Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya

Arthur kept peeking at his watch while sitting in the world meeting. He knew that he should be paying attention to the discussion, but after trying for the eighth time that day only to end up staring off into oblivion, he mused it was a lost cause and opted on counting the remaining time. Right now, there were sixty three minutes and twenty five seconds left.

God, was he tired. Arthur had spent the last three weeks in his boss's house and didn't get a wink of sleep. Just his luck that the countries had decided to hold the meeting the day after his trip had ended, further denying him the time to rest properly. Fortunately, the meeting was held at his place so he didn't need to rush to the nearest airport and fly off to another country looking like a walking corpse. Arthur barely managed to get six hours of sleep that day, including the continuous interruption of the people from the office ringing him up every couple of hours. He was starting to wish that he hadn't slept at all as the interruptions had only given him a pounding headache, which had been threatening to form for a couple of days.

'Just end it already' Arthur thought, as he forced his eyes to stay open. His senses had apparently betrayed him because he found himself being jerked awake from the noises. Good thing he had ended his presentation by volunteering to go first, deciding that was the best option to ensure he wouldn't be spouting nonsense in his drowsiness.

Excluding his sleepy state, another factor that prevented Arthur from being attentive was the arguing nations. As Japan was explaining about strengthening his trade with South Asia, the other countries had found something to fight about. Again. This time, it had started with Italy flailing his arms around to emphasize whatever he was talking about and ended up hitting Ethiopia face flat, sitting to his right. The country had interpreted the action as a personal attack and tried to hit the Italian back, muttering obscenities under his breath, only to be stopped by Greece who had reeled the Italian back just in time to prevent the fist from greeting his face. Albania was quick to come to Italy's defense and started insulting Ethiopia for jumping to conclusions, while Turkey and Serbia had taken the other nation's side and fought back. Currently, Germany was trying to calm down both of the parties, as all of their voices combined overpowered the Japanese man's at the front. Japan fruitlessly tried to speak louder in an attempt to be heard, but the attention of the other countries had already swerved away from him.

Arthur sighed as he stopped pretending to listen and welcomed the distraction. Although the petty fights had annoyed him at first, and he had to hold himself back from snapping at the noisy nations for worsening the pain in his head, he concluded that the silly drama wasn't worth his energy. The countries fought over the same bullshit every time, and even though he got caught up in the fights every so often, today wasn't the day. Arthur closed his eyes, knowing fully well that he wouldn't be able to sleep with all the noise going on but trying never did anyone harm.

Just as his headache was starting to dwindle and Arthur found himself relaxing in his chair, to his dismay, the peace was short lived.

"What a rare sight this is. Britain ignoring his duties shamelessly by dozing off without a care in the world, while poor Japan over there can't get anyone to listen to him. I would've thought you were better than this."

"If you feel so bad about it, you are welcome to stop talking to me." Arthur said without bothering to open his eyes. Although he was both emotionally and physically drained, he managed to let out a snarl. "Now piss off, France."

"Looks like someone's in a bad mood. Had a fight with your fairy friends?" France taunted but Arthur chose to ignore him. After not getting a response, France huffed.

"You should be thankful that I even bother talking to you. With that god awful attitude of yours , it's no wonder than no one else does."

"Hey Francey, leave the poor man alone." Arthur finally opened his eyes and saw that America, who was sitting on the other side of the room, had somehow heard their conversation and was currently standing next to both of them with his hands tucked in his pockets. "Being pissy is the only way he can feel better about his miserable life."

Arthur was tempted to correct him about his life not being miserable and he definitely didn't have attitude problem, but held himself for the sake of not starting an argument.

"It's still a wonder to me how he can continue to live in this pathetic state. He barely has any friends, and he doesn't even make the effort to make any. What good is a life without people who care for you." France was casually leaning against the meeting table and had his arms crossed while his right leg extended a little further than his left, and although his sentence made it sound like he was talking to the American, he looked intently at the English nation for some sort of reaction.

"There are plenty of people who will help me if anything happens so your worry is unnecessary." Arthur said, as he locked eyes with the Frenchman to give him his best 'fuck off' glare he could manage in his exhausted condition.

"No, England, real nation friends; not just people you work with. You need actual connections with other nations that will help you when the time comes. You can't continue living like this, being an outcast, cutting connections with everyone around you. Everyone's going to leave you at this rate before you know it."

Was he seriously getting advice from France right now? "I don't remember consulting you about my private matters. My political and personal life is perfectly fine, now bog off. I'm not in the mood to deal with you."

"When exactly are you," France muttered to himself as he stood up, "Suit yourself. Let's go America, it's better to not bother England anymore." America raised an eyebrow at the unusual transaction but went back to his seat without uttering a word.

Arthur let out a sigh for the second time that day and tried to fall asleep but was unable to do so. Stupid France and his equally stupid advices. It didn't matter that he didn't have anyone to rely on, if he was able to survive for so long, what was preventing him from doing the same for the rest of his life?

'Why can't everyone leave me alone?' Arthur thought agitatedly, as the voices of the other countries kept worsening his headache.

Oliver was sitting in the corner of a pub where the countries had decided to celebrate Italy's birthday: the northern part. He didn't really go to parties, especially to pubs where people had no control over themselves, so he found himself feeling out of place. He was sitting between a passed out Ireland and an intoxicated Canadian who kept gurgling the beer and trying to make bubbles out of it in some sort of one-sided game. Oliver could handle his liquor, but he didn't like drinking as the taste of alcohol turned him off. He preferred sweet things or atleast something with a flavour that didn't make him want to puke. Despite that, he found himself drinking the glass of tequila laid out on the table before him. He hated the taste more it went down his throat but kept drinking for the lack of anything better to do. He had finished his sixth glass for the night by the time everyone around him were drunk out of their minds. The only reason he was on his sixth glass yet was because he had made sure to drink extra slowly, sipping in tiny amounts.

Oliver could only pretend to enjoy the party for so long. He should have just stayed at home and not decided to be all buddies with the rest of the countries. His mood was dampened and the death metal music playing in the background was making his ears bleed. Deciding it was time to go home, he patted the nation beside him in the arm to get the man to look at him.

"Hey Canada, could you tell Italy that I left?"

"Who are you?" The Canadian asked, rotating his head towards Oliver's direction but his eyes weren't entirely on him.

"I'm England. Can y-"

"Oh, the pink haired freak. Who invited him?" Canada said out rather loudly, so the entire place was able to hear him.

"I sure as hell didn't. He came with his own damn permission" Italy, the birthday boy, said from the other side of the room.

"When will that guy learn to take a clue? He's just a nuisance."

"Careful buddy, don't want to end up being his next target, do you?"

Laughter erupted from all the corners and Oliver really wished he hadn't come. He choked down a sob and left hurriedly without saying a word more to anyone. Just as he exited the place, tears automatically started flooding his face and he found himself dropping to the floor and crying with his face tucked between his knees. Thank god, it was middle of the night and no one was outside to stare at his pleading state.

Why was he so weak? Oliver asked himself as he finally managed to calm down and let out a few sniffles followed by some coughs. His face was wet and red, partly from drinking but mostly from crying, and he had to wipe his tears on his shirt sleeves as his hands were already covered with moisture. This wasn't even the worse things they had said about him, so why were their words hurting him more than they did before? The question was rhetorical, of course, he knew why. He had been feeling a bit melancholy the whole night and their words had added fuel to fire.

As he continued to stare at the black sky, he found his sadness quickly transforming into anger the more he reminisced about the event. it's not like he had been desperate to go either, it was his boss who had specifically told him to go to the party and make allies. Oliver prided himself on his country's extravagant pubs despite not being a drunk himself, and when Italy had announced his birthday party being held at his place, his boss had desperately urged him to take the opportunity. Not only did he found himself unable to talk to anyone for the whole night, (he got turned down every time he tried to) making him feel like an awkward mess, but he got ridiculed in front of everyone when he was already feeling like crap.

Oliver clawed at his hair and let out a hoarse scream in frustration. Italy, Canada, his boss, everyone, they can all go to hell, he didn't care anymore. They wanted him gone and so he will since the feeling was mutual. Not wasting another second, Oliver stood up and went towards his car. Throughout the drive, his anger hadn't subsidized and he had to pull himself together from accelerating at top speed from sheer agony. A car accident would do the trick as well, but he couldn't bring himself to ruin anyone's day, except his own.

As Oliver reached his house, he bolted straight into the study and within minutes found the item he was looking for. He took the lid of the poison bottle but stopped to think for the last time about what he was about to commit.

Was he drunk?

Maybe a little bit.

Would he regret this in the morning?

If he didn't die, surely.

Did he really want to do this or was it just his anger acting?

The anger had been the final push, but he had been wanting to do this for quite some time now.

Could he even die?

Only one way to find out.

Oliver clutched the bottle firmly in his hands despite the trembling. Maybe he should stop this right now and think it through tomorrow when he wasn't drunk. His anger would fade away and who knows tomorrow might not be so bad.

'No, it will be just as bad' Oliver thought grimly. That was what he always said to convince himself from committing suicide. Even the thought of the word sent shivers down his spine. As bad as suicide was with humans, the word was taboo for nations. You did not think of suicide, let alone think about acting on suicide. Yet here Oliver was, with poison in his hands, ready to commit the forbidden act. He felt like a daredevil in a twisted way and grinned to himself. No nation had the guts to do what he was about to, only him. He had to do this. Nothing would change if he didn't. A happy ending never came despite the thousand fantasies playing inside his mind about a better tomorrow, those were just his delusional thoughts.

At last, his resolve was final and he brought the toxic drink to his lips, not leaving a single trace of the liquid. His thoughts started to run a marathon at the realization that he might die anytime soon. There was one thought that stood out the most as it kept repeating itself over.

'Please, don't let there be a tomorrow."

Author's Note: No matter how many times I write it, this scene will always be emo af. I freaking wrote this at 4 AM so please tell me if I made some stupid mistakes, which I'm pretty sure I made plenty of. Was this good or bad, I have no clue, please tell me what you think. I plan on updating this twice a week and I hope to finish this before I die of a cringe attack again.