A/N

So I have another story despite not finishing my other two. Can't wait to see how that will work out haha but I recently discovered hetalia here in Japan and had to write about my favorite couple.

This story is based on the movie "Just Like Heaven" with Reece Witherspoon. I remembered it and thought I could use the plot to my advantage muahahaha but of course, it's not exactly the same. That'd be pretty boring, right? So I hope you like it!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Warnings: Shounen ai, character death, ghosts, language, France, slight angst, violence, slightly smarter Alfred w/musical talent.

Pairing: AlfredXArthur along with a few side pairings.

Also, the song Alfred sings a lot is "Just like Heaven" by The Cure. Very cute, go listen to it!

You

Soft and Only

You

Lost and Lonely

You

Just Like Heaven

The song played absent mindedly in his head and his eyes fluttered shut, picturing himself sitting before his black, solid oak Chickering Concert grand piano, his long slender fingers gliding over the ivory keys as the song continued to play in his head, starting over and over like a track on repeat. Unconsciously, his fingers began drumming on his leg, emitting a soft patting sound due to his black slacks.

Music was Alfred's life, something he liked to express through the variety of instruments he taught himself to play and the way he would use his voice when he thought nobody was listening.

He was a happy-go-lucky person, cheerful and optimistic if not somewhat boisterous, and no one would have guessed that inside he lived, breathed, and sweat music. The finger drumming on his desk during school hours, the whistling a song that was stuck in his head just to annoy the teachers, even his obnoxious singing with his friends to a random track on his iPod during lunch made anyone believe that the blond haired, blue eyed male possessed little to no musical talent. Alfred was fine with that, he wanted to see the looks on their faces as they saw the slightly clumsy, tall, yet extremely handsome (if he did say so himself) man—not the boy who fell down the steps of the stage after getting his diploma—appear on the cover of a magazine or on T.V., playing or singing the music he loved.

He was nineteen years old, fresh out of high school, and determined to make a name for himself.

"Alfred Jones? Francis Bonnefoy will see you now," the receptionist, a woman with long, ash blond hair pulled over and braided down over one shoulder, glasses resting neatly on her nose, said, stepping out of the back room and facing him. "Please follow me."

This brought Alfred to his current position, dressed to kill in his black slacks, light blue button up shirt and matching black and blue striped tie. He was at a popular, well known recording studio about to show off his recent creations to the head of this building, the record producer Francis Bonnefoy, who, according to Alfred's brother, is looking for the next big thing for the recording company Pulsation.

Taking one last long, deep breath, Alfred grinned and stood up from his leather seat in the crowded waiting room, a determined glint in his sky blue eyes. He was going to be the next big thing. Whether Francis Bonnefoy, who was famous for finding talented amateurs and making them known, would agree to that or not was an entirely different matter.

The hallway was unbearably long, the walls blindingly white and the floor a dull grey. Alfred used this time to run through his head exactly what he was going to say and how he was going to say it. Saying the wrong things in the wrong ways was a fault Alfred had, not to mention his vocabulary consisted of mostly slang to the point his parents couldn't even understand what he had said half the time. Not that it mattered anymore, they were dead.

Smoothing down his cowlick for the tenth time, Alfred let out a sigh of frustration when it bobbed back up. He gave up; his appearance was as impeccable as it was ever going to be.

Following the receptionist as she turned a corner, Alfred eyed the large records and pictures of famous celebrities that lined the walls, some of them he knew, some he had never heard of before but still fascinated him.

"Dude, this is sweet!" Alfred failed to suppress his excitement at seeing a rather large picture of who he assumed to be Francis with Mathias Køhler, the lead singer in Alfred's favorite band Nordic. "I didn't know he recorded here too! Awesome!"

The receptionist stopped and looked back at the teen, her face lacking any trace of emotion. "Mathias Køhler? Ah, yes, he comes in here from time to time to visit. If you get hired, chances are you will meet him eventually." She turned back around and continued walking. "However, that will never happen if you do not hurry up and make it to your appointment. Mr. Bonnefoy's time is too valuable to waste with tardiness."

Alfred sweat dropped and striped his eyes away from the photograph, quickly chasing after the woman. "Um, yes, of course," he replied, trying to mimic her manner of speech, which reminded him vaguely of an old man. He decided to keep his mouth shut.

After another minute of walking, the receptionist, who Alfred finally remembered was named Madeline, stopped in front of a black door with a gold name plate on it reading 'BONNEFOY'. "Please step inside," Madeline said, gesturing towards the door. Before Alfred gripped the golden knob, a small hand gently gripped his shoulder, and he looked up to see the receptionist looking at him, a faint smile on her lips. "Good luck, I hope you make it. You are cute, and I would love to see more of you around," she said, releasing him and abruptly turning and walking away. Alfred couldn't fight down the blush that was already forming on his face.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts and taking one last deep breath, ignoring the pounding of his heart in his ears, the blond American twisted the knob and stepped inside, the cool air of the air conditioner and a faint smell of roses greeting him as he did so.

The room was purple and the floor was white, extravagant paintings and furniture filled the room, red curtains were draped over the large windows, and, in the very back of the room, a black desk with a large red velvet chair sat, a blond man behind it with a black laptop in front of him and his fingers expertly running over the keyboard. At the sound of the door clicking shut, he lifted his head up and stared intently at the male who just walked in.

Alfred felt a little awkward under that gaze, so he stepped in a little further and nervously fingered the inside of his shirt. "I, um… I'm Alfred Jones, we uh… had an appointment," he said, finishing his broken up and mangled first sentence with a smile in an attempt to make up the horrible introduction.

Instead of being annoyed, Francis smiled brightly and stood up, stepping out from behind the desk and walking quickly up to the teen. "Ah, oui! I've been expecting you, mon ami!" he said, reaching his hand out eagerly for a handshake. "I must say, I did not expect you to be so young and attractive," he said, his voice going slightly more seductive, something Alfred failed to notice. He just mentally breathed a sigh of relief and grabbed the obvious French man's hand and shook in firmly, smiling his famous, 100 mega watt smile.

"Sorry if I'm late du—sir," he corrected before was noticed, "I was digg—admiring your picture with Mathias Køhler. He's my hero," he said, almost a little giddy.

Francis chuckled, something that sounded entirely French. "Ahonhon, if this goes well, mon ami, you'll have the chance to meet him and many more of my acquaintances."

"Really?" Alfred asked, eyes shining. Francis chuckled some more.

"Tu et très mignon, mon ami," he smiled, showing pearly white teeth. "All in due time," he finished, and Alfred realized his hand was still being held. Blushing, he pulled back and laughed nervously.

"…Right," he said, finally starting to read the atmosphere, and it was a little unnerving. Maybe it was just him, and maybe because the guy was French, but he couldn't help but feel like he was being hit on. "So do you wanna hear my stuff?" he asked, his mood shifting slightly nervous to apprehensive. He wanted to finish this meeting as soon as possible, this dude was kind of creeping him out.

"Ah, yes, but of course!" Francis said, turning around and walking gracefully to his desk. "You have to be more than a pretty face, mon ami, to work here. You have to have talent as well. Now, assez-vous, s'il vous plait," he said, gesturing towards the chair in front of his desk. Alfred could only guess that it meant 'sit down' so he did so. Francis smiled, resting his chin on his hands and looking very interested. "Now, let's see what you have, shall we?" he asked, and the teen nodded, pulling out a small disk drive from his pocket.

"I like to play instruments, so I, uh, recorded myself playing various ones." He handed the French man the disk drive and it was plugged in to the very expensive looking laptop. After a few clicks the first song was playing, a short, five minute piano medley of a few songs that Alfred wrote and then proceeded to mesh them together. The dark blond teen was proud of it and thought it sounded very professional, however, when he looked over at the light haired French man, his facial expression was neutral, neither impressed nor displeased.

Next, Alfred was playing the saxophone to one of the songs the Nordics played, 'Cherish Me', his favorite song on their recent CD. He spent a week learning how to play it. He looked back over at Francis to show his expression hasn't changed yet. It discouraged Alfred a bit. He half expected the blue eyed producer to be smiling, nodding his head up and down with the beat, but he did nothing but stare at the screen of the laptop.

The last song was a three minute acoustic guitar solo, an extended edition of one of the piano medleys he wrote. Francis said nothing, and when the song ended the room remained silent. Instantly, Alfred was nervous again.

"Let me ask you a few questions," Francis started after a minute or so. The teen stiffened, but nodded anyways. Francis looked dead serious, his gaze locking onto Alfred's with unwavering fierceness. "Were you planning on going solo, or playing with a group?"

Alfred stopped fidgeting in his seat and thought for a second. "Well, the whole idea was me being solo…" he said, and Francis nodded.

"I see. Unfortunately, mon ami, with what you have showed me, it would be nearly impossible to go solo as an amateur with something like this. Les gens won't listen, they'll merely see an unfamiliar face and not bother with you. They want variety. If they saw more than one unfamiliar face, it might make them a bit curious, oui?" he asked, and Alfred felt the beginning of a headache with the constant French usage that he didn't understand, and then hearing that people wouldn't bother with him. It hurt and he was confused, but the last part of what the man said caught his attention.

"You want…me to pair up with someone?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Francis winked and smiled.

"Oui! Amérique, tu est très intelligent!" he said with a chuckle. However, it was soon followed by a frown. "We do have someone who contacted us a few days ago who played music similar to yours. And because of that, we can't use you or your instruments, so unless you can contribute something else, we have no more to discuss." Alfred felt like his heart stopped beating. "I do believe, mon ami, that you do possess great talent, but what you showed me isn't what we need right now."

How did things turn out like this? How did a meeting that seemed to be going (awkwardly) great turn out so bad? Alfred wanted to burst into tears, his dream of being a famous musician crushed before his eyes. He played his best instruments, his best songs, he didn't have anything else to contribute.

Well, there was one more thing.

"Wait!" Alfred shouted, startling the French man who was in the process of handing his disk drive back to him.

"Oui?" Francis asked, genuinely confused. Alfred grinned.

"I can sing," he replied, pulling out his iPod, despite how inappropriate he knew it was at a business meeting. Francis didn't seem to mind, as he was seemingly interested in what the young man was doing.

"Sing?" asked, and Alfred nodded.

"I have a karaoke version of my favorite song, 'Just Like Heaven' on here. I'll sing it for you."

He hit play and the song started. Alfred wasn't as confident singing in front of others as he was with playing the instruments, but he told himself he would become well known somehow, and if this was the only way he'd deal with it.

"Show me, show me, show me how you do that trick

The one that makes me scream" she said

"The one that makes me laugh" she said

And threw her arms around my neck

"Show me how you do it

And I promise you I promise that

I'll run away with you

I'll run away with you"

He stopped at the first verse, opening his blue eyes that he didn't realize were closed. He looked slowly over to Francis, who he half expected to be frowning or have his face completely blank. However, he felt his heart thump in his chest to see the man was actually smiling. He liked it? "Um, what did you think?" he asked nervously, not sure if he wanted an answer or not. The last response the producer gave nearly tore his heart out, and if his voice didn't save him then his dream was done for. He stopped the song on his iPod and put the device away as Francis chuckled lightly.

"I was quite disappointed when you stopped, mon ami," he said. At first, Alfred felt the tears well up in his eyes, until his brain processed the rest of the sentence. He liked it! He really liked it!

"T-Thank you…" Alfred stuttered out, blushing slightly. "So does this mean t-that I'm useful enough to work with that guy you mentioned?"

Francis brought his hand up to his chin in thought. "I think with his and your skills combined, you would be très magnifique!" he smiled. "Just a few more people to play some more instruments and we can really begin."

Alfred paused. "Why couldn't I play any of my instruments?" he asked, earning another wink from Francis.

"I know a voice talent when I see one, Amérique, and I felt you would be better showing that talent."

Alfred smiled, though he felt it wasn't completely true, but it didn't matter. Francis continued. "Now, I shall have the person I talked about earlier step in tomorrow and talk about this together, so please come back at 8 a.m. sharp, okay?" he asked with a grin, and Alfred felt something bubble up in his stomach. Happiness? Yes. Excitement? Yes. Nervousness? Hell yes.

"Got it, 8 a.m. sharp. Thank you so much, sir!" he beamed, standing up from his seat. Francis nodded and smiled.

"Call me Francis, Alfred," he said. "Je suis très excité to work with you," he said, and the two shook hands and bid farewell, and, ignoring the seductive wink the man gave him, stiffly walked out of the office, trying to withhold the skipping motion he was bound to do once he got outside.

Alfred had a smile on his face the whole way to his apartment that he received after his parents' death last year. They were wealthy and Alfred had received their entire life savings and their life insurance money, so he was definitely able to survive on his own despite how pointless it felt sometimes when he was in a sad or lonely mood, but he didn't want to rely on his parents when they weren't even around anymore, he wanted to make his own name for himself.

It was dark, the street lights being the only things to light his way. He stepped in the front building of the large apartment complex and up to the top floor where he had a large apartment, two rooms, two baths, a large kitchen and den, and private access to the roof. In New York City, an apartment as perfect as his was hard to come by, but his parents managed and now it was his. His half brother continued to live with his mom in an apartment down the street and denied any of the inheritance despite his father was dead as well. He said Alfred would need it more if he was living by himself.

Alfred walked up to his door, raising an eyebrow as he noticed it was open partly. Was it Matthew? If it was, why were all the lights off? Cautiously, he opened it up all the way and stepped inside, greeted by the darkness. However, when he reached for a light switch, he quickly realized that he wasn't alone. Shuffling around could be heard in the eerie building, but Alfred, even with his glasses perched on his nose, couldn't make out any details due to not having adjusted to the darkness yet. However, he didn't need his eyes to see that he was being robbed.

Panic struck the teen and he instantly flipped on the switch. If he left then the guy could escape with his stuff, but if he turned on the light then he might scare the guy away.

When the light turned on, Alfred quickly scanned the den. Everything seemed normal, save for a few expensive knick knacks his parents used to decorate. The furniture wasn't torn up, the place wasn't in shambles, nothing. But that didn't go for the rest of the house. Grabbing the coat rack, Alfred ran through the hall and looked in various rooms, noticing things here and there that were gone. He stopped at his bedroom where the door was wide open and peeked inside slowly, hands trembling.

There was no one.

He needed to call the police. Shakily reaching into his back pocket, he grabbed the device and punched in the numbers. Before he hit call, however, he heard a clicking sound from behind him and froze.

"Put the phone down," a voice, deep and gruff said. Alfred recognized the clicking as the sound of a gun being taken off 'safety'. He really wished his western movies weren't useful at a time like this.

"Okay, calm down buddy," he said shakily, releasing his hold on the phone and letting it clatter to the floor. "Just take whatever and leave. "A g-gun is a bit overdramatic, right?" he asked, chuckling weakly and nearly choking as his heart practically leaped in his throat.

"Shut up," the man said. "I don't need your permission to do anything."

Alfred was by no means weak. He took a kick boxing class in high school and karate for a year, so he was built and could take care of himself. However, he was at the barrel end of a gun and couldn't see what his attacker looked like, so he was at a disadvantage. However, life seemed to start looking up and he didn't want it to end like this. Not like in those movies he loves or in the sappy soap operas he doesn't watch on purpose (only when there's nothing else on). His instinct taking over and his adrenaline rush kicking in, he managed to jump to the ground and catch the man off guard, kick his leg out and trip the guy. Alfred instantly tackled him to the ground, his first priority to take the gun away. Luck was on his side as the man seemed to be built smaller and Alfred could easily overpower him if he didn't have a weapon.

The gun slid across the floor as the two males continued to tussle, the teen throwing the guy against the wall as he tried to crawl towards the gun. Alfred ran towards the weapon but was tackled from behind a mere foot away from it. He rolled with the stranger across the floor throwing punches and kicks, and they were both trying to reach for the gun. Shoving him off, the man (who Alfred realized was wearing a black ski mask) dove towards the gun and grabbed it, only to have Alfred forcefully grab it from him.

The two fought over hold of the weapon, both having hands on it and pulling it away from each other when a hand slid down to the handle and, with the force of another tug, the trigger was accidently pulled, causing a single shot to ring out throughout the whole building. The two males locked gazes for a few seconds, wondering if something or someone was hit with that bullet or not, and suddenly Alfred toppled over on the ground as pain shot up through his chest.

Fu…Fuck….no way. No way. Please no… he thought as he gasped for air and clutched at his chest.

"Shit!" The robber screamed, dropping the gun and taking off out of the apartment. Some screams could be heard from another room but Alfred didn't pay attention to any of that.

It couldn't end like this. He still had goals in life, things he wanted to achieve. He couldn't…

Darkness welcomed him as his hand fell from his chest to the floor, landing in the puddle of blood surrounding his body.

A/N

No! Alfred! Why did I do that! Oh yeah, for the sake of the plot. Oops.

So, there's the first chapter! No go? If I get enough reviews I'll continue, so please tell me what you think! I hope the characters present remained in character. It's my first Hetalia fic so please bear with me!