Panic. Fear. Falling. Smashing. Pain. Noise.
Light.
It was morning.
Arthur groaned, as he slowly woke up from a dream he was quickly forgetting. His alarm clock lay on the floor. The batteries had fallen out. Arthur, of course, didn't know this. He ran a hand through his hair, noting that it was wet. He'd need a shower.
He hated his dreams. He didn't know why he got them or even what they were about, but he knew one thing. His bad days always started with a vivid, horrific and usually quickly forgotten dream. And unfortunately for him, he dreamt a lot.
He yawned and considered getting up. He knew he had to get ready for work, but his alarm clock hadn't rang yet, so he had time to relax. Besides, his bed was nice and warm.
Strange. Arthur thought, stretching a little. I always fall in dreams… Always falling… I wonder why.
"Arthur? Arthur, are you only getting up now?" someone suddenly asked. Arthur slowly sat up, opening his eyes.
"Uh… Maybe?" he asked, blinking a few times. Why did she sound so worried?
… How late was it?
"Arthur, you have to leave for work in half an hour!"
"Ah. Oh. Shoot." he muttered, throwing the duvet onto the ground. So the alarm hadn't gone off. Again. Wonderful start to a wonderful morning.
He hated those bloody dreams.
"Hey, Maria, did you make any breakfast?" he called down the hallway, hurriedly slamming his bedroom door shut to get dressed.
The woman sighed.
"Of course. But it's a little cold now-"
"That's fine! At least I'll have something to eat…" he muttered, buttoning his shirt. Oh wait. He was covered in sweat… Arthur groaned and got to his knees. He started touching the floor, searching around his room for a towel. He knew he'd dropped one on the floor last night, so…
His fingers brushed against a rough, but soft surface. He hurriedly grabbed the towel, opened the door and slid into the bathroom.
"Listen, Arthur, I need to go out now, remember to lock up this time!" Maria shouted up the stairs. "And don't do anything stupid! Just go straight to work!" she added.
"I will!" Arthur replied, hurriedly getting ready for a shower. He heard Maria shut the door. No clicking. She'd left the front door open. If she locked the door, maybe I'd stop forgetting to lock it… Arthur thought. When he left, he often forgot his keys. If the door was locked, he'd have to unlock it, meaning he'd have his keys with him…
Oh, never mind. Just need to hurry up and get to work, he thought, turning the shower on.
Once under it, he could relax a little.
He'd have a quick shower, get dressed, have breakfast, brush his teeth and then possibly comb his hair, if he had enough time. He rubbed his eyes again, blinking a few times. Oh yes. And find his glasses. He'd forgotten about those…
No. Every morning, he automatically reached out for them… Which meant he must have knocked them from their usual spot during sleep, meaning…
Oh, it was going to take forever to find them.
… Well, he was probably going to be late for work anyway. It wasn't like his day was going to get any worse.
"Who's idea was this anyway, aru?" China asked. His arms were folded and he wore a scowl that could compete with England's. It was winter, it was cold and he hated being stuck in America. Since the… Well…
China hated being out of his home. He felt happier when he stayed where he belonged. He wasn't a huge fan of leaving his country anymore.
But it seemed, the sentiment was shared with the others present. China and a few other nations were waiting an arranged meeting point. Unfortunately, the nation that had caused them all this grief was present, so they couldn't complain about it too much. America was already fidgety enough, without them telling him how they felt about this whole… idea of his.
Of course, the reason why America was fidgeting, wasn't because he was for whatever reason nervous, but because he was feeling increasingly guilty for randomly calling them up for a get-together. He had learnt to read the mood to an extent some time ago, though it was a skill he hadn't told the others about.
"… It was mine." America admitted after a moment, grinning widely, doing his best to appear happy. "My boss thinks I need to socialize more with my 'kind' and I thought it sounded like a good idea at the time, so I went with it." America left a pause, hoping someone would talk, but they remained silent. He continued grinning. "Man, it feels like it's been a century since I've last seen you all!" he added, attempting to get a conversation going. But the other nations cringed and looked away.
It had almost been a century since they'd last seen each other. But no one was in a hurry to point this out. They were all well aware of this. It took a moment for America to also realise this.
"So..." Germany started, wanting to change subject. "Where are we eating anyway?"
"Oh, it's a really cool restaurant that's opened recently!" America replied, relived that at least someone other than himself was talking. "It's completely dark inside, so you can't see a thing! Basically, it's sorta supposed to show you what it'd be like if you were a blind dude or whatever! And get this, all the waiters and waitresses are blind! It's so awe- Cool!"
America smiled, trying to hide his nervousness and regretting what he'd almost said. Germany was looking at his shoes, no longer in any sociable mood (if he ever had been). It seemed further conversation wouldn't continue. Why did I say that, America complained in his head. He, and everyone else, was aware of how sensitive Germany was about anything that even remotely reminded him of Prussia.
America berated himself in his mind, frustrated by his own stupidity (a habit he'd developed since they disappeared...)
Sure, Prussia was supposed to disappear when his country did, but apparently a nation could carry on living as their own entity... Not that anyone understood this. Then again, no one wanted to understand this.
They all just assumed that Prussia was a unique case, an abnormality. And everyone was cool with it. Until he disappeared.
It was silent and America decided he was fed up of trying to break the ice, since he had a habit of always putting repairing it. Let someone else make their waiting less awkward and more comfortable.
It didn't take long for Spain to try and break the ice.
"Do they serve anything with tomatoes?" he asked. His question successfully derailed America's train of thought, as he, after a short pause, turned his head to look at the Spaniard.
"Hm, wha-?"
"Do they serve anything with tomatoes?" Spain asked again. America smiled, once again.
"Yeah, course they do! They got the menu outside, so you don't have to see it inside, since inside it's completely dark n'all, so you can't see what you're ordering anyways and…" America rambled, quite happily and, unfortunately, loudly. With the silence probably permanently destroyed, the nations started listening to the American witter on, while waiting for the last party member to arrive.
Arthur was definitely having a good day.
By some God-blessed miracle, he had actually arrived on time for work and that without even stressing!
Also, he had somehow managed to avoid Feliciano's morning greeting (which everyone agreed, was a bit too friendly) andhad met and served plenty of pleasant, but hungry, diners. No annoying, rude or idiotic customers so far!
On top of that, he'd been allowed to cook! He had actually been allowed to cook! Not for the customers, of course, but his co-workers let him make lunch for once! (although, he was pretty sure he'd been making toast… So he wasn't entirely sure how he'd ended up with pasta…)
"... Maybe the world doesn't hate me, for a change." Arthur joked, happily to himself.
"Hm? What do you mean?" Feliciano asked. He was sitting next to him, likewise eating pasta… Which suspiciously tasted a lot like Arthur's…
"Oh, er… Did I say that out loud?" the Brit asked. He'd forgotten that Feliciano was sitting next to him. Usually the Italian was loud and notably quite present, but for whatever reason, today he was rather quiet.
"Sì," Feliciano replied.
"Oh, well, er… I just mean that today's been a very good day," Arthur explained.
"Ah! Sì! I agree with you completely! All day, all I've had to make was delicious pasta! That's never happened before! I'm so happy, I could just… ve~!" Feliciano chirped, happily.
So Arthur wasn't the only one having a good day?
… So why was Feliciano so quiet?
"Arthur-san, do you mind if you take over the reservation?" a voice suddenly spoke up. Arthur jumped and looked around, despite this action being pointless. He already knew who had spoken and it wasn't like he could actually see.
"W-when did you get here?" he joked, trying to hide his surprise. He hadn't heard Kiku enter the staffroom, neither had he heard anyone walk up to them. Sometimes he swore that Kiku was a ghost or a ninja or something. Arthur continued.
"Isn't suddenly appearing out of nowhere Mattie's job?"
No one laughed. Feliciano muttered a confused "ve~" and "who's Mattie?", while Kiku was silent, for the briefest of moments. It seemed that in that brief moment, Feliciano finally realised that Kiku was present.
"Ve~! Kiku! I haven't talked to you all day!" Feliciano said, jumping out of his seat. Kiku hesitantly took a step back.
"Er… It's nice to hear you too Feliciano, please sit down again." Kiku said, trying to hide his fear, as the Italian approached him for a hug. Arthur ate some more pasta. So that was why Feliciano had been upset. Kiku had also been avoiding surprise hugs…
Arthur, a little bit miffed, ate some more pasta. Kiku never simply called him Arthur, it was always Arthur-san. It bothered him that Kiku didn't consider Arthur close enough to drop the suffix completely, like with the Italian…
Sadly, Arthur didn't feel he could complain about something like that.
If Kiku didn't consider him a close friend, then he didn't consider him a close friend. And that was that.
Feliciano sat down, in his original spot next to Arthur.
"But I haven't seen you all day..." Feliciano whined, sounding a bit like a hurt puppy.
"You saw me this morning." Kiku corrected.
"No, I heard you. That's not the same as seeing!" Feliciano continued, sounding more and more sad.
"I'm afraid I cannot help you there," Kiku replied. So Feliciano still hadn't gotten that chance to hug Kiku. And the Japanese man was still avoiding it. That was a first. Usually he'd snap by this point and let the Italian hug him… Apparently not so today.
Feliciano poked at his pasta, pouting, not that either of his friends could see him do this.
"So, is it all right with you, Arthur-san?" Kiku asked Arthur, returning his attention to the Brit.
"Hm?" he asked in reply, as he'd been too busy sulking about the whole suffix thing.
"Do you mind if you take over the reservation? It's just that Mathew-san has suddenly gotten a cold, so we had to send him back home. And now we're more understaffed than before. I'm already covering for so many… So do you mind taking over the reservation?"
Arthur knew what Kiku meant by 'the reservation'. The first reservation ever in their restaurant, everyone simply referred to it as the reservation.
Apparently, a bunch of government officials had booked a table for lunch. Wasn't the restaurant a bit too adventurous for something that serious? It didn't matter and if they wanted to eat at their place, who was complaining? A paying customer was a paying customer after all.
"I don't mind. I mean, as you said, everyone else is already covering for at least one person, so it's only fair I cover for someone too…"
"Thank you Arthur-san." Kiku replied, sounding relieved.
"Ve~ Maybe you could suggest that the reservationists eat pasta!" Feliciano suggested. Arthur rolled his eyes (he wasn't sure why, it just felt right).
"I'll suggest it if anyone doesn't know what to order..." Arthur said, his voice flat. He turned his head to the door, when he heard someone open it.
"Guys, heads-up, we're opening soon, so finish your food and get ready for work again," their boss, Mr Connors, said.
Arthur hurriedly finished his food. Time for work, he thought.
"America, aru, you didn't say that each table was in its own, little room."
"Well, I've never eaten here before!", America quickly defended himself, as he opened a door labelled 'Ten'. The group had entered the restaurant… But then they got confused and didn't know what to do… So they walked further into the restaurant.
And now they've discovered that every table in the building had its own little room.
"Ah, sirs!" A waitress suddenly said, from behind them. They turned around.
"Ah, hola miss…" Spain greeted, smiling pleasantly. She didn't react. Possibly because she was distracted by the many plates she was balancing in her arms… And the dark glasses she had on her nose. The Spaniard's charm had no affect on her. Well, unless he talked some more.
The waitress merely frowned though.
"I'm afraid you can't go in there. That room's been reserved-" she explained.
"For one-thirty, right?" America asked.
"Um... Yes. That's right," the waitress replied.
"Don't worry, aru. He's the one who made the reservation," China said, pointing at America.
"Really?" the woman asked. Her face was slightly scrunched. She didn't believe them. "How many are here? No, a better question, why aren't you waiting in the reception area?"
The nations fell silent for a moment, before Germany nudged America to speak up (America had previously been too embarrassed to speak, seeing as he was the one who hadn't been patient enough to wait in the reception area).
"We're four people... The fifth guy that going to come cancelled... He didn't actually give a reason, he just flat out decided to-"
"Ah, the last one's busy with official business, back in his home country." Spain interrupted, smiling to the waitress (not that she could see it). The waitress didn't react for a moment. She still didn't seem to trust them. But then she sighed tiredly.
"Fine, I'll assume you are the guys who reserved that table," she said, letting her head hang a little. She then stood straight again, smiling.
"Welcome to Blind Sense. Let me just get your waiter. Enter the room, he'll be a long shortly."
"'Our waiter? Don't you dudes just serve us-"
"We have a system sir. Please, just wait for your waiter at your table. These plates are getting heavy and I'm sure my guests are hungry," the girl snapped impatiently, as she slid past them and entered room 15.
"Huh. Rude much? Good thing we don't have her as our waitress, right?" America asked.
The other nations ignored him and entered the room, America hurriedly following after them. To their surprise, there was a small room before the actual dining room.
"This is probably to stop light from entering it, aru." China explained, noticing the confusion on America's face.
"I knew that!" he snapped. "Let's just get to our table."
They entered the actual dining room and closed the door behind themselves. They stumbled into the next room, eventually finding chairs after bumping into each other and a table.
"Well, that has got to be the strangest thing that's happened to me in a century..." Germany commented.
"It could have been worse. France could have been here..." Spain said jokingly, a sad smile crossing his face briefly, not that the other three countries could see it now.
The nations present muttered something in agreement, but Spain's offhand comment had made the atmosphere depressing and sad. It wasn't much better than the situation being awkward and uncomfortable.
"We should really leave the past in the past, aru..." China finally said, bringing the other countries out of their thoughts. They weren't sure what to say to that, so they let an uncomfortable silence settle, as they quietly let China's comment stir several unwanted thoughts in their heads.
At least they weren't sad anymore.
America rested his head in his hands. Too bad he only now remembered why he'd been avoiding the other nations in the first place. They just couldn't get rid of that nasty habit of talking about the others.
"There's a cold going around in Canada." America suddenly said.
"Where?" the others asked, simultaneously. They then shuddered. No one liked hearing multiple voices saying the exact same thing at the exact same time.
"Canada...? You know, the country just a couple miles north of here? Land of Maple Syrup?"
"Oh." Spain said.
"Ah yes, Canada, I remember now, aru."
"Yeah... Well, pretty much all the country's contaminated… It's spread a little bit into the US, but not enough for me to fall ill... I think this town has been hit by it though," America continued.
"At least it's nothing too serious," Spain commented, thinking Malaria outbreaks during the mid fifties of the twenty-first century.
"Yeah, I guess-" They silenced when they heard a door open and close. Then another.
"Sorry for keeping you waiting sirs! I was a little busy… so..." an apologetic English accent echoed in the room... No one had expected that. Man, that voice sounded familiar.
"Can I take your orders?" the man asked.
"I would like the the chinese beef noodle soup, aru!"
"I'd like Bratwurst with a side order of fries. Danke."
"I'd like Roasted Tomato Spanish Rice."
"OK, I'm missing two people now..." the man muttered to himself.
"Nah, just one! Roman-"
"Lovino."
"Right, right. Lovino couldn't come." The waiter didn't say anything for a second. The pause was short enough for no one to notice it.
"So what would your order be?"
"A burger!"
There was a long pause, before the waiter found his voice again.
"Didn't you look at the menu before entering?" he asked, sounding a little annoyed.
"Of course I didn't! I mean, you sell Spanish Rice, Chinese Noddles and Bratwurst! You have got to be selling burgers!"
There was another pause, before the waiter replied irritated "We do not sell burgers here sir."
"What? What kinda restaurant is this!"
"One that has taste."
"Hey! How dare you insult the bur-"
"Ahem! What would you suggest sir?" Germany quickly interrupted, not wanting to be kicked out of a restaurant. Especially not one in America that offered bratwursts. The waiter was silent for a moment, seemingly composing himself.
"Well..." the waiter said, "... The cook suggested pasta. Not any particular one."
"... I'll take that." America grumbled.
"And what would you like to drink?"
"I'd like a glass of cola. Or is that too cheap for you?" America sneered. The waiter, if he'd ever had composure, lost it.
"I didn't ask you yank."
"Don't you dare call me that!" America snapped back, slamming a hand on the table. Spain quickly interrupted "We'd all like Cola please!"
Again, silence settled in the room.
The waiter eventually opened the doors, slamming the last one shut. After another awkward silence, the three nations heard America mumbling to himself "No way am I leaving that guy a tip."
"I knew my day was going to be bad! From the very beginning, I knew it! That damn American, he's so obnoxious and stupid and..." a frustrated Brit spat out, turning a bright red colour, as he removed several glasses from his serving tray. Feliciano, who had just finished an order, turned to look at Arthur.
"Ve~ It's not that bad Arthur! You've had rude customers before! And aren't we all Americans here?" Arthur silenced, rubbing his temples. Feliciano had a point. Even if he did have an English accent, he had been living in America since he could remember.
Sighing, the man nodded.
"Ve~ See! It's all better now, isn't it?" the Italian asked, smiling. Arthur gave him a faint smile, having guessed from the Italian's disposition that he was probably smiling at him.
"Now, what did they order?" Feliciano asked, taking out a notepad and pen to scribble it down.
Arthur bit his tongue to stop himself starting another rant. Somewhat tiredly, the man began to list their order.
"Bratwurst with a side order of chips- er… I mean fries-"
"Ah! Not that tasteless sausage again!" Feliciano moaned. Seriously, did this guy only like Italian food? Specifically Pasta?
"- Chinese beef noodle soup, Roasted Tomato Spanish rice..." Arthur suddenly silenced, which was odd, since the Brit had never failed to remember an order before.
"Your missing two orders Arthur." Feliciano said, after waiting for a moment.
"No, I'm not... One of them cancelled."
"OK, so what did the last guy order?" Feliciano asked, patiently.
"... Pasta."
"What kind?"
"He didn't give one. He sort of asked what he should order... You told me earlier to tell them to order pasta, so..."
"VE~ You're the greatest Arthur!" Feliciano beamed happily. Smiling shyly, Arthur modestly brushed off the compliment.
"I'm going to get their colas..." Arthur announced, as the Italian happily started making the food, while singing something about pasta in Italian.
"Well, I think that meal went well..." China said, placing his knife and fork on his plate. America muttered something about bad service, but otherwise agreed.
They had all eaten their meals and finished their colas, which Spain had hurriedly ordered for all of them without asking. No one minded, since if any of them didn't like cola, their food made up for it.
They heard the doors open again and close.
"Have the gents finished?"
"Ja. It was a very good meal. The pasta was extraordinary." Germany said, sounding ever so slightly sad. The pasta had tasted exactly the same as Italy's.
"I thought you had Bratwurst?" the waiter asked, surprised.
"Ja, I did, but... " Germany paused, wondering briefly if he should address America as Alfred or Mr. Jones. "... Alfred wanted to share his meal."
The waiter didn't say anything.
"Seriously, that cook's food was amazing!" Spain said, smiling happily, but like Germany, having a very slight sadness in his voice. Again there was a pause.
The waiter finally said "I'll tell the chef that you enjoyed your meal. Especially the pasta. He'll be very happy knowing that. If you'd like to pay, just go to the reception... Oh, and try to wait for the receptionist this time?"
"How did you even know about that?" America asked surprised.
The waiter didn't reply, having chosen to ignore the American at an earlier point during the meal.
"...Anyway, danke for your services Mr...?" Germany started, realising he didn't actually know their waiter's name.
Acknowledging the fact that they wanted to know his name, the Englishman replied softly "Oh, it's Kirkland sir. Arthur Kirkland."
I've edited the first chapter. Gimme a chance to edit the rest.