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I said this one would be yuri, did I not? Well, it's not. I tried writing it, and…it didn't work. Sorry to tintenstern, who requested it. I tried, I really did…it turned out bad.
So here's a request from Little Patch of Heaven for muse!Artie and artist!Alfred. He's a musical artist~
Title: The Runaway
Pairing(s): USUK, of course, as well as implied AmericaBelarus and EnglandLiechtenstein. Yay for crack..?~
Rating: T
Genre(s): Angst, Hurt/Comfort, some Humor, a bit of Friendship, and some Romance
Dedications: SnowGirl999, tintenstern, Chibirisu, Lovely Hikari, ., anyone who fav'd or alerted, and anyone who's still reading this…
Inspiration: The song 'Greensleeves'.
Warnings: Very long. Also, not much yaoi…but there'll be more in the next oneshot. Oh, and I wrote lyrics. If you steal them, I'll sic a team of lawyers on your ass. So DON'T STEAL MY LYRICS.
Summary: Alfred F. Jones, singer-songwriter, is in a slump. He has zero inspiration, and decides to take a little vacation to London, where he meets a young runaway who may give him the light to keep making music.
Disclaimer: I don't own Greensleeves, I don't own the Canadian hockey team (though I'm on it in Lily Winterwood's Academy), and I do not own Hetalia. BUT I DO OWN MY LYRICS AND IF YOU STEAL THEM I'LL KICK YOUR ASS. (But if you ask nicely to borrow them, and give me full credit, then I might not mind.) Thank you.
Begin~
Alfred F. Jones, America's new big thing on the rise, was in a slump. He'd had no inspiration for a month, and at this rate, his career would be down the crapper faster than you can say "Olsen twins". And he could say that pretty damn fast.
His brother had the brilliant idea of traveling abroad to see if he could get inspired. His manager suggested France, and his best friend said Japan, but Alfred wanted to go somewhere where he could actually understand what people were saying.
So he chose London.
He'd been there for two weeks, but so far all he had was…well, he didn't really have anything, really.
He figured McDonald's might give him some inspiration—it had on his first single, "Beautiful with a Side of Fries". (It was about his ex, Natalya, who he'd met at a Mickey D's. She'd threatened to castrate him with a plastic spoon and it all just fit together…until she moved back to Belarus.) So he'd frequented the burger joint across the street from his hotel. All of the cashiers had his order memorized by that point, and that sweet Hungarian girl even threw in a free McFlurry from time to time.
So far, though, he'd gotten nothing. He was considering just remaking something to pull in some temporary funds—maybe American Pie? He really liked American Pie—but then dismissed that thought. People would know he was quitting if he did that, and if Alfred was anything, it was someone who never quit.
"H-How much…can I get for 10 pounds?"
Alfred turned his head toward the row of cashiers. Standing there, sopping wet from the rain, was a boy of maybe sixteen with yellow hair and a large backpack. The American raised an eyebrow. Who was this kid, and why would he ask a question like that?
…Maybe he was a runaway? After all, those types always needed food, and a quick way to get it…
Well, if that was the case, Alfred certainly wasn't going to sit on his ass and do nothing. Leaving his food, he walked up to the seemingly distraught boy and put his hand on his shoulder. "Lizzie, get this kid my usual. And throw in a parfait."
The brunette cashier nodded and totaled up his order. After he paid, he picked up the kid's food and let him fill up his drink, then set the food down across the booth from his own meal.
"Why are you doing this?" asked the boy as he dug into his Big Mac.
Alfred shrugged. "I dunno myself. You looked like you needed help." He paused. "Are you a runaway, by any chance?" he added as an afterthought, remembering the reason he had bought the kid a meal in the first place.
The boy fixed him with a cold stare. "How did you guess…?"
Ah. "I ran away once myself. Of course, that was only a few months ago, I wasn't a kid like you. And the request was another dead giveaway."
The kid sighed. "Well, thanks anyway. I'm Arthur, Arthur Kirkland"
"I'm Alfred. Now eat up, your fries are getting cold." He didn't have to tell Arthur twice. "Also, I'm guessing you don't have a place to stay tonight." Arthur shook his head. "Tell you what. You can stay with me in the hotel across the street, but you have to give me your cell phone and wallet, including the contents."
"I need those—"
"Just as a precaution. We have a deal?"
Arthur nodded slowly, and Alfred's face broke into its first real grin in weeks.
After loaning Arthur some clothes, Alfred took the boy's cell phone and wallet. He couldn't have him running away again, after all, and he'd decided to call his parents to come pick him up once he was asleep. (He was amazed Arthur hadn't considered that he could do that.)
While Arthur was in the shower, Alfred looked through his wallet. Ten pounds, as well as a driver's license and school ID. There were also several photos, a few of people who were probably his family, and then one of a little blonde girl whose face just screamed "jailbait". Maybe she was his girlfriend…?
Suddenly, he heard whistling. He realized it was Arthur in the shower, but something about the tune…
Oh runaway, where have you gone? You've left your friends alone~ They miss you and they want you back, you've got to run away home~. Oh, Arthur, you've acted stupid, you left the people who love you~. You've got to return to return to them or sadness will fall upon you~.
The American songwriter rushed to write the lyrics down. They weren't perfect, but with a few alterations…
Don't run away, you're not going to solve your problems like that~. It's just going to get worse now, you've got to grow up and face it~.
Alfred usually wrote love songs…but this would work too. If the song made it big, maybe Arthur would hear it.
Oh, Arthur, you've acted stupid, you left the people who love you~. You've got to return to them or sadness will fall upon you~.
Oh runaway, where have you gone? You've left your friends alone~. They miss you and they want you back, you've got to run away home~.
Not a half bad song. He'd just have to write down the chords, improvise a little guitar solo, and he'd be set. But it would probably be a good idea to figure out the original song first.
He didn't have to wait long. Just ten minutes later, the teen emerged from the bathroom, a towel around his waist and another on his head. "Hello."
"Arthur, what was that song you were whistling in the shower?" Alfred asked bluntly. There was no way getting around it.
"Huh? Oh, that was 'Greensleeves'. Or 'What Child Is This'. It's an old folk song, and it's stuck in my head…" Arthur blushed. "I-I mean, it's not like I like that kind of thing or anything!"
"Of course," Alfred replied smoothly. "Now, could you put on some clothes? Your towel's about to fall off."
"D-Don't look, you wanker!" He grabbed the towel and hitched it up higher. "Oh, bugger, I'll just go dress…" he muttered to himself when it started to slide again. He went behind the bed and put on some of Alfred's pajamas.
After that, there was an awkward silence as neither of them knew what to say. Alfred decided to confront the elephant lounging on the bed. "So why did you run away?"
"That's really none of your business," replied Arthur evenly. He picked up the TV remote and switched on the television. "Do you like Doctor Who?"
"No, but I think it is my business. I took you in, after all." He smirked. "And I got you food, and I loaned you clothes, and I—"
"I said it's none of your business," he said, more annoyed this time. He also ignored Alfred's apparent dislike of Doctor Who and started to watch it.
"What if I guessed, and you gave me a yes or no if I was right or wrong? Then it would be up to me to guess the right things."
"You're not going to give up on this, are you?" asked Arthur, growing very irritated. Alfred shook his head. "Fine. Ask away."
"Did you run away because of family troubles?"
"…Not really."
"School troubles?"
"No."
"Uh…'cause of jailbait here?" He flashed the picture he found of the blond girl.
"Her name's Lilli, and she's not jailbait! Sh-She's 17!" Arthur retorted. "Wait, what does jailbait mean again? You know what, never mind! Stupid American terms…" He paused. "And…to answer your question…yeah, I guess…"
"She your sister?"
"No."
"Girlfriend?"
"…Sort of."
"She break up with you?"
"She's going to…"
Alfred furrowed his eyebrows. "How would you know that/"
"She told me she's moving to Switzerland!" shouted Arthur. "And everyone knows long-distance relationships never work."
Oh…so that was how it was. "So you ran away to give her a taste of her own medicine, eh? Stupid move. This is just gonna piss her off and she'll threaten to carve your face into a jack-o-lantern and—wait. Never mind…"
Arthur gave him an odd look. "I can tell you're speaking from experience."
"Yeah, I—No. This isn't about me. This is about you. Look, what you should have done was stay back wherever you came from and spent as much time as possible with her, and ended it happily. Now the rest of her time here will be bitter."
Arthur scowled. "I'm going to sleep. I don't need to hear this." He turned the TV off and rolled over to face the wall. "Goodnight."
Soon, Alfred could hear soft snoring. He opened Arthur's phone and found the contact labeled "Home" and called. He told the worried woman who picked up where Arthur was, and she said she'd pick him up at 8 the next morning. After that, Alfred went to sleep as well.
At 7:57 AM, our young British hero awoke to the sound of knocking at the door to the hotel room. He looked around, vision still foggy from sleep. He groaned at the lack of Alfred and knew he'd have to get the door himself.
When he got up, he saw his wallet and cell phone sitting on the table. He decided to pocket them, deciding that if the American was careless enough to leave them sitting out, he didn't deserve to hold them hostage.
Upon opening the door, he was immediately pressed into the chest of some sobbing woman, who held him there as she cried into his hair. "Arthur! Thank goodness you're safe!"
"Mum, I think you're suffocating him. Though, that might not be a BAD thing…"
"Oh, hush, Scott. You'll understand when you have children of your own."
"That's never going to happen, Mum."
"Yes it will! But we're not going to argue about this now." She released Arthur, and he staggered back a bit and caught his breath. "We're going to dedicate today to our darling Arthur!" Arthur's mother smiled down at him. Behind her, his older brother Scott was snickering.
"H-How did you find me? Did that wanker, Allen or whatever he called himself, did he tell you?"
"Yes!" she replied brightly. "He called us last night and told you we were here. Er, is he here?" She peeked in. "I suppose not." She shrugged. "Well, doesn't matter. Come, let's go home."
"But—"
"I know you may not want to, but you will, Arthur." His father had finally spoken up. "Now, let's go."
"Go on, Artie. Can't have you hanging around, I've got a plane to catch back to the States." Alfred suddenly emerged from the bathroom. "What worries me is the baggage retrieval system at Heathrow. I mean, it was good when I came, but…"
Scott laughed. No one else got it.
"Anyway, I gotta check out. I packed all your stuff. for you." He tossed the backpack to Arthur's mother. "And now I'm leaving." He slipped past the British family.
"Thank you for helping us find our son," said Mr. Kirkland. "If there's anything we could do to repay—"
"Nope, Artie covered that. He gave me what I came here for." He grinned. "Well, seeya!" He ran off to check out, leaving poor Arthur alone with his family.
"Arthur, you didn't…shag that ma—"
"NO. God, Mum, you're so—"
"I-It's just the way he said it—"
"Mum, Artie doesn't need you butting into his sex life."
"SHUT UP, SCOTT."
When Alfred's flight landed in LAX, his brother was there waiting for him. "So, did you get inspired?"
Alfred grinned. "Yep! I've got the lyrics for a song all written out, just gotta write the music!"
Matthew was slightly shocked, but then he remembered that he was talking to his brother, after all. "What's it about, if you don't mind me asking?"
"This kid I met, a runaway named Arthur…"
2 WEEKS LATER, IPSWICH, SUFFOLK, UK
Arthur was grounded. He had been for two weeks, and there were still six weeks left. He was escorted to and from school (not like he cared about that anymore…Lilli had moved three days ago), and there were cameras on his window, and someone was always sitting outside his bedroom door. Worst of all, his parents had removed all of his books and his television, leaving him with just a radio.
"And next up is the new single 'Runaway' by Alfred F. Jones. Lovely song, he was apparently inspired by an old folksong, see if you can guess what it is~ Here's 'Runaway'."
As the guitar started to carefully pick out the notes, Arthur realized he was hearing the song that had been stuck in his head while he was with Alfred, "Greensleeves". But the song was called "Runaway"…it couldn't have been…
Oh runaway, where have you gone? You've run off and now you're alone~. You left us and we want you back, you have to run away home~.
That voice…
Oh, Arthur, you've—
DID HE JUST SAY ARTHUR. WHAT THE FUCK.
That wanker…wrote a song about him? The nerve. It was infuriating, and…strangely touching.
Well, if he ever saw that American again, he'd have some words to say to him.
And maybe...not all of them would be bad.
AN: And I finished it! Jeez, that was long. But I did it for you guys…I should be in bed right now, I have a piano thing tomorrow…I'.
Ahem. Anyways…
Like I said before, you steal my lyrics, I steal your money, your happiness, your soul, I'll even snatch your people up—wait, not that last one.
Oh, and if anyone caught the special little song/TV show reference I threw in there, tell me and I'll write something especially for you. You don't even have to be the first person, it'll just be a special bonus chapter dedicated only to those who got it. :D
Thanks for reading! Please, send in requests (when I say requests, I mean scenarios, or prompts. Seriously. Just a review saying, 'Can you write something to the prompt _?' is fine.) and I will write them! 'Cause I'm gonna be on a bus for 23 hours on the ninth and again on the fourteenth, 'cause I'm going to NYC, so send 'em in before then, and then I'll write them and post them over the rest of Spring Break. (Except on my birthday.)
Thanks again for reading, I hope you enjoyed.