AN: I really shouldn't be writing another one shot *cough* starting another story *cough* This spawns from a sweet little muse of music and Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood. Enjoy their lovechild.

It's Romerica, trust me.

Disclaimer-I do not own Hetalia but if I did, the things I would do...

The lights flash and he takes a breath.

The lights feel bright and loud against his clammy skin and the bodies around him tumble and groove to their own beats. The lights beam hard and strong against his person and he takes another deep breath to calm himself. The bodies around him jumble and mash together in a deep sea of sweat and lust and he fights to keep his head afloat. The music is loud and blaring, the deep bass undertone matching his pulsating heartbeat.

He pushes his way through the massive blockade of rhythmic forms that seem to be in constant motion and keeping in time with the hypnotic melodies of the current tune floating in the air. He makes it towards his seat from earlier, his self-proclaimed `safe haven', and safely observes the other people around him.

This particular song is `an instant headache' as his boss would put it because the track is laced heavily with bass, a favorite for a crowd like this. He can't see why people would come to places like this, all these heaving and sweaty bodies pressed tightly against each other in this cramped and enclosed space with barely any breathing room.

The closest place to freedom is the bar at the back of the room, which is strategically placed by the entrance. He sweeps his eyes over the crowd and nurses a glass in his hand; he condemns this behavior for the members of his age group, yet here he sits as a contradiction to the law.

He scoffs into the glass. 'My boss would laugh his ass off if he knew.'

He takes another sip and muses over his predicament, running a hand through short wheat-blonde hair. He wouldn't be here if his siblings hadn't talked him into coming. If he had his way, he would still be in front of his flat screen watching the basketball playoffs and ignoring the inevitable piles of paperwork nestled in his office. He's come to the conclusion that he was blessed with unforgiving siblings who drag their siblings out on cheap attempts at entertainment, persuading him with their quick actions and clever words.

His hand clenches the glass at the thought. 'I'm missing the NBA semi- final playoffs for my brothers; bullshit.'

He takes another swig from his glass, that drink finishes off his glass so he orders another. The bartender, a slender brunette with naturally tanned skin and a bright glint in his olive green eyes refills the order, smirking as he hands the man his drink.

"You look troubled, mi amigo." The words roll off the bartender's silky Spanish accent and catch the man's attention.

"Annoyed describes my mood right now."

The bartender fills another order, some dark liquor, and slides it down the bar to a short man with wildly tame blonde hair and hazy emerald eyes. He sends the drink with a wink and the man colors a lovely red before flipping up his middle finger. He rebounds from rejection and directs his attention back to the original blonde at his bar.

"Penny for your thoughts Alfred?"

The annoyed blonde slips his glasses off his face, they've fogged up due to all the perspiration in the air, and settles his blurry gaze on the bartender. "Don't have siblings Antonio, they're horrible."

Antonio chuckles at the statement. "What have tus hermanos done this time?"

The wheat-blonde sighs at the question and pushes his glasses back on his face. He gives the bartender Antonio a once-over with a sweep of clear blue eyes then drops them to his fresh drink. "They kidnapped me against my will."

Antonio amusedly chuckles. "Oh really?"

Alfred gives Antonio a pointed look over fogged lenses. The song has switched to a newer tune, a song that's popular on mainstream radio waves and has been climbing the charts with its clever hook and catchy chorus. Alfred thumps his fingers on the rim of his glass to the pulsating bass that's matching his heartbeat. "Is there any other reason why I would be here?"

~Look at me now, look at me now, I'm gettin' paper. Look at me now, look at me now, I'm fresher than a muthafucka~

The bartender feigns hurt. "So mean to me Alfred, and here I thought that you just wanted to see me."

Alfred rolls his eyes at the mock display of emotion. "Get over yourself Tony, I see you all the time." The blonde retreats to his drink, taking a sip then swirling the brownish-gold liquid in the small glass. Antonio's green eyes survey him for a minute, taking in his demeanor and Alfred can't shake the nervous feeling crawling up his spine.

He's doing it again, letting Antonio get under his skin with that way he always does. Antonio's eyes are still watching him and Alfred distracts his senses with his drink. The air between the two is quiet, filled with by apprehension and slow thumping bass.

"Are you thinking about me?" That smooth Spanish baritone caresses Alfred's ears and the blonde flinches slightly.

"If that's what you want to believe." He sips cautiously at his drink.

Antonio makes a noise to himself and turns his attention to new consumers, a giggly redhead and his tall blonde companion. Alfred watches the bartender work, those tanned hands grabbing bottles, tossing and flipping them in the air with skilled ease.

The bespectacled blonde sits back and watches the performance behind the bar, watching Antonio work his magic with alcohol. His motions are fluid and smooth, fingers not missing a beat. Those green eyes are lit with something Alfred hasn't seen in a long time, something that he can't place his finger on but he knows he's seen it before.

Antonio fills their orders and they leave, the giggly redhead simultaneously chattering to his friend about the show for their drinks and leading him onto the dance floor. Another order distracts Antonio, this time it's from the disgruntled blonde with the sharp emerald eyes at the end of the bar who seems to be drowning his sorrows in heavy rum. Antonio attempts to flirt but the blonde mutters under his breath and flips him off.

Alfred watches in curious interest at the exchange before he focuses back on his own drink. He takes a slow breath and speaks without looking up because he knows Antonio's attention is back on him. "Do you think about me?"

The air around them shifts into something uncomfortable and the blond lowers his vision to his half-empty glass. Those green eyes are watching him closely. "Sometimes. Sometimes I catch my mind wandering before I realize."

Alfred nods slowly and watches the ice in his glass float. "I'm the same way, when my mind's clear of shit and I'm by myself." Antonio makes a low noise in the back of his throat and proceeds to wipe the bar counter down. The air between them clears a little, but the uncomfortable tension still lingers.

"It was good while it lasted."

Olive green clashes with cerulean blue; the two men lock gazes. The air grows heavy and Alfred finds himself drowning in the depths of those green orbs. He can see all the shades of green that make up Antonio's eye color and he tears his eyes away before he loses himself. He sweeps his gaze over the crowd, trying to distract himself.

"You can do better."

Antonio goes back to his work. "If you say so."

The air between them lightens and they accept the conclusion. Alfred's eyes comb the crowd for any tell-tell sign of his brothers inside the large mass of sweaty and grinding bodies. By now another song has graced the airwaves, a slower song with mild bass and a slow tempo. The people on the dance floor have taken heed and begin to pair up for the slow dancing song. The bass isn't as interwoven in this song like the others, but it controls Alfred's heartbeat all the same.

In between the huddled masses of the dancers, Alfred spots a lonely brunette trying to make his way through the crowd. The blonde rises from his seat to go and help the struggling brunette through the throng of dancers when he suddenly remembers Antonio behind the bar. The bartender winks at him and shoos him away with a hand, his intentions set on the emerald-eyed moody blonde at the end of the bar.

Alfred nods and heads toward the crowd, where the brunette was pushing himself through. Alfred reaches for a flailing arm and yanks the other man towards his person harshly. Their bodies roughly collide and they crash to the floor in front of the bar in a tangled heap of limbs. The two untangle themselves and the first thing Alfred sees are two honey-hazel gold eyes glaring down at him.

The track abruptly skips and so does his heart.

The brunette's face is mere inches from his own that their noses are almost touching and Alfred can't help the heat that rises to his face. The brunette cocks an eyebrow, "The fuck was that for?"

Alfred's ears perk at the sound of the other man's voice, a hint of a foreign accent that he can't properly place. "You were struggling, so I came to help you out; it's what I do." The brunette scoffs, rolling his golden-hazel eyes but the blonde pays no mind, offering the man a soft smile.

"My name's Alfred."

"That's good to know." There's that accent again, but it's weaker this time around. It's not as rich as Antonio's but it could be if Alfred could only keep the man talking.

"It is, now what's yours?"

The brunette thinks for a second, and Alfred wonders what other colors make up the hue of his iris. "It's…none of your damn business."

Alfred wiggles his fingers on his outstretched arms, his smile falling short. "Not fair. I saved you so at least I should get a name." The brunette scoffs again, rolling those uniquely colored eyes to meet Alfred's bright azure ones.

"This ain't a movie and you didn't save anything, idiot. Now can you get off me?" Alfred wiggles his body beneath the brunette, that smile returning at full force.

"You're on top actually." In any other situation Alfred would have made a comment but this instance feels too delicate and he's not going to display his whole personality with this stranger.

The other man looks down to discover his body draped carelessly over Alfred's, with their legs still entwined together. The brunette huffs and mutters grimly under his breath in a language Alfred recognizes but can't pinpoint accurately. A rough shove and quick thinking, the pair of them stand a foot from each other with sweaty brows and heaving chests.

Alfred takes in the other man's appearance from head to toe, noticing their height difference. The other man's head could easily fit under his chin. The brunette's clothes seemingly fit a scene like this, a dark t-shirt that complements naturally tanned skin with matching dark jeans that elongate his legs and cover his presumably black gym shoes.

Alfred doesn't know how long they stand like this, observing and analyzing one another, but he figures that it won't last forever. The other man looks a little uncomfortable under the blonde's curious gaze as he shifts his weight from one leg to the other. In reality, Alfred knows only seconds have gone by but this moment feels like forever.

"So…are you going to give me that name anytime soon? I've already told you mine." He speaks with an easy smile. He figures that the old saying 'If at first you don't succeed, try and try again' fits this situation best because he should at least know the name of the guy he 'rescued'.

The brunette scowls at him, narrowing those unique golden eyes. "I don't know you and why I'm still talking to you is a mystery in itself. Now get lost, I've got to go find my idiot brother." With that, the other man turns on his heel and stomps off , heading back towards the fray Alfred so kindly 'rescued' him from.

The blonde watches him leave, eyes locked to the back of his head. He blinks out of his thoughts and calls after the retreating form over the loud bass and synthesizers, "So I don't get a thank you?"

A lone middle finger is raised high in the air. "Fuck off!"

Alfred steadily watches the other man vanish into the masses. He contemplates just going back to the bar to finish his drink and just leaving; if his brothers want him, they can call him on his cell.

He sets to put this plan into motion when his foot turns and hits a solid object. He reaches down to pick up the object and examines it in his hands. It's a patent leather wallet, thick and tight but not worn from wear. Without hesitation Alfred pats his pockets to see if his wallet is still where he left it; yep it's still there. He opens the wallet to see who it belongs to when he's greeted by glaring golden eyes on a driver's license. Alfred frantically searches the surrounding crowd for any sign of that rude brunette but he doesn't see him anywhere.

He's vanished as fast as he appeared and he's left Alfred in a questionable predicament with more questions than answers.

Finally the rumbling bass has fallen off of the pace of Alfred's heart and the blonde takes in a shaky breath.