Disclaimer: Hetalia does not belong to me, the world dodged a bullet with that one.

Full summary: Human, University AU. There's a mysterious number on Arthur's phone saved as 'the love of my life'. He doesn't know who it is or how it got there, only that it appeared after a night out. For almost a year it sits forgotten in his contacts, that is, until Alfred F. Jones decides to give it a text for a laugh. This is how Arthur Kirkland reacquaints himself with the infuriating French student Francis Bonnefoy, and somehow ends up falling face first, with absolutely no grace whatsoever, head over heels for him. Fruk. Ameripan. Gerita and more. Rated for language, alcohol consumption, hinting at sexual scenarios and anything I may write in the future.

Note: I'll never have two different characters talk in the same paragraph, a new one will be taken when another character speaks, just to avoid any confusion.

Chapter 1

When Alfred F Jones asks to borrow his phone, Arthur Kirkland thinks nothing of it. The burly American is always without a phone. Sometimes it's broken, sometimes it's out of battery, sometimes his contract has expired or he's run out of data and he needs to insta something bizarre. The two are staggering back to Arthur's flat after a night on the town, both drunk, Arthur being the worse off as he clings to Alfred for dear life. Arthur shoves his phone into Alfred's hands and Alfred takes it with a quick thanks, trying to ignore Arthur's babbles about the apocalypse and how it's comparable to the consequences of falling of the curb.

"- because like, you know Al, when you're drunk it's like falling off a cliff and I don't think I'm going to be able to get back up, I haven't been this plastered since your mum's barbeque- good lord, did I ever apologise for that? I don't know-" he rambles, a few words slurring, pausing briefly to remind Alfred about his password. Arthur is too drunk to be type it in properly, hence why Alfred needs to do it. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Totally Artie. "

"Anyway, with tequila in your system it's like falling of a bloody cliff, so be my heroic gentleman and don't let me fall- Alfred slow down, I can't move my legs-"

"Calm down dude, I got you. And your legs are just fine." Alfred says with a laugh, hitching Arthur up his shoulder while the glow of the phone screen lights his face. Scrolling the contacts Alfred looks for his brother's number, his brother who has also been out with them that night, but had disappeared off to the bathroom with Alfred's boyfriend just before the club closed and Alfred needed to let them know they were off for fast-food before they head home. Getting food without waiting on their other 2 companions was the mightiest form of betrayal, but Alfred was always hungry and Arthur wouldn't survive until morning without something to soak up the booze lying in his stomach.

"But I can't feel them," Arthur protests dramatically, trying to pull himself from Alfred's sturdy arm to walk on his own, but Alfred holds fast, knowing the Englishman will only end up on his ass. "Al, leggo! Lemmie go this instant." He sulks as Alfred glances at him in warning with all the wriggling Arthur was doing. "I need to be a strong independent and finically stable adult who doesn't need a man, how am I supposed to do that when I'm clinging to you al'la time?"

"You blew the rest of your cash on that tequila shot. If you keep bitching I'm not buying you any chicken." Alfred threatens with a cheeky smirk and Arthur promptly stops his attempt at freedom, sagging into Alfred's body in defeat.

"Tosser."

"Limey."

"Wanker."

"Old man."

"Oi, I am only 11. 9 months older than you, we're in the same year at uni."

"Could've fooled me with all the embroidery and politics." Alfred says as his finger curiously hovers over the contact name 'the love of my life' before he scrolls on to find Matthew's number, quickly firing of a text to say they're off to get nuggets.

"Tosser." Arthur repeats.

Ignoring the insult, Alfred waves the phone in front of Arthur's face and grins suggestively at him. "Hey Art, who's "the love of my life"?" he asks.

"Isn't it Kiku? Al, I can't believe you forgot the name of your own boyfriend. Get it together mate. "

"No I mean the love of your life, the contact named 'the love of my life' saved in your phone?"

"Hm? Oh that... I dunno actually." Arthur shrugs as if random numbers popped up in his phone on the daily. "It was supposed to have been deleted ages ago but I completely forgot. I kinda hope it's Lee Pace or Tom Hiddleston, or maybe Cate Blanchett, that'd be cool. The love of my life is actually tea, though. Hey! have you ever had tea with vodka in it? it's actually not too bad-"

"Aw man that's gross! you're an animal!"

"It's called survival, Alfred dear boy."

Alfred snorts at the way Arthur chides him, very drunken, yet every bit the pensioner he is at heart. While Alfred was one to embrace his inner carefree childishness every once and a while, Arthur housed an inner three-times-over war veteran who was theoretically a great-grandfather to 14 great grandkids or something like that.

"Aren't you curious about who the person is?"

"Not in the slightest."

"I am. When did you find out you had the number saved in your phone?"

"I really don't know... last year maybe?"

"Did you sleep with him? Is that what happened? A cheeky one night stand?"

"If I did, I can't remember. And don't just assume I'm gay." Arthur adds the last part offhandedly, Alfred cracks up laughing.

"But you are!"

"You know, I'm willing to bet that if you had nuggets you wouldn't be asking so many questions and assuming people's sexualities."

Alfred hums thoughtfully and shrugs. He couldn't deny it. The moment Alfred shoulders his way into the Fried Chicken joint, towing Arthur in behind him, the mysterious contact is forgotten as they're overwhelmed with the smell of mouth watering, super salty, deep fried food.

It doesn't remain forgotten forever.

Morning light filters in through the windows to fall on his face, disturbing his sleep. Birds tweet brightly outside, the sounds of a rare and decent summers day in England filtering in through the open window along with the fresh air. Arthur groans and opens his eyes. pulling his face out of a cold box of nuggets and a bag of half eaten chips. Head pounding and stomach churning, he's tempted just to lay his face back down in the chicken and squeeze his eyes shut. The smell of coffee reaches his nostrils and he jerks to sit upright, his stomach giving a lurch at the smell. He swallows heavily, breathes deep, inhales more coffee and finally stumbles from his desk chair in a mad dash for the bathroom. (it turns out he'd fallen asleep at his desk after writing half an assignment when Alfred and he had finally arrived home- it wouldn't be one bit acceptable for submission anytime soon, and he'd also penned an apology to Mrs Jones-Williams asking her to forgive him for vomiting in her potted chrysanthemums when Alfred and he had returned to America for the Summer a months past)

The clanging about upstairs signals Arthur's awake and Matthew Williams, twin brother of Alfred, smiles to himself as he checks on the sizzling bacon in the oven. Alfred groans from his spot at the kitchen table, eyeing up the eggs frying on the hob. While Matthew is about to feed Alfred, Arthur and himself a fry, Kiku opts to munch on a less heavy breakfast of porridge and oats as he sits on one side of Alfred.

"How are you not hungover?" Alfred queries, more like bemoans, at Matthew, his head in his palms. "You had more to drink than me."

"Strategy. I space my drinks out and have glasses of water in between each one Al... Most of the time, anyway." Matthew says, remembering how he had also joined Arthur in vomiting into his mother's cherished flowers as he flips a bit of potato bread in the pan. It had been a horrid night for both of them, but a moment of bonding. "You and Arthur just throw them back, a nights worth in an hour and then you two go dry for the rest of the night. Seriously, you two have got to ease up on things, especially the shots."

Kiku looks fondly at Alfred and nods, a small smile tugging at his lips. The Japanese young man doesn't drink much, if anything at all, when he joins them on the odd night out, and so is spared all of their suffering.

"You drunk a lot of hard liquor," Kiku tells him. "Almost as much as Arthur this time,"

At that moment Arthur sticks his head into the kitchen, scowling profoundly. "I heard my name." He grumbles as he stalks in. Matthew bites back a laugh at seeing the dried ketchup in his hair.

"Speaking of the devil," Alfred says. "Look at you, you look like something from the walking dead, jeeze... What the heck is that in your hair?"

"I don't know, I'm too afraid to look in the mirror. " Arthur grumbles as he plonks himself down in the chair. "So Matthew, who was the girl?"

"Girl? what? A Girl?" Alfred straightens up and twists his body to stare at Matthew in surprise. "I don't remember a girl from last night. Bro, when were you going to tell me you'd got yourself a girl? I feel so betrayed, I can't believe you'd keep secrets from your own-"

"Alfred, you've been awake for ten minutes." Kiku interrupts politely with a small laugh, and Alfred grins over at him, puckering his lips in a kissing gesture.

"I would've slept in longer if you had stayed for cuddles."

Arthur fakes a wretch. "Spare me from vomiting a second time." he complains.

Kiku's cheeks warm instantly at Alfred words, "But you smelt of stale tobacco smoke and had really bad acetone breath. "

"You still love me after seeing me at my worst, don't you?" Alfred teases. Kiku nods.

"Of course I do."

Arthur rolls his eyes at the two of them, romance was all well and good. but unless he was caught up in it himself, it was hard to stomach.

"She was very pretty," Arthur says over the top of Alfred and Kiku, and they all focus their attention on Matthew again.

Tactically, Matthew announces the fry is ready and hurries to dish it out onto three warmed plates. He sets one down in front of Alfred, who promptly loses interest in the conversation and busies himself digging in, and one in front of Arthur, who wrinkles his nose at the enticing smell, it's delicious aroma tainted with his hangover. Arthur grumbles loudly about Alfred stuffing his face unbecomingly, declaring it was putting him off his food. Alfred rightly argues that Arthur wasn't the one having to look at someone with last night's midnight snack stuck in their hair. And that is how the usual kitchen-table tennis match begins.

Kiku smiles sympathetically at Matthew, Matthew smiles back with a finger to his lips.

There's a buzzing from the opposite end of the kitchen, on the counter beside the microwave, and Alfred hops up from his seat to walk towards it, snatching up the phone and pulling it from the charging chord. Arthur is too busy fangirling, or what he terms "educating" them, despite nobody else wanting to hear it, over Andy Murray and his amazing Wimbledon record to notice it's his own phone Alfred is currently texting on.

"Hey Arthur, the love of your life has got back to me and wants to know if you're 'big bushy eyebrows' and if you got his number from the Halloween party at Antonio's last year?"

"B-Bushy eyebrows!?" Arthur repeats indignantly. "Wait! you've had my phone all this time...?!" He paused, eyes widening in horror and he stared at Alfred, those bright blue eyes twinkling with harmless mirth as Arthur's proceed to go cold with the thought of murder. "No... no, you didn't..." he murmurs disbelievingly.

"I did!"

"You wouldn't..."

"I would and I have, dude. Contact has been made, wanna see what we've been chatting about?"

"Alfred! How could you?!"

"Dude come on, no hissy fitting with me. It's only a bit of fun. Do you wanna see or nah?"

"I most certainly do not! Cease all communication with the bellend this instant."

Alfred shrugs and continues typing away as Arthur launches himself at him, arms outstretched. Being the enthusiastic American Football hobbyist he is, Alfred finds it easy enough to avoid gangly Arthur without having to lift his eyes from the phone.

"I went ahead and confirmed his suspicions that yes, you're the one and only big-browed beast of a man, and you're looking for some fun- Oh look he's typing!"

"Alfred..." Matthew warns. Kiku sighs, smiling as he shakes his head at Alfred's antics.

"Bloody yank!" Arthur roars.

"Awwwwwwww, he called you a cutie!" Alfred coos at the screen. Everyone is thoroughly amused when Arthur's fussing halts. The Englishman stands awkwardly, flustered.

"... he did?"

"He said you'd be even cuter without the brows, though."

"What a wanker! Tell him to go shag a nun!"

Alfred talks as he types. "Arthur... says.. go... S. H. A. G, a-"

"No, don't!"

"Too late!" Alfred beams brightly at him, finally passing the phone to a nervously perspiring Arthur.

Arthur scrolls the conversation the two had been having, eyes widening with every text he read. Alfred and this bloke had discussed quite a lot about him. His heart's in his mouth as he stops and reads a name, the name opening the floodgates to a haze of drunken memories of busy hands and hot kisses and accented murmurs of "I can't do this, I have a girlfriend."

Arthur knew this person far too well. His greatest nemesis, most cherished foe. The biggest twat to exist on planet Earth and beyond.

Francis Fucking Arjean Bonnefoy.

Alfred grins at him, the American knew the history shared between the two of them, and found it far too amusing Arthur would end up with the number of his self-declared eternal enemy after a night filled with God-only-knew-what, it made the American question everything about his best friend had ever said and done.

The phone buzzes, making Arthur jilt.

"Bollocks!" Arthur curses, turning his attention to the message demanding his attention.

'Typical of you to say that, Eyebrows. We should grab coffee sometime.' Francis suggests. Arthur reads over it a second time, brow furrowing further as the self-absorbed bastard's flowery, European voice fabricates in his mind. It far too easy to picture the pompous smirk on his stubbly gob. God. Arthur hates him. So much.

The nauseous feeling in his stomach that was an unfortunate consequence of last night's shenanigans intensifies, not trusting himself to not have went there with the French exchange buffoon- because when push comes to shove, Arthur knew from experience that if he's drunk, is feeling particularly randy and has a shot with someone as regrettably and infuriatingly good looking as Francis Bonnefoy, he doubted that history and his sober self's sense of dignity would stop him from giving him a go, and Francis was known for his promiscuousness no matter the circumstances.

He cannot remember that night, save for bits and pieces and those desperate searing kisses, for the life of him.

Slowly looking up at Alfred, who's cheeks are pink with restrained laughter, Arthur smiles taught at him.

"Matthew, I'm terribly sorry for your loss." Arthur apologizes too-sweetly. "Yours too, Kiku. So, so sorry he didn't get to propose." he adds, before grabbing a greasy spatula from the cold frying pan. Alfred is sprinting up the street in his pajamas and slippers in seconds flat, Arthur hot on his heels and shouting profanities. Kiku closes the front door behind them when Matthew complains about the draft. The two of them had been long accustomed to Arthur and Alfred's... rowdy behaviour, for lack of a better word, but their unfortunate neighbours weren't.

End notes: Beware that I am an author with commitment issues attempting to write a chaptered fanfiction for the first time in my life, let's see how this goes! The inspiration for this is accredited to a cocky asshole that dared save his number in my phone under that name. Thanks for the fic idea, dude! At the time, he didn't know I was gay lol. It's going to be slow build FrUk, but I'm sure you've already guessed.

Okay so I've said enough. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed! And if -for some bizarre reason - you're sticking with this fic, I really hope for your sake that you like the Bad Friend's Trio. I do. Too much.