~~Chapter 1: The night which started it all~~

"Hey Francis, you still dating that creepy Belarusian?"

Francis looked up from behind the novel he had been reading peacefully. A pair of red eyes met him. Great. Gilbert still hadn't grasped the concept of 'Personal Space.' And knowing the German, he never will.

"Her name is Natalya." After a second he added in a lower tone, "And don't call her creepy she might hear you."

"Look Amigo, you need to get a better girlfriend."

The two men turned to their right and spotted Antonio eating a Churro while sitting lazily by the bay window.

"Hey Dummkopf, we had a share and care policy didn't we? Share the éclair."

Antonio grinned as he swallowed the rest of the sweet treat, "It's a Churro."

Gilbert looked at the traitor, his jaw open wide. How dare he?

"Give that Back, you greedy, Spanish Tomato."

Antonio grinned at the German. "But I already ate it."

"I don't give a damn. Now give that Back."

Francis sighed as he saw Gilbert shake Antonio. His friends meant the world to him but it still didn't erase the fact that sometimes he seriously considers selling them off to Ivan.

He stood up and walked out of the room, he desperately needed to finish reading the book. He had to return it to the library the next day. He pulled on his coat, why should he lie to himself? One of the main reasons he was going out was because he knew that his friend will try to discuss about his love life and that is something he will like to avoid. Thank you very much.

He stepped out into the cold night air. He took a deep breath and found himself smiling. Contrary to popular belief, he actually loved night time for another reason and not what everyone usually thinks it to be. Everything seemed and smelt fresher. There were not many vehicles going about and most importantly not many people either. It was the only part of a day in which he could truly feel alone. Like the world spun only for him, Francis Bonnefoy. He wasn't just another person on earth. He meant something.

He walked quietly down the road. He wanted to go the park where he could read the book without any interference, where he could drown himself in pages and pages of ink in a world different to his own, away from his friends and away from Natalya.

Natalya… Ivan Braginsky's younger sister. She was…different. In more ways than one-

She was the only woman in her twenties who wore long gowns and had a large bow the size of her head pinned neatly on her hair.

She didn't talk much and when she did talk, it was always about Ivan.

She hated Francis.

The only reason she was dating him was because- as quoted- "One day when I kill Alfred, I need you to provide me with an alibi"

He had dated seventeen girls before her and was known as the city playboy. A reputation he wanted to shake off by dating her for five months and twelve days as of today; yes he has been counting.

She was handy with a knife.

She scared him to death and beyond.

He pulled his coat on tighter. Everyone he knew had told him to get his act together and date someone seriously, that was right before he started dating Natalya. Now they wanted him to break up with her. He sometimes couldn't understand it. What did they want him to do? When he was single they encouraged him to get it on with more people, when he was dating many girls they wanted him to be in a serious relationship, now that he was in a serious relationship, they wanted him to break up with the girl. Love was complicated but sometimes friendship was even more.

He spotted a homeless man shivering on the pavement. The weather was cold not one meant for a man to be outside in without even a jacket. He didn't think about it when he did it, it was sympathy for the man which led him to remove his jacket and drape it around the man's shoulders. The man smiled graciously, Francis in return shook his head and smiled at the man before standing up and making his way to the park. But the more distance he travelled away from the man, the more curious he became.

Was the man an orphan? Did he not have families or friends? He looked behind but he had come a long way thus he couldn't see the homeless man. He felt his heart drop. He would have liked to speak to him, give an ear to what he had to say. Because if he could say something with certainty, it was this-everyone had a story to say; their life, their dreams, their fears- It might seem ordinary but it isn't. He knew this ever since he was little. Gilbert, Antonio, Dad, Mom, the other Dad, his siblings. All of them had a story to say; sometimes joyous, sometimes heart wrenching but always real and interesting.

"Never judge a book by its cover," his mom would say quoting someone else's words. But she was right and so was the one who said it originally. Most of the books he read had dull, uninteresting covers but the story within the pages was nothing short of magical. And that's how people are too. Sometimes the dullest of them would have the best stories to say.

He smiled as he walked down the road. There was an intersection coming up. He crossed it with ease. He could see the park just a few feet away, he grinned, he could finally read the book. He could have borrowed two books from the library but he knew he didn't have the time to read them. Not with Natalya showing him her extensive knife collection every week. She buys new ones frequently, additions to her little family she calls them. She lied. It wasn't little. But her sister had told him that Ivan had a bigger collection of lead pipes, ropes and chains in the basement. He had made it a point afterwards to never visit the basement. Ever.

Anyway returning back to the topic of library, he never got late to return books-which was why he had to finish reading this one- but he was quite notorious in the past for losing his library cards, now he kept them safely in his wallet.

He stopped walking. His wallet. Merde! It was in his jacket. The jacket he gave to the homeless man. His eyes widened as he swore out loud before running back.

When Francis said that dull people usually had the most interesting things to say he was right. And Arthur Kirkland was going to have plenty to say.

Arthur drove along the road at nearly 40 m/h. He had a rough day at work. A very rough day. The headmaster of the elementary school in which he worked had called him in to talk about the S bomb he dropped in class. After an hour of lecturing he had finally been sent back with a warning; cuss again and he is out of the school. It was a splendid warning which made him even more edgy than usual. Vash Zwingli who teaches Mathematics was kind enough to tell him that he must consult the Guinness book of world records because he certainly must have broken a world record for most profanity used in a minute. It wasn't funny to Arthur but who knows might be true. And if he had, Mr. Edelstein could stick Arthur's resignation letter up his own arse because Arthur would be famous. What was the Guinness record's contact number anyway because a world record is about to be broken, bitches.

It was an empty road so Arthur took his eyes off for just a few seconds while he hunted on his phone's internet for the contact number. Big mistake because when he looked up again he was five seconds away from pancaking a blonde to the road. He stomped his foot on the break and swore "Fuck!"

Francis turned and stared at the oncoming mini cooper before opening his mouth and muttering "Merde."

Four minutes later an ambulance raced to little Columbia Street after nurses at the Hetalia Hospital got an astonishing call.

"Bull Fucking Shit, what the Fuck is wrong with this hell hole? Bloody Wanker. Fucking Prat. Fuck Edelstein. Fuck Zwingly and Fuck Everybody Because I just Fucking ran my bloody Fucking Car over a Fucking Moron. "