In Want of a Wife

The title comes from Jane Austen's quote below and I don't own it or Hetalia.

Chapter One: "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife." Jane Austen

Berwald Oxenstierna was quiet.

It wasn't because he was shy. It wasn't because he was stupid. It wasn't even because he deemed himself better than talking to simpletons. It just was.

His acceptance into Hetalia International surprised him greatly, so much so that he actually uttered the word "wow." His mother was beyond thrilled and his father had grunted in approval.

Maybe the quietness was genetic?

He'd packed up his worldly possessions and bid farewell to his parents. His mother sobbed and his father nodded when he sent them a short wave from beyond the airport's gate.

Hetalia International was located in Italy. Berwald had been to Italy before when he had been a child. His mother would most likely object, claiming that at eighteen he still was "her precious baby," but Berwald had considered himself an adult since he turned thirteen. He was more mature and made better decisions then people twice his age.

Berwald's woodworking abilities had made him quite financially successful for his young age, and his father's advice on investing had easily increased his profits threefold. His acceptance into Hetalia, which gave free admission and room and board to those accepted, didn't hurt either. Berwald was very pleased with his fiscal responsibility. With no debt upon graduation, continuing sales from his woodworking, and interest from his stocks, he'd easily start with a cool 1.5 million Krona.

Upon arriving in Italy, glorious Hetalia fanfare made him internally cringe. It was so loud. He was curious as to how many students were in his class. The Hetalia International brochure sent with his acceptance letter proudly claimed that only one student was selected from each country. Once that student graduated, a new student was selected to represent that nation.

Sweden's student was graduating, and Berwald's secondary school advisor had suggested he apply to Hetalia. Berwald had followed his advice, but hadn't expected anything to come from his endeavor. He was pleased with the outcome. Hetalia was prestigious, and they had an excellent design school. As an aspiring architect, Berwald would not have considered attending a university without a successful design program.

He approached the person hold a sign with his name with two large, navy suitcases and his laptop bag slung over his shoulder. One suitcase was full of clothes (most of which, he realized, would be utterly useless in Italy because of the difference in temperature) and the other full of linens and pillows and such that his mother had purchased for him.

"Hello!" The greeter said cheerfully. "Are you Berwald Oxenstierna?"

"Yes." He said.

"Great! I'm so happy you made it safely. Please follow me." The person—Berwald couldn't determine her (his?) gender—led Berwald outside to a limousine. Berwald's eyebrows lifted; he hadn't expected a limousine.

The person climbed into the backseat. The chauffer—this time obviously male—hoisted Berwald's bags into the trunk. Berwald didn't enter the car until the trunk closed.

"Welcome to Hetalia International University!" The person—Berwald decided to name him Greeter—chirped. "On behalf of the faculty and staff, we're very pleased to have you!" Greeter paused, obviously waiting for a response.

"Thanks." Berwald said.

"Upon arriving at Hetalia, you will check in at your dorm! Because you're from Sweden, you're going to live in Europe!" Greeter paused again, waiting for Berwald's amusement.

Obviously Greeter was disappointed.

"Classes don't start until next Wednesday." Greeter continued, not letting Berwald daunt his (her?) enthusiasm, "all the classes will be taught in English with the exception of foreign language classes. They'll be taught in the language you're learning, of course! Like, Chinese is taught in Chinese!"

"Mm."

"Now, I'm not sure who you're going to be roomed with, but don't worry about it. Most people are super friendly! Just go with the flow! Talk to your RA if you need too! I think your RA this year is a Mr. Francis Bonnefoy? I'm sure he'll be very helpful! Just ask him if you need any help or anything."

Berwald wished Greeter would stop talking. Upon his acceptance to Hetalia, he'd thoroughly researched the school. Of course he was staying in Europe—all the European countries lived in the Europe dorm. It was a way to ward off homesickness—by living with people from countries and cultures similar to your own, immediate common ground was found. Berwald had been continuously email corresponding with the just-graduated Sweden representative, who was very generous with information about classes and clubs and just general advice.

Because Berwald was a gentleman, and Greeter was obviously very animated about promoting Hetalia, Berwald listened to the rest of Greeter's spiel without a single complaint. Or word.

They arrived at the university about forty minutes after leaving the airport. Greeter showed him the way to Europe (something Berwald was grateful for because he actually didn't know) and Berwald nodded a polite farewell.

He rolled his suitcases into the lobby of the large building. It was in much better shape than he anticipated; the floor was marble, except for the seating area in the middle of the room that had carpeted floors, a TV, a pool table, and a large assortment of comfortable-looking seats. Berwald stopped his assessment of the facility when his eyes landed on a "Welcome to Europe" booth at the far end of the lobby. He rolled his shoulders back to ease what he would admit to be nervous tension and strode confidently over to the booth.

"Ah, bonjour! Comment vous appellez-vous?" A rather effeminate man greeted Berwald.

"Oxenstierna, Berwald."

"Enchanté, Sweden. You're with Lithuania in room 303."

"Merci." Berwald replied, causing a small chuckle from the French RA.

"Var så god, monsieur."

Berwald left the booth with his room key tucked safely in his trouser pocket. Even though there was an elevator, he decided to take the stairs. Europe only had three floors, and his suitcases were not that heavy. Why hold up the elevator?

He easily maneuvered his possessions up the stairwell. 303 was not hard to find, as it was simply the third door down the long hallway.

He pressed his key into the door, but was surprised when it opened before he could turn it.

Berwald's eyes met with a man even more effeminate than Francis.

"Liet! I found your roomie. He's like, hot."

Berwald blinked. "What?"

"Oooh, a sexy deep voice, too! Is that an accent I hear?"

"Shut up, Feliks. Everyone has an accent. Don't you have your own roommate to bother?" Berwald was relieved to see an entirely different man—one that looked much calmer—when Feliks opened the door all the way.

"C'mon, Toris. You know that my roommate's totally not here yet. I don't want to be like some weird loner freak."

Toris rolled his eyes. "Sorry about him. My name is Toris, and I'm glad I'm rooming with you and not somebody else—"

"Hey!"

"Please come in."

Berwald entered the room and was immediately pleased. Even though he had to shared space with another person, the room was easily twice as large as his bedroom at home.

"It's big. That's good." He said, eyeing the large window appreciatively.

"I'm sorry, what?" Toris said.

Berwald shrugged. "I'm Berwald. From Sweden. Nice to meet you." He held out his hand.

"Toris. Nice to meet you, Berwald." The brunette replied. Feliks grabbed their clasped hands and shook them violently.

"I'm Feliks. You might as well get used to me in case my roommate is totally lame."

"Feliks…" Toris said.

"What? You think I'm scaring him? Him?" Feliks stepped back and made a grand display of presenting Berwald to Toris. "Get a life, Toris. Look at this hunk. It's going to take more than me to scare this guy!"

Berwald wasn't so sure.

Feliks eventually settled down on the couch under Toris' lofted bed. Berwald didn't want to loft his own—he'd sit up and smack his head on the ceiling. Not his idea of a good time. He immediately set about systematically unpacking the second suitcase—the one with bed linens and his warm comforter. He had his bed made in minutes.

"Are you going to loft your bed?" Toris asked.

"No. Too tall." Berwald explained.

Toris smiled. "I can see where that might be a problem."

Berwald then took out all his clothing and made good use of his dresser and chest of drawers.

Feliks watched with casual interest. "You don't have a lot of color."

Berwald shrugged.

"Or a lot of shorts. Where are you from, again?"

"Sweden."

Feliks nodded. "That's the only way to explain long underwear. Need some Calvin Klein, much?"

"Feliks, " Toris hissed, "stop harassing my roommate about his underwear!"

"Liet, please. If he wants to pick up any boys, he's going to need sexier underwear."

Berwald raised a brow. Toris immediately smacked Feliks on the head. "Why do you immediately assume everyone is gay? Maybe he's straight! Maybe Berwald likes his long underwear!"

"Of course he's gay! Look at him!" Feliks gesticulated.

Toris looked at Berwald. "I don't know, I can't tell."

"That's because your gaydar is pathetic, love. If Berwald isn't gay I'll eat my socks."

Berwald was very tempted to lie just to make Feliks eat socks. Feliks picked up on his expression. "You can't lie! I know I'm right!"

"You're right." Berwald conceded.

"Hah! My gaydar is totally unbeatable!" Feliks proudly exclaimed.

Toris sighed.

"Is that gonna be a problem?" Berwald asked Toris.

Toris shook his head. "My best friend is that guy," he said, gesturing towards a decked-out-in-pink Feliks. "I'm okay with it."

"Good." Berwald nodded. He placed his laptop bag on his desk and unpacked it, as well as his favorite woodworking kit. He placed his tools under his bed, on top of his suitcases and out of harm's way. He figured the craft center the previous Sweden told him about would have most of the bigger tools, but he loved his personal kit too much to leave it at home. It had been a gift from his grandfather.

Berwald began to shelf the books he'd brought, and Toris struck up a conversation about Jane Austen. Feliks declared himself instantly bored and left to wander the halls for new victims.

Berwald was very grateful that Toris was his roommate. Toris was talkative, but didn't mind Berwald's quiet demeanor. He didn't know if he could handle Feliks as a roommate.

The two talked—well, mostly Toris talked and Berwald contributed a few sentences here and there—until it was about time for dinner. Toris and Berwald decided to go together, and Berwald agreed with Toris' suggestion to ask Feliks along.

Berwald followed Toris down the third floor hallway to room 311. Toris rapped a playful pattern on the door, and Feliks opened the door with a grin.

"Toris! Berwald! My roommate isn't a lamer after all!" He flung open the door and Berwald felt his jaw drop open.

There stood the most beautiful living creature he'd ever seen in his entire life. Berwald could scarcely believe his eyes. He'd always thought that love at first sight was pure nonsense, but he realized he might be a changed man.

"This is Tino. He's from Finland!"

Tino smiled at Toris, and then turned his gaze to a gaping Berwald. Berwald wanted to snap his mouth shut and simply nod at Tino to prevent his complete and utter humiliation. Instead, he found his lips moving without his brain censoring his words.

"Marry me."

Toris turned to Berwald, surprised. Feliks covered his mouth with his hand to hide his grin. Tino looked dumbfounded.

"W-what?"

"Be my wife."

"What?"

And that's where our story begins.

A/N: Gigglesnort, I know I have other things to be doing but this popped into my head and I couldn't let it go. I don't know how long it will be, but I'm expecting it to be funny.

Please review if you liked it! I like encouragement to keep me going! (PS if my French and/or Swedish is wrong please correct me. Google is only so helpful.)