I...need some Hetalia friends. :( No one I know in real life seems to care about it. /shot

In this chapter, you see a little of Arthur's past. And then, US and UK shall meet. [cue dramatic music]


Arthur ran as frantically as he could, praying that his legs wouldn't give way. The thick clouds of smoke burned his throat, making him choke and sputter. He had to get out, he desperately did – but he couldn't. There didn't seem to be a way out.

"PETER!" Arthur roared, his voice cracking from the sheer force of yelling. "MUM! DAD! WHERE ARE YOU?"

But no one responded – and all Arthur could hear was the crackling flames. They swirled and towered in a mess of red and orange, threatening to smother him with its heat. Arthur could feel his skin beginning to blister with the fire closing in – it was close, the fire was far too close –

And Arthur screamed in agony the pain of being burned alive hurt. It hurt so much.

Pandemonium. It was hell. Arthur was certain he had just seen how hell was like.

But there was no way he could just give up for good. Arthur ran past the falling closets, stumbling over a blazing carpet – pure terror washed through him, and he gasped some more, feeling his lungs constrict – there was barely any oxygen left –

And then Arthur was bursting into the open night, feeling the cool London air wash over him. Everything was a blur – there were flashing red lights, and screams were echoing around him.

A lone figure rushed into his arms. It was a person Arthur had never been too relieved to see.

"Peter," he whispered. "Peter, you made it out…" The tears were streaming down Arthur's face, which was covered with soot and smudged by dirt. His younger brother had made it out, but…

…He was certain that everyone else was dead. They had died, burned alive in the mansion that was once their home.

And deep inside, Arthur knew that it had been his fault. He had killed them, and he knew it.

Now there was nothing left nothing left but the pain.

Arthur's head spun, and his vision blurred. It hurt, it hurt so much –


Arthur awoke abruptly to a fist smashing into his chest.

"GET UP!" Peter yelled, his child-like voice reverberating throughout the room. "Don't you have a party to go to?"

Arthur groaned, leaning over to check the clock. It was only five in the evening. There was an entire hour left to get ready, wasn't there? With that, Arthur ignored Peter and rolled to the end of the bed, returning to his nap.

But Peter remained jumped onto the bed without hesitation, landing smartly on Arthur's legs.

"Geeeeeeeeeeeeet uuuuuuuuuuuuuup!"

That had done the trick. Arthur shot up so quickly that Peter fell off the bed and crashed onto the floor. Peter wailed in pain, clutching the back of his head tenderly. Just then, he stared up at his elder brother, realizing that something was amiss.

"…Why are you sweating?"

"Huh?" Arthur frowned, wondering what Peter was talking about.

"Your face…"

Puzzled, Arthur reached up to touch his face. It was wet. How odd. He hadn't turned the heater up that high, did he? Confused, Arthur stumbled out of bed, heading into the bathroom for a shower.

Showers, especially hot ones, always woke him up and soothed his frazzled nerves. Arthur lathered some shampoo onto his gold locks, sighing inaudibly.

Damn Gilbert and his parties.

Arthur didn't want to go. He desperately wanted to stay at home and curl up on the bed, reading a classic or just flipping through the channels on the TV. The mere thought of a party irritated him – and now he was going to one, all because Peter had asked him to.

Oh, well. If this was all it took to make Peter happy, then so be it. He would go to the party, stay in a corner, come home and tell Peter he had a great time. There. Mission accomplished.

That wouldn't be so hard, would it?


The music was too loud.

Arthur squeezed past the massive mob, trying to head his way into the mansion where he could at least find a quiet spot to sit down. The party was in full swing – there was a mash of bodies on the lawn, with each individual dancing and gyrating in tune to the beat. The pool not too far away glowed in the night, crammed full with teenagers splashing and swimming about.

Arthur scowled. It was an entire gathering filled with blithering idiots, and he despised it. There wasn't even anyone that he recognized – some of the faces looked familiar, but other than that he had no idea who the hell they were.

"Ve! Arthur, you came!"

Ah. Finally, Arthur thought, an acquaintance. He nodded at Feliciano, who seemed to be bouncing on his heels in excitement. The Italian seemed to be in good spirits, and was practically hanging off Ludwig's arm. Ludwig, who was normally serious, seemed relaxed despite the wildness around him.

"Bruder told me you were coming. We're glad to have you," Ludwig said.

"Ah…thank you," Arthur replied, shifting around uncomfortably. "It is…quite a large affair."

Ludwig seemed to have sensed Arthur's discomfort. "If you prefer less crowded areas, perhaps you should enter the mansion."

"I shall. Thank you," Arthur mumbled, squeezing past them. The entrance of the mansion wasn't too far ahead. Feliciano gave Arthur a cheery wave, before turning to Ludwig and cheering about tomatoes and pasta.

Arthur smiled a little. So Feliciano and Ludwig were into each other, huh? They had all been in the same classes throughout the years, and Arthur had always noticed that the Italian and the German were always close. Ludwig was never one for public displays of affection – though Feliciano had obviously changed that.

Before Arthur could go a little further, the unacceptable happened. A hand cupped the back of his jeans, giving it a firm squeeze.

Arthur froze.

Someone had groped his ass.

Someone had just fucking groped his ass.

Arthur whirled around furiously, feeling the blood rush to his head in anger. That wasn't accidental, and he knew it. Who the hell was it? Who?

But the culprit, whoever it was, had long vanished from sight. All that was left was a mass of teenagers, screaming into the night like the hooligans Arthur knew they were. He let out a stream of profanities and continued making his way through the crowd, feeling violated.

A mini bar had been set up near the kitchen, and Arthur made his way towards it. There weren't any other places he could be at anyway – the living room was filled with a group of boys playing poker, and Gilbert was one of them. Arthur tried to slink away unnoticed, but Gilbert looked up from his cards at that moment and caught Arthur's eyes.

"ARTHUR! You came to my awesome party for once!"

"And it shall be the last," Arthur shot back haughtily. "In fact, it'll probably be a good idea for me to leave now."

Gilbert just laughed, returning to his cards. Damned albino.

Just then, Arthur found a heavy arm slinging across his shoulders. What the? Arthur had been expecting it to be someone else he knew, perhaps Francis or Antonio – instead, all Arthur saw was blue. It was a bright, baby blue – the sort of blue that belonged to blue skies, skies that London rarely had.

"Dude!" The stranger crowed, and Arthur cringed a little at how cheerful his voice sounded, "Going so soon?"

Arthur was so surprised that he stared for two seconds before roughly shoving the other teenager away.

Big mistake.

The teenager had been holding a large cup of Coke. His eyes widened into a childish expression, watching helplessly as the sweet, sticky liquid splashed onto Arthur's shirt. Arthur stood there in a daze, feeling the cold wetness seep through the shirt onto his chest. He patted the wet spot experimentally, unsure of how to react.

"Woah there!" The stranger exclaimed. "Ya' okay? Sorry about that, man!"

Arthur growled – this boy was loud, and that pronounced American accent was grating on his nerves. He watched at how the American flailed about, attempting to clean up the mess by dabbing tissues at Arthur's chest.

It was a little too close for comfort, and it had been too long since Arthur had engaged in any actual kind of physical contact. He hated to say it, but the American's action was making him feel embarrassed. In an act of irritation, Arthur grabbed the teenage boy's arm, making him pause and look up in surprise.

"Forget it," Arthur said. "I'm going home."

"W-what? No way! At least lemme help you wipe that off."

"It's just a shirt. I'll clean up after I get home."

The American pouted. Arthur's eyebrows furrowed a little – the sandy-haired teenager was actually pouting, reminding Arthur of a puppy that he had once seen in a pet shop. To hell with that – Arthur wouldn't fall for such tricks. He stomped away, ignoring the small niggle of guilt that was working its way into his heart.

But the teenager wasn't giving up. "C'mon!" He said, yanking Arthur back by the scruff of his shirt.

"You…you imbecile!" Arthur roared. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Mm-hmm," the American hummed breezily. "By the way, I'm Alfred. Alfred Jones. You?"

"Alfred, if you do not let go of me this instant, I swear to God that I will…"

Alfred scoffed, shooting the blond an exasperated glance. "Calm down a little, Englishman! I'm just gonna take you to the shower."

"...Do not ever call me that again."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Alfred sang, pushing Arthur into the bathroom. "I'll get you something to wear, so just hold on a sec."

Arthur groaned. It was going to be his second shower in just a few hours. He rested his head against the wall, allowing the hot water to flow across his body.

After this, he was going to leave. He would leave, and never approach any of these people for a few weeks at least. A night like this was just too much for his sanity.

A knock jolted Arthur out of his reverie. He stepped out of the tub, wrapping a towel around his waist before opening the door by a crack.

"Here," Alfred said, pushing a shirt into Arthur's hands. "Wear this."

Arthur took the shirt and cringed at the picture on it, which was a large neon-colored burger with a smiley face on it. Definitely not something he would wear in public. Still, Arthur pulled the shirt on, realizing that it vaguely smelled of cinnamon – which was…actually quite…appealing, he had to admit.

"Thanks. Who does this belong to?"

"It's mine," Alfred answered. "I brought an extra along in case I got wet in the pool."

Arthur stepped out of the bathroom, shooting Alfred a glare as the American burst into laughter. Alfred couldn't help it – the blond boy looked absolutely adorable. The shirt was large, and seemed to hang on Arthur like some sort of over-sized plastic bag. The cheery hamburger motif on it didn't fit his sour scowl either, but Alfred found the whole combination strangely cute. His blond hair was wet, laying flat on his forehead and almost obscuring that pair of emerald eyes.

"So," Arthur broke the silence, "I'm going home now. Move aside."

Alfred blinked and took a step backwards, realizing he had been blocking the Englishman's pathway the entire time. "W-wait! What's your name?"

"…Arthur."

"Cool! So, Artie, what say you stay a little more for some drinks?"

Arthur turned around, green eyes blazing. "What?"

"I mean, c'mon! You're gonna leave after meeting a new friend? That's just rude, man," Alfred said, cracking what Arthur dubbed a shit-eating grin.

"Firstly, we are not friends," Arthur retorted, jabbing a finger into Alfred's chest. Alfred fell another step backwards, his mouth in an 'o' of surprise. "Secondly, I can't believe you actually called me rude when you were the one who caused this whole trouble in the first place!"

Alfred held up his hands in surrender, shaking his head helplessly. "Okay, okay! Geez, I just thought you might've wanted to talk or something…"

I don't need friends, Arthur thought darkly. I can live without them. "What makes you think I wanted to?"

Alfred cocked his head and took a good look at Arthur's angry face. That intense expression of his was pretty breathtaking – wait, no. Wrong thought there. It was damn clear that Arthur was a bitter person, judging at how he spoke an acted. Alfred noticed that there were walls, too – thick, tall, and heavy ones. They had probably been there for a long, long time.

What lay behind those walls, then?

Frowning at Alfred's scrutiny, Arthur growled out an irritated, "What?"

Alfred grinned widely, choosing not to answer. He grabbed Arthur by the arm and hollered, "To the bar then!"

Arthur blanched at the physical contact but realized by now that once Alfred was persistent, there was nothing else that could be done. The American was stupid. Really, there was no other word for it. Couldn't he sense Arthur's obvious reluctance?

But Alfred really seemed to be intent on talking to him – which was strange, in Arthur's opinion. Most of the time, those who were intent on talking to Arthur gave up after realizing that he preferred solitude. Those who knew of the burden Arthur shouldered left him alone, knowing that Arthur was never, ever going to open up to them.

Arthur shook his head. Alfred was just being ridiculous.

By the time the night was done, he would make sure that Alfred Jones would regret the thought of even considering Arthur Kirkland as a friend.


So...I hope I didn't...mess that up too badly. Who groped Iggy's butt, huh? HUH?

I've been playing HetaOni, and ohmygoodgod that was so absolutely heart-wrenching. Seriously, I cried.

Read and review! :)

- Anne