The Hetalia tag on Tumblr stole my life for a good two hours today. Seriously, I need to find a way to keep myself away from that if I want to be even slightly productive... haha

Alfred focused on his opponent. Now was the best time to work on his serve and aim. No matter where he ended up sending the ball, his opponent always returned it. This was a benefit of playing a wall.

Toss the ball, focus, swing. He swore he was making the same movement every time... So why was the ball going all over the place? This should totally be a simple game of hit the ball, wall returns the ball, and repeat. Not hit the ball, wall sends the ball flying in a random direction, and Alfred chases after the ball. It just was not supposed to work this way. He fought his way into Wimbledon! He was competing in the worlds most prestigious tennis tournament, and a wall was handing his own ass back to him.

If that wasn't a wake up call, he didn't know what was.

He had already been at it for two hours. If anything, the wall was one of the few practice partners that didn't get sick of his seemingly endless amounts of energy. Scowling as the ball sailed in a completely different direction than what he had intended it to, Alfred turned to jog after it. When he had first shown up at the courts earlier in the day there had been quite a bit of people around. But now, as it was nearing dinner time, it was starting to clear out. Lucky for Alfred, this made chasing balls much easier.

His coach was on his way over, having originally refused to come with him to England. Alfred couldn't wait to meet him at the airport and rub it in his face that he had done exactly what the older man had told him he wouldn't be able to do.

"Crap!" He cried out, coming to a stop when his ball rolled onto the only court being used at the moment. "Figures. Sorry!" He called, throwing his hand over his eyes to shield the evening sun.

"It is not a problem," came a reply in a thick french accent. "You do not have very good ball control, do you, monsieur qualifier."

Alfred squinted. Seriously, did he have to lose his ball in the direction of the sunset? "...Francis?"

"But of course." Francis replied, approaching Alfred with his run away ball.

"Thanks." Alfred replied, taking the old dirty ball into his hands.

"That is quite the beat up ball." Francis spoke, eying the ball in Alfred's hand. "Why do you chase it?"

Alfred flushed slightly. This was the ball he had won his first tournament with. It had become more or less of a good luck charm. Not that he was about to tell Francis Bonnefoy something as cheesy as that. He opened his mouth a little, hoping he would lead the other man into thinking he was about to respond while he quickly tried to come up with something to tell him. ...But then, what seemed like out of no where, another tennis ball came crashing into the back of Francis' head.

Alfred's eyes grew wide as Francis bent down to pick up the offending tennis ball.

"I was rather under the assumption we were having a practice game, Frog."

Francis turned to glare at the new comer, and apparently the person who had hit the ball. "Why did you do that? What if I have a bruise on my head? I swear, if it hurts to do my hair for the party then I..."

Alfred stood there in shock, watching as the worlds biggest tennis rivalry gave him his own private show. Part of him was a little amused, wondering how many times he was going to run into the pair. The other part of him was a little desperate to get away. He had seen on television and read articles about this pair and their arguments.

Gripping the old tennis ball tighter in his hand, Alfred decided now was a better time than ever to excuse himself from the pair. He muttered a quick farewell and ran over to his equipment bag. Throwing everything inside of it, he slung the bag over his shoulder and made his way towards the court gates. He had had enough practice for the day.

USUKUSUK

He wasn't sure what kind of trouble he could get himself into, if any at all, but since his coach would be arriving the next night he wanted to find out now. Once his coach was there, there would be no random night adventures. His parents would make sure of that. Damn having your fathers best friend as a tennis coach. But for right now, he was nineteen years old, in London, and about to take part in his first Grand Slam tennis event. When he lost, which he knew he would, he would have to fly home immediately.

So he traded the tennis clothing for jeans and a t-shirt, made sure his phone, wallet, and hotel room key were in his pocket and made his way to the elevators.

Pressing the button to go down, he shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his feet. He didn't have the slightest idea where he was going to go. It wasn't late, but it certainly wasn't early either. At the most he would probably end up just talking a walk or something. The elevator doors opened and he stepped inside quickly realizing he wasn't alone. Arthur Kirkland was standing beside the button panel.

Alfred cast a look at the panel, a little pleased that the button for the lobby was already lit up. Now all he had to do was not make a fool of himself.

Unfortunately, he was too good at making himself out to be the fool.

"..Dude, you're totally Arthur Kirkland! That is so cool!"

Arthur looked a little surprised, which amused Alfred.

"And you're the guy that the Frog was talking to last night and earlier on the courts."

Alfred nodded. "Alfred Jones." he said, sticking his hand out.

"Pleasure." Arthur replied, taking Alfred's hand. "Off to the bars?"

Alfred laughed. "Not old enough."

Arthur looked him over for a moment. "You're in the United Kingdom, not America. How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

Arthur smirked. "See, you are old enough. Our drinking age is eighteen here."

Alfred didn't know what to say. He didn't even realize there might have been a different age requirement. "Oh. Awesome!"

The elevator doors opened with a ding and they stepped out. Alfred wasn't sure if he should say something, or just go about his own way. He was about to tell Arthur good night when the shorter man spoke up again.

"So, would you like to come with me?"