

When England was a sufficient ways away from the direction of the conference, he began to relax somewhat. He was running late. There was no way to get around it that he would most likely get there after the person he was unwittingly curious about. But that shouldn't have made a difference, really. It wasn't as if he made any contact with this nameless American brat. A brat he most assuredly was, for no one could be a decent person who captivated another's thoughts so much and drove them to lunacy on the brink of obsession.

England huffed under his breath with a dejected frown. What depressing and foreign thoughts he had to put up with.

With a great deal of stubbornness, the Briton puffed out his chest and began to walk with confidence. Ah, yes, they had never really had any interaction for nearly half a year now; however, today England decided that enough was enough. He was plagued for far too long with this face, and today he would put a stop to it by saying hello…

… Far easier said than done.

England tapped his fingers nervously against the tabletop, scowling down at the book in his hand that he most certainly wasn't reading. Across the room was that very same person, still oblivious and unaware to what he was doing to England. The nerve.

England ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth, his lips tweaking downwards at the corners in concentration. He could do anything he bloody well wanted to for God's sake. He was the United fucking Kingdom. And yet this mere person was putting his power and pride to shame.

How was it possible to feel so inadequate in front of someone you didn't even know?

This is ridiculous. Just go up and say hello. Say hello and get this over with, old boy. Once you say hello, you don't have to worry yourself with this dreadful café anymore and go back to your life once more, England thought to himself. He slowly glanced up from his book to watch the blonde nursing his coffee, grinning ear to ear at his phone.

England sat up and stared curiously. What the devil is he talking about?

He found himself immensely interested in these text conversations the boy had every morning. What could make him grin like that? But, he supposed, it all led back to the boy's interests themselves. Whatever interested him to make him smile, England was inquisitive about.

In his captivation, England hadn't noticed that he was leaning too far over his tiny oval table, the sturdiness of the object not meant for the weight of a human body. In the blink of an eye, his untouched beverage toppled over the side of the table as it tilted, splattering on the tiles in a warm mess, blotches of droplets hitting the bottom of England's pristine suit pants.

He jolted and sat upright, noticing some patrons staring at the mess. England quickly apologized to the customers at the table beside him, before he got up and walked over to the napkin dispensers, mortified. He grabbed a handful and walked back over to the large, brown mess on the floor, dabbing at the liquid.

Very nice. Classy, in fact, England thought, rolling his eyes all the while. He took a breath and stilled, peering up little by little behind his bangs to see–

Bollocks! Fucking bollocks!

England quickly zipped his eyes back down to the floor he was cleaning, scrubbing much faster than previous. Across from him watched the blonde American, amused smile tugging at his lips as something humorous twinkled behind his eyes. Great, now he had looked like an idiot. Well, there went good first impressions.

Perhaps that was just an accident. It's only natural that he look at this spectacle like everyone else. Why, I'm sure right now he's not even – Alright, that's a lie. England kept his eyes firmly on the ground, jaw tight and eyes wide. The boy was still watching him, head tilted and chuckling and everything.

The distinct panic that filtered into England's veins became apparent when hearing footsteps, his eyes glancing up briefly to see two tennis shoes standing in front of him.

Shit.

"You need some help there, buddy?"

England craned his neck up from his spot kneeling on the ground, looking at the smiling face watching him. His voice sounded much smoother than he had imagined. It contained nothing but happiness and energy. It was only when the boy raised an eyebrow and glanced over his shoulder awkwardly that England realized he had been wordlessly staring.

"E-excuse me. I'm sorry, I didn't– I mean, no thank you. I can clean this mess up myself," England added quickly, voice caught in his throat. He blinked when this only made the American outwardly laugh, the sound coming out like wind chimes on a windy day.

"It's no problem, really. Here, I'll get more towels!"

England watched in slight surprise as the boy bounded across to the counter, taking a fist full of napkins before skidding to a halt and kneeling right in front of England. He rubbed erratically with a pile of napkins on the coffee, looking up to grin at England easily.

"Would you look at that? Two people beats one when it comes to cleaning!" he laughed. "By the way, you might wanna get a different napkin. That one you got there looks soaked to the bone."

England blinked and looked down at the napkin he was rubbing, the cloth completely brown and soaking wet. That surely wasn't going to help much. He tossed it into his nearly empty cup and grabbed a different napkin.

"I apologize. You really don't need to do this. I was just careless," England muttered, frowning to himself when all of the drink was cleaned up. Now the floor was just really sticky. He stood and moved to throw away the dirtied cup and napkins when the blonde took them from his hands.

"It's no biggie, man. I always love helpin' out helpless people. Makes me feel like a hero!"

England watched as the laughing boy strolled away towards the garbage cans, staring at his back silently. It hit him like a sack of bricks after a moment, his skin bristling with a shocked scowl on his face. Helpless! He wasn't helpless! If anything, he was the farthest thing from helpless. He was a fucking nation for crying out loud! England flexed his fingers at his sides, annoyed by the sudden cockiness of the blonde.

Hero my ass. You just wiped up a spill, he mentally growled.

England quickly averted his eyes when the teenager turned around to look at him, all previous anger dulling down from a roar to a simmer. Damn the cooling effect of those blue eyes. It was like the instantaneous sizzle of pouring a bucket of water over the flame of a candle.

With an uncomfortable cough, England took his seat once more and ran his fingers through his wild hair. Alright, at least he had talked to this stranger. That was better than nothing, right? So why didn't he feel any less inclined to come in here again tomorrow morning?

"All cool now?"

England looked up at the youth watching him, hands gripping lightly at the back of the chair across the small tabletop. England merely nodded and straightened his tie.

"Quite. Thank you for your help… Mm. Pardon me, I didn't quite catch your name." England felt his heart start to pick up pace a little, his fingers lightly pulling at each other under the tabletop as he didn't know where to put them. The boy raised an eyebrow before sticking out his hand.

"Alfred F. Jones."

Watching the extended tan hand carefully, England casually reached out his own and gripped it firmly. Alfred smiled and gave it a few good hardy shakes, rocking back on his heels. Ah, so he finally had a name to stick to this boy. Alfred… England mulled that over in his mind and felt himself relax unconsciously. So his name was Alfred.

"A pleasure to meet you, Alfred."

Alfred grinned and withdrew his hand. "Yeah, no problem… Mister…?"

England stilled, eyes darting away to the other patrons in the room. Shit. His eyes quickly scoured the room until landing on a lady two tables over, drinking out of a water bottle. He read the label quickly.

"Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland."

The cheerful expression Alfred shot at England made his eyes widen a little. Good save. Quick thinking. Alfred laughed and leaned against the chair.

"Like the coffee!"

England paused and glanced at the sticky floor. Ah, clever boy. He nodded calmly and fingered at the pages of his book. "Yes, I suppose it is like the coffee. And yours is coined from a women's brand, isn't it?" he smirked. Alfred rolled his eyes and bobbed his head in surrender.

"Yeah, I guess." Alfred became distracted as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket, eyes skimming over the new text that he just received. England bit at his cheek and swallowed the ball of weight in the back of his throat, deciding to just go for it. This brief encounter wasn't nearly enough to see if he could finally abandon this shop.

"Would you care to sit down? I could buy you a drink to make up for your help," England offered, gesturing to the chair Alfred was leaning against. He waited patiently for Alfred to bring his attention back to him instead of the phone, the small instrument being tucked back into the boy's pocket temporarily.

"No thanks. You don't have to owe me one. I like helping people," Alfred said happily. England felt something smother in his chest in a tug, what could have been disappointment. Unfortunately for him, Alfred seemed to pick up on the twitch on his face, pulling out the back of the chair and taking a seat with a smile. "But I guess I got some time to sit."

England perked up, quickly masking his exhilaration with apathy. Alfred tapped the table with his palms, blowing a breath of air from his lips and looking around. "So… Where you off to this morning?" he brought up for small talk.

"A meeting with some associates," England supplied, shifting in his seat. He could feel Alfred's knees bumping against his own under the table. England raised an eyebrow when seeing Alfred look impressed.

"A meeting?" He whistled. "That explains the suit. Dude, how old are you to be conducting business stuff?"

It was like word vomit, that it was. He had no control over his mouth when coming up with these random answers. "Twenty-three," blurted England. Oh, wait. That wasn't a good age. And by the looks of Alfred's face, he knew it too.

"Twenty-three? Pardon my French, but holy shit. You're twenty-three and doin' that stuff? Man, you must've dedicated your life to school and work!" Alfred said, astounded. It made England tweak his lips for a moment before running his finger over the edge of his book. Hearing the delighted surprise in this boy's voice was kind of nice to hear.

"There's a lot to get done and…" England shifted and glanced away briefly before looking at Alfred once more. "And you know how short life is. Why not get a good head start, you know?"

Alfred laughed. "Hell if I know!"

England watched Alfred with a sense of distant curiosity, trying to decipher the meaning of his word choice, before Alfred leaned back in his chair, the front legs hovering off the ground. "I like the other approach."

"Which is?"

"Take it slow and catch the view," Alfred grinned, running a hand through his hair in an amusing way that ruffled his bangs against his forehead. "No offense or anything. Your way's cool too. Owning some sort of… what do you do exactly?"

England fiddled with his tie. He certainly couldn't say he managed an entire country– was the country. "Stock," he divulged.

"Stock?" England reveled in the second impressed expression Alfred sported. "Owning some stock company or something is cool and all, but I would never be able to do that. It's too much work and time and effort and," Alfred cut himself off with an amused shake of his head. "I don't wanna use so much of my time on something I hate doing. No free time."

England smirked in a challenging way. "Then what is it you call this experience?" He gestured to the coffee shop, his morning ritual.

Alfred clacked his chair against the ground with a smile of his own. He slid England's book from out beneath his hand and held it up with a smug looking grin. War and Peace. "Early morning extra credit."

England watched as Alfred coyly slid the book back with a playful shrug and an eye roll, the Briton staring at his book before peering back up at Alfred. Well. This was a surprise indeed. This stranger actually seemed a little cocky, yet still remained an innocent persona. He was interesting to say the least.

"What if I just merely enjoy this novel, not taking into account any political or educational values?" England countered, thoroughly engrossed in Alfred's response, the sandy blonde leaning in somewhat against the table on his elbows.

Alfred shrugged again. "Then you still prove my point. To enjoy something like that on your free time says a lot about a person, doesn't it?"

England mulled this over with a purse of his lips, conceding somewhat. But then again, when someone was a country, they seemed to be interested in many subjects politically, historically, and relating to the economic or social gain of other countries and their people.

"And what, by all means, does your free time say about yourself then?" England asked genuinely, watching Alfred fiddle with his cell phone, his green eyes glancing to the coffee on the table next to his that Alfred had seemingly abandoned. Alfred hummed in thought, following England's eyesight and smirking. Amusing.

Blue eyes locked onto England's as Alfred's nose crinkled in a smile. "That I like talking to new, entertaining people."

This made the Englishman blink in surprise, the vestiges of astonishment fizzing off the ends of his nerves as he stared awestruck as Alfred stood from his seat abruptly, giving a salute down at the staring Briton. "It was nice talkin' to ya, Arthur. You're real impressive, you know that. Good luck with your meeting today."

England watched as Alfred easily grabbed his coffee cup and walked out the door, smile on his face even as he put the device to his ear and began talking with someone as he walked down the crowded New York street. He was left to sit there, some unknown words resting on his tongue, as he watched Alfred leave his line of vision.

"Entertaining?" England muttered, skin giving off a tingly feeling as he furrowed his brow somewhat at his book. He hadn't anticipated that. Not one bit.

And even as England stood up with a heavy sigh ten minutes later, gathering his things in his hands and moving to grab a couple more napkins at the counter, he couldn't help but feel confused at the plethora of buzzing about his tummy when gazing down at the countertop by the garbage.

The word 'later' was written out with straws, sloppy and crude making a mess.

England looked at it for a while before he slowly blew a breath of amused air through his nostrils and shook his head, turning to leave for the conference with a small smile of his own on his face.

So greeting the boy wasn't enough to discourage England's interest in him. How disappointing that he couldn't shake the American out of his system that easily. Such a brief conversation, and yet he hadn't felt this excited about something in a long time.

Alfred, huh?

Well, it looked like he wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon. There was still so much to know.

Author's Notes: You lovely readers get this a tiny bit early because I have a jam packed schedule tomorrow and realized this afternoon after making plans that I would be unable to have time to post anything tomorrow. So not wanting to sound like a liar from my previous author's note, I am uploading this about 30min early because I need to go to bed.

Just a short little chapter. I made it short and virtually nothing goes on because I wanted to make a point; that no matter the brief and seemingly meaningless encounter, this proves that such a worthless interaction can't get Alfred out of England's head. In fact, it may have worsened it. lol Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I hope to make the ones in the future more interesting as they come.

References:

The Kirkland brand. You know, like the water and coffee, etc.

Jones Sports Collections. I work at a retail store and we sell athletic gear which is Mrs. Jones Sports Collections. I doubt people are familiar with it unless you play a lot of sports, but wuteva.

Correct my translations if I'm wrong.

A) mon petit lutin fait face aigre: my little sour faced goblin