Title: Once Upon A Thursday
Pairings: America/England
Characters in this chapter: America, England, Japan, Finland, Mentions of Sweden
Rating: T
Summary: AU (human names used); It all started with Punk Thursdays. Alfred stumbles upon a mini concert held in a small-time bar and falls in love...with Arthur Kirkland's voice. What started as admiration turns into friendship between this unlikely pair. But when Alfred finds himself falling in love with Arthur himself, he realizes that starting a relationship is not as easy as he thinks. Especially with someone like Arthur Kirkland.
Warning: possible OOC?
AN: Sorry for the late chapter! I hoped I made up for it by posting an extra long chapter; more than 4000 words XD! Also, just a bit of a disclaimer: I know absolutely nothing about guitars and drums and musical instruments. I researched a bit by watching guitar lessons on youtube but idk, I probably still made a lot of mistakes. Sorry for that! As usual, beta'd by strawberryburst at livejournal
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

Chapter Three: Rockin' Out With The Cereal Killers

"It's been a while since I last saw you with your guitar, Alfred," Tino commented as Alfred lugged along a guitar case towards a stool by the cash register.

"Ah well," Alfred explained a little sheepishly, plugging in his amp, "someone asked me to play my guitar for him tomorrow and I thought I'd let you hear first, see how rusty my skills are now."

It would come as a surprise to many that Tino Väinämöinen, Alfred's landlord and owner of a flower shop in the apartment's lobby, actually once fronted a heavy metal band. After all, there was no sign of a head-banging rock star written anywhere on Tino's petite frame and sweet timid face.

So when Peter, Tino's adopted son, told Alfred with a hint of pride that his papa was once a rock star, complete with tattoos, make-up, metal chain jewelry, and all that, Alfred had immediately assumed that he was talking about his other papa, Tino's husband, Berwald. After all, Alfred could easily picture Berwald hitting some drums while banging his head to its beat, with his gruff and-though Alfred hated to admit it-scary appearance.

Imagine Alfred's surprise after he asked Tino casually if Berwald still played drums for his band, and Tino, laughing, replied that Berwald had never been a part of any musical group, as far as Tino knew at least.

"I used to sing and play the guitars for a band though," he added a little wistfully. "We used to play hard-core punk and metal. It was fun."

Complete and utter shock must have been written on Alfred's face because-probably to make up for the astounding revelation-Tino offered to teach Alfred a few chords, and well, when else can Alfred hope to meet someone who'll teach him how to play the guitar? He'd always wanted to learn after all so he played with Tino for a few months. That was about a year ago.

Now, as Alfred sat by the cash register and played a few chords on his guitar while Tino arranged the flowers on display, he felt a familiar warmth starting to burn inside of him. The smooth mahogany surface of his guitar felt comforting underneath his palm and his fingertips throbbed with notes he thought he had long forgotten, itching to escape and make some beautiful music again. He started to strum a familiar song, the notes just coming to him automatically as he moved his fingers across the strings. He hadn't realized it before but he had missed this, playing the guitar at a corner of Tino's flower shop, forgetting all the cares he had.

"You sound good," Tino told Alfred after he had finished a short song, "great even for someone who hasn't played for a while." He laughed. "Are you sure you haven't touched that guitar in a year?"

Alfred grinned proudly. "I guess it's just hard to forget these kinds of things." He hoped that Arthur would be just as impressed.

Saturday came, and Alfred found himself in the slightly upper-class part of town, in front of a Japanese-style house hidden behind a brown gate.

After hesitating for quite a while, Alfred finally knockedon the gate. Three sharp raps while butterflies flitted around in his stomach.

It was Arthur who opened the door for him. He eyed Alfred critically, and Alfred suddenly felt self-conscious, coming in only a worn red sweater and baggy pants while Arthur looked sharp in a graphic tee hidden under a partly-open cardigan and jeans.

He must have stared quite a while,busily admiring-the way those skinny jeans were hugging Arthur's legs- his casually sharp outfit that Arthur had to give a low but very conspicuous cough to catch his attention .

"Git, are you coming in or what?"

The house looked just as Japanese inside the gates as it did on the outside, even more so now that Alfred could see the paper sliding doors, the slightly-raised wooden porch and the winding stone path that led to a small pond with water lilies floating on top of it. Alfred glanced at Arthur walking quickly in front of him, and then back at his surroundings, and he secretly wondered if Arthur really lived in this place. The environment just felt so Zen, a complete antithesis to the musical noise and chaos that so characterized Arthur's music.

Alfred walked quickly as he tried to match his steps, wondering if maybe Arthur, too, needed peace and quiet every once in a while.

"Nice place you've got here, Arthur," Alfred commented casually.

"Do I look like I could afford a place like this?" Arthur scoffed.

"Er…why not?" Alfred replied, a little sheepishly. Well, at least that was cleared up…

Instead of entering the quintessential Japanese house, as Alfred expected, Arthur led him to the backyard, to a small shoebox-shaped shed standing at the edge of the yard.

As soon as they entered the shed, bursts of color immediately met Alfred's eyes.

There was no sign of the drab grey anymore on the walls of the room; every inch was covered by various posters, mostly of punk bands-some of which Alfred had never seen nor heard of before, Union Jack flags in different sizes, several variations of Keep Calm and Carry On,and posters of different anime series and Japanese animated movies. It was a blindingly colorful collage and Alfred found it hard to peel his eyes away from them. However, there were other interesting things scattered around that called for Alfred's attention.

One corner of the room had several different-sized amps standing carelessly side-by-side in it. One wall was purely devoted to electric guitars of different sizes, shapes and colors. They were like a rainbow in Alfred's eyes, a rainbow that could make beautiful, beautiful music if one knew the right way to coax it out of them. At the very back of the room was a drum set, and standing beside it was an unassuming Asian man. As soon as Alfred met his brown eyes, the man immediately lowered his head in a shy bow.

"That's my friend, Kiku Honda," Arthur said, an unlit cigarette already dangling from the corner of his mouth. "He owns this house and he plays the drums for me too." He turned to Kiku. "Kiku, this is Alfred Jones. He's going to play guitars for us."

Kiku bowed again, more pronounced this time. "Good morning, Alfred-san. Please forgive my humble home."

"Oh no, no, it's really awesome actually," Alfred said, bowing back. "And you don't have to add –san to my name anymore, whatever you mean by that. Just Alfred is fine."

Kiku looked taken aback. "But I would hate to be so forward, Alfred-san!"

"No, really, just Alfred is fi-"

Arthur walked towards Alfred and placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in mid-sentence. He sighed, as if he had seen this conversation happening a little too many times already. "Kiku, please just help Alfred set his equipment up. We really don't have all day to spare."

"One, two, one two three four!"

As soon as the words left his lips, Kiku started banging on his drums with an energy one wouldn't expect from someone as gentle-looking as him. And then Arthur entered, playing that bass of his as beautifully as always. It took all of Alfred's willpower not to stop and stare, mesmerized, at how flawlessly effortless Arthur's fingers moved over the strings of his guitar, coaxing out beautiful, intense riffs. But Alfred had to concentrate. Alfred had to concentrate because, after three and a half hours, he had learned a new fact about Arthur Kirkland:

He was such a perfectionist.

Arthur stopped again in the middle of the song for the nth time that day and sent a vicious glare towards

Alfred, who had now dropped his fingers from his guitar too.

"You're playing in the wrong beat again! Listen to Kiku, you bloody idiot!"

"I was listening to him! God, Arthur, will you just stop nitpicking every goddamn thing in the world and let us finish this song?"

"I most certainly am not nitpicking! If I only knew you were this mediocre-"

Alfred had already opened his mouth to let out a furious retort when Kiku stepped in between them and said softly but firmly, "Why don't we just call it a day for now?" A small ripple of a sentence that somehow stopped the furious crashing of two giant angry waves.

Arthur had already begun to pack up his guitar and amp. "Well, fine," he muttered, rather unconvincingly. He now had a lit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, blowing spirals of smoke into the air. Kiku gave him a disapproving look upon seeing this though he did not say anything.

Arthur slung his guitar case over his shoulder and was on his way out when he stopped, hand on the doorknob. He removed his cigarette from his lips and turned slowly to where Alfred now knelt, beside his own guitar.

"Come back next Saturday, same time."

Then he left, rather abruptly, and Alfred let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"And here I was thinking he was so cool," Alfred ranted to Kiku as he chomped on a red bean paste bun Kiku had brought from his house. "Seems like he's just a grumpy, nitpicky, totally not cool, old man with frumpy eyebrows after all."

Kiku sat across Alfred on the floor of their practice room, sipping his tea with an aura of calmness. "But you are coming back next Saturday, Alfred-san?"

"Well, yeah," Alfred replied, suddenly feeling quite embarrassed. "Uhmm, I realized while playing with you guys that I missed this. Holding my guitar and just letting out all my feelings through music, as cheesy as that sounds."

Kiku let out a small smile. "Well, that's good to hear, Alfred-san. I have to ask though; do you even know why Arthur invited you to play with us?"

Alfred stuck out his tongue and licked the corner of his mouth, where crumbs of bean paste still lingered. "No, actually," he replied. "Can I ask you why? Or are you and Arthur planning to keep it as a big secret from me?"

Kiku let out a quiet laugh. "No, no of course not! Forgive us if you had that impression." He picked up a bun from the plate in front of them and nibbled at it before continuing. "Arthur and I were once classmates at university. We were both in the College of Music." He chuckled. "However, Arthur dropped out in our third year. He felt that the strict boundaries of college were stifling his creativity."

Surprisingly, at least to Alfred, he still found himself sitting up a little straighter, his ears perking a bit, his heart beating a little faster in excitement, at hearing every miniscule fact about Arthur, even after all the rows and nasty little spats they'd had throughout the afternoon.

"And then?" he prompted Kiku, hoping that Kiku wouldn't notice the giddiness he was feeling flowing all over inside of him, right down to the tips of his fingers.

"And then," Kiku continued, a little amused at Alfred's eagerness, "just recently, some of our friends from college called Arthur up, asked if he wanted to participate in this Battle of the Bands they were having for the school fair. Apparently, some scouts from record companies looking for new indie artists to sign up were going to be there and obviously, Arthur took the chance. He called me up and asked if I wanted to play the drums for him. And of course I said yes. However, apparently, we needed one more member, a guitarist. Arthur told me he'd take care of it and here you are." He smiled at Alfred.

"Why me though?" Alfred wondered out loud. "We've never talked to each other before that night. He didn't even know for sure if I played the guitar."

"Arthur-san has his ways, I guess." Kiku replied, setting down his half-eaten bun on the plate. "He probably had a, what do you call it, lucky hunch about you."

He suddenly looked serious, his brown eyes meeting Alfred's blue ones imploringly. "Please forgive Arthur if he is hard on you, Alfred-san. You see, this contest really means a lot to him."

"Alright." Alfred mumbled, suddenly feeling awkward. What was there to forgive after all, if he wasn't even angry in the first place?

A week before the competition, Arthur entered the practice room holding a form in his hands, a pencil tucked behind his ear.

He called both Alfred and Kiku forward, and they sat in a small circle in the middle of the room.

"I have friends organizing this," Arthur explained, "so I could delay filling up this entry form until the last minute." He held his pencil poised over the paper.

"What do we call ourselves, Artie?" Alfred asked, his eyes quickly skimming the form.

Arthur hit the back of Alfred's head lightly. "Who gave you the permission to call me Artie?"

"Well, I figured after four Saturdays of putting up with you, I could finally call you Artie."

"People who've known me for years don't even call me Artie, you bloody idiot!"

"What do we call our group, Arthur-san? Alfred-san?" Kiku asked, patiently steering them back to the topic at hand.

"Well…" Arthur said thoughtfully, "we used to call ourselves the Anglo-Japanese Alliance back in college, right Kiku?"

"Yeah," Alfred replied, rather peevishly, "however, I'm here now and I'm American through and through so you can't call yourselves that now."

"Do you have any brilliant ideas then, idiot?" Arthur asked sardonically.

"How about," Arthur grinned widely, "The Cereal Killers!"

"The Cereal Killers? Are you insane?"

"I've always wanted to form a band called The Cereal Killers, ya know. Always thought it was a cool name. What do you think, Kiku?"

"I think it's a rather, ah, catchy name."

"Oh no, not you too Kiku!"

"Oh c'mon Artie, lighten up," Alfred said, grinning even wider. He grabbed the pencil from Arthur and proceeded to write on the form, in large scrawling letters, the name of their band. "It's a fun name."

Arthur sighed, massaging his temples as if expecting a headache to come real soon.

Alfred peered out of a little gap in the curtains hiding them backstage.

"Damn, Arthur, there's like a thousand people out there."

"That's impossible," Arthur replied, though he didn't sound quite so sure himself. He sat cross-legged on the dusty floor beside their equipment, trying to light a smoke before they went onstage. Alfred could see him struggling with the lighter even in the dark, his hand shaking violently, and Alfred, though guiltily, couldn't help feeling relieved. He wasn't the only one feeling queasy after all.

They heard a perky disembodied voice from out on stage: "Next up is the punk rock band, 'The Cereal Killers'!".

Unseen in a dark corner, Kiku spoke, soft but clear. "It's our turn to go onstage now, Arthur-san, Alfred-san."

Arthur stood up, a steely sort of determination reflected in his eyes. "Let's win this battle then."

Alfred willed his hand to stop shaking so violently, before he could accidentally drop his guitar and shatter it into a million pieces.

It was even worse onstage than what Alfred had expected.

The audience looked like little pin-prick lights from a distance, all moving in different directions yet their eyes, or at least their ears, all turned to them. He swayed on the spot, feeling slightly nauseated.

From the corner of his eye, he looked at Arthur, who looked quite pale himself. Arthur turned and met Alfred's eyes, just a short split-second that Alfred could have missed it if he wasn't staring at Arthur in the first place. He mouthed the words, so quickly that Alfred could barely read it: You ready?

Alfred took a deep breath. As ready as I will ever be.

Arthur then glanced at Kiku, who nodded.

"One, two, one two three four!"

If Kiku was nervous, his playing didn't show it. He hit those drums with just as much energy as he did during practice, if not even more. Alfred soon found himself tapping his feet to the familiar beat.

And Arthur, Arthur. Arthur played as flawlessly as always, and Alfred dared say that he just wasn't being biased here. He ran his guitar pick through the strings so quickly that Alfred could barely see it, and he was standing right next to Arthur at that. The notes and riffs soared through the air with much intensity and energy as Arthur sang the song that he, himself, wrote, sometimes with loud hoarse shouts and sometimes with soft whispered murmurs, all in tune with the emotion he wanted everyone to feel. Alfred could already feel the goose bumps rising on his skin.

And Alfred? Well, Alfred could say that he was playing quite well. He gave everything he had, all his heart and soul, as cheesy as that may sound, into his playing, willing his fingers to strum those strings with just as much passion as his band mates played. His band mates-that actually sounded pretty cool!

(Sometimes, Alfred would take the time to wink or flash a wide grin at the audience, who would respond by cheering widely. Arthur rolled his eyes but let him be.)

The song was soon over before Alfred realized it. And the audience-Alfred couldn't believe what his ears were hearing.

They were practically going wild.

More, more, more! Their cheers and calls for an encore were a thunderous din in Alfred's ears. He glanced at Kiku, who had ducked his face behind his drum set, blushing furiously, then at Arthur, whose bright green eyes glowed with fierce pride.

Arthur glanced at Alfred. "Well, are you up for one more song?"

Alfred grinned. "Thought you'd never ask."

At the end of the day, they had to settle for second place.

They packed their equipment at the back stage quietly-or rather Kiku and Alfred did. Arthur was too busy sitting at a corner, smoking a cigarette and brooding quietly. The silence was stuffy, suffocating, and Alfred couldn't handle it anymore.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out. "My playing really was mediocre, wasn't it?"

Both Kiku and Arthur looked up, surprised. Alfred could feel his face suddenly burning up.

Kiku opened his mouth to speak but Arthur beat him to it.

"Of course not, you silly dolt," he said softly. "Do you think I'd have let you stay this long if I didn't think you had the talent?"

Alfred tried to say something in reply but no words came to him. So he watched quietly as Arthur resumed his smoke, still quietly thoughtful.

In the days that Alfred had spent around Arthur, he had noticed one thing about him: Arthur's eyes almost always betrayed everything. Forget the sardonic remarks or the gruff exterior, everything he needed to know was in those bright green eyes.

Even in the dark back stage, Alfred could see it; Arthur's eyes were almost lifeless, dim green eyes reflecting the disappointment of seeing himself pushed down one step farther from his dream.

And that was when it hit Alfred, painfully slapping him across the face. He was being terribly, terribly, selfish. It wasn't he who needed comforting; it was Arthur. It was Arthur after all who had everything invested in this contest.

But what can I do, what can I do-suddenly Alfred walked towards where Arthur was sitting and grabbed his hand. Partly due to Arthur's surprise and partly due to Alfred's incredible strength, Alfred easily pulled Arthur off the floor and along with him.

"W-where are you taking me?" Arthur spluttered out, already recovered from his initial surprise.

Alfred beamed widely at him. "The afternoon hasn't ended yet so we still have a few hours to enjoy the fair. Let's go!"

Arthur turned helplessly to Kiku. "Kiku, why don't you join us?"

Kiku shook his head, a small smile on his face. "Oh no, I'm perfectly fine here, Arthur-san! Besides, I have a few old friends I have to greet too."

Before he completely pulled Arthur out of the back stage, Alfred could swear that he saw Kiku wink at him.

The fair was like some sort of carnival, Alfred thought, with students setting up the booths where visitors could play and win prizes all around the school grounds.

Alfred had treated both Arthur and himself to a sundae cone, and Alfred couldn't help noticing, pleased, how Arthur's eyes were now starting to brighten up, as he licked the strawberry ice cream trickling down his cone.

"I've always wondered what a college fair was like," Alfred said. He ducked his head sheepishly at the look of bemusement on Arthur's face.

"But doesn't your university have them?" he asked.

"I don't attend college, at least not yet," Alfred shrugged, "Haven't got the funds yet."

They walked again, lapsing into silence, until Arthur said, "Well, I think college is overrated anyways."

Alfred laughed. "Yeah, I figured you'd say that. Kiku said you dropped out when you were in your third year."

Color tinged Arthur's cheeks but he spoke with a hint of unrepentant pride. "I refused to be stifled by boundaries, that's all."

Alfred laughed even louder. "Yeah, right." They walked on again, admiring the colorful booths standing all around them-or at least that was what Alfred thought, until he realized that Arthur was now nowhere beside him, having stopped in front of a certain booth.

Alfred caught up to him and placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder; Arthur jumped a little, startled.

"What are you looking at?" Alfred asked. Arthur pretended not to hear him and was already starting to turn away but Alfred grabbed his hand, effectively stopping him.

"I see now." Alfred told Arthur, grinning at him. He pointed at a huge fluffy stuffed unicorn hanging inside the booth. "You want that, do you?"

"O-of course not!" Arthur said hotly. He tried to tug his hand off Alfred's grip. "Let's go now, Alfred."

But Alfred stubbornly pulled him towards the booth. The student manning it brightened up at the sight of new customers.

"What do I have to do to win that unicorn?" Alfred asked, pointing to the toy in question.

"All you have to do is hit those cans over there," the student pointed to a pyramid of soda cans standing behind him, "with these balls." He placed three bright red rubber balls in Alfred's palm. "However, that unicorn's a grand prize. You can only get it if you topple all cans with one throw," the student finished smugly, his eyes silently telling Alfred that there was no way he could do it.

But Alfred wasn't listening to him anymore. He positioned himself as if throwing a pitch from a baseball mound and threw, effectively toppling the pyramid and even sending some cans flying around the booth.

Alfred flashed a winning smile at the student, who now ducked behind his booth, covering his head with both hands. "Can I get the unicorn now?"

"You didn't have to get me the unicorn, you silly dolt," Arthur murmured, hugging the stuffed unicorn close to him. Somehow, Alfred knew that was Arthur's way of saying thanks and he grinned.

The sky was now a blend of oranges and purples, and from the distance, Alfred could already see the moon rising up. He had just spent the rest of the afternoon with Arthur Kirkland; it honestly didn't even feel like an hour had passed.

He glanced at Arthur, who now had his face buried in his stuffed unicorn. In just one day, he had already seen multiple facets of Arthur: Arthur the cool and collected punk star, Arthur, the man who had to endure being pushed back down the steep steps towards his dreams but picked himself up afterwards, even eating a strawberry sundae with Alfred under the afternoon sun, and Arthur who was now holding a pink stuffed unicorn close to himself, bathed in the beautiful colors of dusk.

"Hey Arthur," Alfred murmured. Arthur glanced at him, an eyebrow raised slightly in curiosity. "Yes?"

"Can we be friends?" Alfred had never dreamt that he would be able to say these four simple words to Arthur. Even just this last Punk Thursday, Arthur had still seemed like a distant star, far beyond Alfred's reach.

"Well," Arthur replied slowly, deliberately, "you did give me a stuffed unicorn."

"So all it takes to win your heart is a pink unicorn?" Alfred teased.

Arthur hit the back of Alfred's head lightly with his pink unicorn. "Who said anything about winning anybody's heart? Be careful young man, or I'll give back your offer of friendship."

Alfred laughed. "Oh Artie, stop being so stuffy."

"Don't call me Artie!"

Alfred laughed even louder. The day had ended even better than he had expected. Loads better.

tbc

Some Notes:

Once again, thank you to everyone who read and left lovely reviews for the previous chapter! Also a huge thank you to everyone who added this story to their favorites and alerts &hearts. I really appreciate it. And to others who're just new to this fic or have never left a comment before or rather prefer lurking, don't be shy about leaving a comment! Promise, I don't bite ;3.

I'm so sorry for the delay with this chapter! A lot of things happened I guess. A mix of school (investigative research season orz), writer's block and, ehehehe, Post-Potter depression (which involved rereading the books over and over again and looking through a lot of Harry Potter tumblrs. I'M SORRY I COULDN'T HELP IT). But at least I got this done and it's 2000+ more words than the previous chapter at that /o/. Longer than any one-shot I've written (aside from my minibang fic of course) so I hope you guys enjoy it

A little background on the band name: back when I was in grade school, we had this project where we had to group ourselves and pretend that we were forming a band. My friend suggested we name ourselves The Cereal Killers because er, we like cereal? Idk idk. But I guess the name stuck with me through the years? Idk, I think it's a cool name (I hope I'm not the only one thinking this...).