Hello! Sad news. I've left the Hetalia fandom, so I don't have any more motivation for continuing this fic. However, I am going to publish the chapter summaries over the next few weeks which includes snippets I haven't completed yet. This is the second-last complete chapter to be posted (the final one is an epilogue), which my Beta helped edit.

Thank you all for everything.

"The trick is to turn off whatever civilised homo sapien region your brain has and then chew these buggers like starved cavemen on death row."

Francis raised an eyebrow as Arthur held up his yiro, wrapped in newspaper and ready to be devoured. Arthur had invited Francis to eat out a week or so after that disaster of an audition, and Francis had agreed. He had expected Arthur to take him to a restaurant, though he hoped it wouldn't be the bistro they visited on the night of Doubloon's premiere.

To Francis' surprise, the place Arthur brought him to wasn't quite a restaurant - at least, not in any sense of the word that Francis knew. His idea of restaurants didn't quite extend to a spot next to a food truck tucked away in a corner of Camden. They currently sat at cheap, aluminium chairs underneath a rather dirty beach umbrella.

Francis glanced down at his yiro in its newspaper packaging before hesitantly unwrapping it. A few shreds of pale iceberg lettuce fell out of the wrapping and the lamb seemed shrivelled and dry as leather. It looked repulsive. Francis had not requested any mayonnaise sauce for his yiro, unlike Arthur. Francis looked at Arthur's yiro, and the dubious sauce oozing out of it. It was enough to drive Francis to nausea.

"It's not exactly fancy, but hey. It doesn't poison you. Probably."

"Doesn't poison you? That sauce looks like it could give you three types of cholera!" Francis paused, considering. "Do you… like this sort of food? I'd be very happy for you to take my portion."

"No, I… I'm just used to it, I guess. I had low standards when I was in uni." Francis raised an eyebrow, prompting Arthur to smile ruefully. "Ok, maybe it's not the most orthodox option… but imagine the head of someone you don't like on it and just - go for it. I've imagined biting off some of the heads of my literature teachers before." Francis recoiled a bit. "Okay, maybe imagine something a little less gory." Arthur rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "Bottoms up," he muttered before taking a large bite.

Francis eyed his yiro again, considering whether or not to chance the food poisoning. He looked up at Arthur for reassurance, who was chewing and tugging at his yiro, taking no notice of Francis' gaze.

Alright, Fran, he told himself as he squared up his shoulders. It's not the quality of the yiro that matters, but the catharsis of eating it. And - he smiled - the people you enjoy it with.

Francis closed his eyes and nibbled on the edge of the yiro. The pita bread crumbled into his mouth, giving it this unpleasant dry feeling. But, with another glance over at Arthur's vigorous eating, Francis had a feeling that wasn't the spirit of this activity, so he opened his mouth wider this time and chomped down on the whole corner.

The lamb was like chewing leather. He ground his teeth down onto the tough piece of meat, tugging to separate it from the main piece, but it was useless. Agitated, he growled and bit down again, this time with passion.

"That's the spirit!" Arthur encouraged.

But no matter how hard Francis tried, he only seemed to be able to rake the meat with his teeth. He sunk his teeth in as deep as possible and, with a final burst of vigour, he pulled away a chunk of the meat.

Unfortunately, it was a decently sized chunk, and with the force of Francis' final tug, it lodged itself in his airway.

Francis dropped the yiro as he was seized by a coughing fit, beating his chest desperately. Arthur started panicking and attempting the Heimlich manoeuvre. Just as Arthur was about to stop the manoeuvre and call an ambulance, Francis hacked out the offending piece of meat. Without further ado, they threw out the rest of the yiro and circled around Camden's other food courts for some better (read: edible) food, such as crispy potstickers and chicken kabiraji, and some hot chocolate to wash it down.

They hadn't planned their afternoon well, and since Camden was quite a long ride away from the apartment block, they took a walk in the Camley Street Natural Park.

It helped Francis feel normal again, and he was sure Arthur appreciated it too. Maybe his anxiety didn't have to seize his life. There were moments when Francis could forget all about it, and live normally, like how he had always done. And Francis didn't have to worry about whether he was too emotional or too harsh, or whether he had said and done enough at the end of the day.

None of that mattered here, and he was glad.

After a very long day of strolling and talking just like old times, it wasn't surprising when once Francis and Arthur were on the tube, they fell asleep almost immediately.

They were asleep until the jerk of the train pulling into their station woke them up with a jolt. Arthur stretched and rubbed his eyes, standing up to fetch their luggage and lightly shaking Francis on the shoulder, who, despite waking up at the same time as Arthur, was trying his damnedest to go back to sleep.

"Five more minutes," Francis muttered, trying to curl up in the uncomfortable seat, only relenting and uncurling himself when Arthur grabbed his hand and tugged him upright. They got off at their stop (only just) and walked to their apartments. As they walked up, Antonio greeted them with a wide smile, his dimples dipping into his cheeks.

But as Francis talked with Antonio, he couldn't help but feel a little dejected. Seeing only Antonio waiting for him like this - without Gilbert's bright grin and welcoming hug, it felt like an incomplete scene. He felt horribly guilty - for insulting Gilbert like he had done in the first place, and for the fact that Gilbert had felt the need to get away from him so badly that he started avoiding him by working overtime. Francis felt almost as though he had pushed Gilbert from the apartment, considering how little Gilbert seemed to be around these days, and he really hoped that Gilbert was alright.

Unable to push his gnawing anxiety aside, Francis picked up his phone, calling Gilbert. He knew it was unlikely Gilbert would answer, considering he was still at work, but as he heard the call go to voicemail, Francis' heart sank a little. Even so, he decided to leave Gilbert a voicemail. "Gilbert! Hello!" Francis had nearly called him 'Gil', but he had stopped himself - he still wasn't sure if he and Gilbert were on friendly enough terms for that yet. "I hope you're doing well. I haven't seen you as much this week, and I think I know why. I'd… really like to talk to you. " He sighed. "We can talk about it whenever you feel like it, alright?" Francis gave a sad smile. "Take care." He hung up and fell back onto the bunk bed, staring up at nothing in particular.

His phone buzzed with a notification, and Francis lurched upright, picking it up.

His eyes widened. It wasn't from Gilbert.

It was from the symphonic band.

It was from the symphonic band… and he was accepted.

Euphoria bubbled inside his veins. A laugh came out. Then another, and another, until Francis was bent over laughing from joy.

He was in, oh, he was in!

Then after that died down, there came a very strange sensation. He felt satisfied - after all, this was his dream! But something felt off. Francis felt… hollow.

This was his dream, and he had done it. He was in.

Was that… it?

His anxiety began to swirl in the pit of his stomach, and he couldn't help but wonder. Was it really that easy? Surely not. He'd turn up and realise it was a mistake, or that he wasn't a good saxophonist after all. It had to be some sort of fluke. A joke. Or perhaps, he'd convinced everyone that he was someone else. Perhaps this was all an elaborate act of his. He'd managed to fool everyone. To manipulate them. Who was Arthur really dating? Who was Antonio really friends with? Who had the band really hired? Was it Francis, or this act he had created to hide himself, to manipulate everyone? Would they toss him aside if they knew? Hate him? Loathe him? Reject him entirely -?

Francis took a deep breath. In. He held it briefly, trying to ground himself. Out. He tried to focus on a few things around the room - a bed post, a few books, a plant in the corner. In. Out.

Was it too good to be true? Or did it just seem that way? Francis blinked then looked at the email again, feeling slightly calmer now. He'd be fine. They had accepted him, and that was all that mattered.

Looking for more ways to put his mind at ease, Francis grabbed a mirror and looked at his hair. He had kept it in the same style for as long as he could clearly remember. Other people around him had experimented with their hair quite a bit - Gilbert had an undercut once, Antonio tried out having long hair for a bit. Francis was sure that even Arthur had mentioned that he had a few interesting styles over the years.

There was a pair of manicure scissors in the drawer that Francis had taken the mirror from. Francis pulled the drawer further open with shaky hands, and the little golden scissors gleamed as they caught the light. He gulped. Well. Learning to cut hair would be a first for him.

And everything needed a first.