Chapter 1

Arthur Kirkland grumbled to himself as he shuffled through his schoolwork diligently. Bloody idiots and their bloody inability to take care of themselves. Honestly, if the other students at his high school had half the responsibility Arthur had, his work load as Student Council President would be decreased tenfold. Instead, he was tasked with coming up with new ways to stop fools from destroying the school. A task which was far more difficult than it should have been.

Just wait until tonight, Arthur Kirkland. You've lasted the week so far. You can get through this.

That's right. If Arthur could keep pace, if he finished all his work by the time the school bell rang, then he'd be in the clear. He had lasted multiple weeks before this; multiple years, in fact, of fighting week by week to fill out as much paperwork as possible before giving himself a break he desperately needed.

Just a few more hours, and you'll be free.

…

Arthur Kirkland was the model student of his school. He took all advanced classes, got voted in as Student Council President, and never broke a single rule the school had set up. Teachers loved him for his willing obedience and tendency to make their work as easy for them as it possibly could be. There was a mutual respect between student and teacher that neither side wanted to break, and as far as Arthur could tell, there wouldn't be any need to do so. That fact reassured him, and decreased the stress he would have carried without their understanding.

Students, however, loved him not so much.

Calling him a "stuck-up know-it-all" among other various things, the rest of the student body tried as best they could to avoid Arthur like the plague. Those who didn't keep their distance often resorted to verbal abuse, but nothing they said could faze Arthur.

Instead, Arthur would take their behavior into consideration when deciding which budget cuts to make for the year. This only made his enemies angrier, but eventually, some of them got the idea and gave in. The others…Arthur still had to deal with. Oh well, he thought to himself as he scrawled rushed yet precise words out on the paper in front of him. It's simply another annoyance I have to deal with. But tonight will make everything all worth it.

Then the bell echoed loudly throughout the halls, signaling Arthur's release from this class to the next. The Briton scooped up his belongings and stuffed them into his torn rucksack, and then with his natural quick pace, he stood and strode out the classroom and into the hallway.

…

It was almost the end of the day, now. The suspense for tonight had Arthur tapping his foot impatiently as he watched the clock's second hand move slowly.

Tick

Tick

Tick

Tick

Only a few more seconds. A few more seconds, and Arthur would be free to leave this school, to go to the one place he ever considered sanctum from the outside world. A few more seconds, and any thoughts he had weighing him down would be gone, lost in the sky as if they had grown wings and flown away.

Tick

Tick

Tick

Tick

Arthur felt his muscles tense up in preparation for his escape. His foot tapped in rhythm with the soft clicks of the clock, and soon his fingers joined the chorus, drumming on the desktop evenly. If this kept up, he'd be able to run a band all by himself, he mused.

Tick

Tick

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNG!

With the arrival of the school bell, Arthur sprung from his seat and practically flew out the door, excitement pulsing in his every step. He flew down the hallway and sped towards his locker, then quickly deposited his belongings. Feeling better without the weight on his back, he shut his locker (gently, not loudly as some of the more rambunctious students were like to do) and spun around.

Only there was someone there when he did.

Arthur swore under his breath upon bumping into something firm. The Briton twitched his nose in annoyance, but looked up to see what he'd run into.

He instantly wished he hadn't.

Staring down at him was Alfred F. Jones, popular jock and notorious troublemaker. The teen's blue eyes scanned Arthur's form amusedly, and before long, a smirk stretched onto his face.

Arthur knit his eyebrows together and frowned. "What are you bloody looking at, young man?" he asked, irritation clear in his voice.

Alfred simply shrugged, the smile remaining. "Nothing much, Mister 'Student Council President'. So, is it normal for someone as well-behaved as yourself to throw yourself at dashing heroes like me?"

Arthur snorted in an indignant half-laugh. "Don't be so full of yourself, Jones. You just happened to be taking up my air, and I desired to get you out of it as soon as possible."

"Ouch. That's mean, dude." Despite his words, Alfred's grin held strong.

Someone behind him – another jock, by the look of it – piped in eagerly. "Yo, Eyebrows! Leave Al alone, would'ja? Some of us have lives, and we can't be forced into wasting them because you held up one of our best players." Then the boy clapped Alfred on the shoulder, laughing loudly. "Come on, Al, let's get going. Leave the Pres to his pathetic excuse for a life."

Alfred laughed in response and nodded. "Comin', dude. I have a good feeling about tonight's game! I'll bet if we do good, Coach'll even get us donuts on the way back!"

The other boy chuckled something in response that Arthur didn't quite catch. Just as the Briton was about to turn and head off, however, he could have sworn he saw Alfred turn and glance back at him.

Oh well.

Jones was just another annoyance he'd have to deal with later, he decided.

But for now?

The night he's waited all week for.

…

Arthur Kirkland had a secret.

He was not nearly as perfect as everyone thought he was.

Not at all.

…

Multicolored lights illuminated the sea of human bodies in the darkness. The rapid heartbeat of music thrummed and pounded in their chests, in their heads. The dance floor was stuffed to the brim – people were mushed up against one another as they attempted to flail about in moves that they referred to as 'dancing', though such an art was impossible in a place like this. Regardless, their energy coursed through the room; alcohol and music pulsed in their blood, and it all forced adrenaline into his veins, made his heart beat faster, made him feel alive.

Arthur Kirkland, the Student Council President and high-honor roll student of his high school, was currently spending time at a nightclub known as Nine Lives. He was onstage, guitar in his arms, singing words that were understood by every being here, and he felt like he was finally free. He had no worries when facing the Nine Lives crowd. There was nothing to do, no one to fear. Arthur Kirkland simply focused on the music in his hands, and in those fleeting moments on the stage, he was never happier.

And the people around him were excited, too. Arthur's presence at Nine Lives had become an almost weekly thing, and every time, the crowd would anticipate his performance with incredible vigor. Their grinning faces always encouraged Arthur to do his best, of course – but there was far more to it than that. For Arthur, these shows were a chance to escape the horrors of the real world and finally belong somewhere.

It was the best feeling in the world.

Eventually, however, the song had to come to an end. That would be the last one tonight – Carlos, the club owner and bartender, had a set limit on how much time they played for. However, in return, he allowed them to play for free – a privilege that was granted due to excessive loyalty to the club and for attracting customers with good music.

As the last note hung in the air, Arthur stood frozen in front of the crowd, panting and sweaty, but exhilarated. It was only when a firm hand clapped his back that he raised his guitar in the air and shouted, thanking the crowd for coming out to see them tonight. At the people's cheers, Arthur turned and nodded to his band, then led them backstage.

With an excited grin, Arthur turned to his bandmates. The three of them were notoriously known as the 'Bad Touch Trio'; a name which, in any other place, would have had Arthur facepalming and trying to be as far away from the area as possible. However, despite their initial clashes in which Arthur (the responsible one) had tried to reel in the Trio (the irresponsible ones) the four of them got along just fine.

"Dude, you were awesome out there tonight, Boss!" Gilbert exclaimed in that unique voice of his. Gilbert Beilschmidt was an albino man with cropped white hair and fierce red eyes. He was the drummer of the band, and he spoke with a strong German accent – however, when asked about it, he would insist that he was "an awesome Prussian", despite Arthur's insistence Prussia no longer existed. He played his part of music with so much energy, however, Arthur often wondered how the man didn't pass out from dehydration.

"Sì! That was so much fun, Arthur! You did great!" Antonio, the curly-haired Spaniard, agreed excitedly. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo was the band's electric bass; he always swore that an acoustic guitar was better, but he was amazing at playing the one he held. Antonio was a naturally cheery guy whose kind and polite demeanor often had Arthur confused as to how he ended up with a group like the Bad Touch Trio.

Someone slung an easy arm around Arthur's shoulders and laughed. "Oui, Gilbert, he did do great. Much better than when you tried to be our guitarist, for sure." Francis Bonnefoy, the band's co-guitarist, had long blonde hair and a light stubble on his chin. He was often perverted, and spoke of nothing but his wonderful l'amour, but he was a great guitarist…and best of all, he had his own place that the band would crash at for the weekend.

Gilbert shot Francis an offended look. "Excuse you, but I have an awesome voice, Francy-pants! I have no idea what you're even talking about!"

"Oh, I remember when Gilbert was our singer!" Antonio piped in, eyes bright. "The last time, before Arthur took over, Gilbert got booed off the stage and was pelted with beer mugs!"

"Hey, I'll have you know, they were cheering for me! And the beer shower was a reminder of home – they knew I'd think it was awesome!"

"Mon Dieu, Gilbert…" Francis put his fingers on his forehead and sighed. "Please tell me you haven't forgotten about the one mug that knocked you out."

Arthur snickered. He'd heard this story before.

"Oh! Yeah, one of those mugs flew and hit your head, and you were out for two whole days!" Antonio laughed mirthfully at the memory.

"But Carlos was so horrified at what you were going to do to his business, he refused to call for help," Francis added in a knowing tone.

"Okay, okay! Geez, I get it…they just couldn't handle my awesomeness." Gilbert huffed and nodded to himself, as if he'd just solved the answer to everything. "One of these days I'm gonna be famous, just you see!"

Arthur shrugged Francis off his shoulder and put his guitar back in its case carefully. The other three followed suit with their equipment.

Once everything was safely put away, Francis spoke up. "So, as congratulations on all of us for a wonderful performance tonight, what do you say to a round of drinks?"

"Kesesese! It's about time! I've been craving beer all week – nothing's gonna stop me now!"

And with that, Gilbert was off, disappearing into the crowd of fans as he fought his way to where Carlos stood patiently. Antonio smiled sheepishly and followed him, leaving Francis and Arthur alone as they did one last check over their things.

"You know," Arthur said, as he walked with Francis to follow the two who'd already left, "I think this has got to be the best idea I've heard from you all week, Francis."

Here's a new story! This is going to be my first USUK fanfiction, and the idea originally came from my sister - she has so much to write, so I simply offered to take one of her ideas off her hands ;) However, the story is going to be written solely by me, so I hope you enjoy it!

Hetalia and its characters do not belong to me.