A/N: Yay, a FrUK fanfic~! My first one, and it will most definitely develop into a FACE Family story as well.

Enjoy Chapter 1!

I do not own Hetalia.

Chapter 1

As usual, the half-cloudy streets of London were flooded with many figures, some elbowing rudely past others and some just simply pushing against one another. Some were rushing to possibly reach their work on time to attend an appointment, or were just in a rush to get on with their life to leave the past and simply just hurry. A blur of the cream, dark red, and blue coats meshed together before Arthur Kirkland's emerald green eyes as he watched all of the Londoners scamper through the streets and quickly raising their jet-black hats in a form of a quick apology when they bumped into another, and then run towards their destination, mumbling words of annoyance and anger underneath their quiet breaths.

He sighed, taking the gloves out of his pockets and placing them on his hands before heading out into the frenzy. This was why he sometimes hated living on the outskirts of the busy, gloomy city. The rushes when he reached near the heart of the city, the pushing, the yelling, sometimes the fighting- it was all too much, and sometimes he felt like giving the quick on-goers a bloody piece of his mind.

Then again, that was why he also loved London.

Because you see, Arthur Kirkland was the type of person who preferred to get things over with. He liked events and feelings to be quick and rushed, finished and disposed, put in the past. He didn't like to have things last, as he knew that if you got used to something you were fond of, that thing would eventually leave you, never to return.

The only acquaintances he would ever come into contact with would shake their heads at his attitude, tell Arthur he didn't know what he was missing out on, claiming he didn't know the true meaning of love or friendship. Saying that he was just a ball of rubber bands tightly wound together; snapping at anything that came into contact with him, and his feelings were squished together with no way in or out. But Arthur would always reply in a snide manner that, knowing his life, he would always prefer what they called a "boring life" than useless, deep relationships with others that would get him nowhere in his life.

And love. What the bloody hell was this "love" all these people kept going on about, claiming how it "conquered all" and that all you needed to survive through life was love? He had survived for thirty-one years without that damn feeling, and according to himself, he was doing pretty well in his life. For all he knew, love was a non-existent piece of his- hell, everybody's life. It was a silly concept and made people blind, sick fools.

Arthur smirked at the thought before another stranger bumped into him, almost knocking him over completely. He simply nodded his head as an acceptance of the frantic man's apology, and then continued on his way, hoping he wouldn't crash into another person for the entire day. The sky was a dull blue color and was accompanied by a covered yellow sun that seemed to be grinning at him from its hiding place behind the fluffy clouds, and he hated it. The brightness kept shining past the brim of his dark hat and got into his eyes, making him turn away from the sunlight and mutter in annoyance. "Damn sun." He said, and continued his way towards Piccadilly.

And, as usual, Piccadilly was no exception to the crowded streets. More stacked red buses were driving along the roads, stuffed with tourists and Londoners alike. Arthur could hear a few children complaining to their fidgeting mothers that they wanted to go home, and that they hated London. He scoffed, smirking at the children's discomfort, finding, for some strange reason, a certain liking to the little ones' miserable expressions. "Little do they know what a piece of crap life is," He thought as he pushed past a few others towards the little white newsstand near the end of the street, knocking heavily on the small desk with a gloved knuckle. "Oi, I'm here, Antonio." He said, calling out to the messy back area of the little shop, "What've you got today?"

A tan, dark-haired figure peeked from behind a large, seven-foot stack of newspapers, his green eyes blinking for a moment with a look of confusion at Arthur's arrival, immediately changing to a cheerful one once he realized who was at the front of his newsstand. "Arthur!" He chimed excitedly, and waved to the Englishman, nodding, "I'll be right with you, hold on a moment!"

Arthur nodded and looked down at the desk idly, his eyes scanning the different articles on top of it. Piles of newspapers, magazines, guidebooks, London keychains, little packs of chiclets and cigarettes alike littered the table in an unorganized manner, making him twitch slightly at the mess. He then looked up at the man who was walking over to him with a stack of black and white newspapers tied together by a red string.

"Here we are!" He said cheerfully, dropping the stack on top of the desk. Arthur stared at the man. His disheveled, dark brown curls rest atop his head, as if he hadn't combed them that morning, and his lime green eyes sleepily smiled at the Englishman. "What is it?" He asked, noticing Arthur's staring.

"Have you been staying up again?" Arthur snapped, his mouth twisting into a pout, and the Spaniard laughed as usual, wiping beads of sweat off of his forehead. He then crouched down to pull out a small white hand towel from behind the desk, still facing Arthur. "Estoy bien, mi amigo." He stood up, wiping his hands and his face, "I have had better nights, but just last night was terrible."

"Well, what happened?"

"Just the constant arrival of new magazines and stock orders of cigarettes." Antonio shook his head wearily, throwing the towel beside a stack of cigarettes, "I swear, those workers never give me my products on time, which always kills my business and my sleep!" He sighed, placing his hand on his forehead dramatically, and then grinned at Arthur. "Why, were you worried for me?"

"No, I was wondering if I had to find a new newspaper stand to waste my time at." Arthur replied, grabbed a package of chiclets which he put in his coat pocket. He then picked up a newspaper and spread it out on the desk with one hand while jamming his other in his jean pocket, placing the few coins left in Antonio's outstretched hand. The Spaniard smirked, placing the coins in his pocket, a smile still etched upon his face. "Of course. The day I see Arthur Kirkland actually care for someone-"

"Will never exist, not in this lifetime." Arthur nodded, and turned a page of the paper, "So, what's new in the world?"

"No idea," Antonio shrugged, pointing to a section on the newspaper, "but word on the street says that there have been larger amounts of tourists pouring into England, especially London because of the rising economy, most of them French."

"Damn it. More snobby frogs in the country." Arthur muttered, his eyes still focused on the paper as he fixed his hat, feeling more rays of the annoying, bright sun cutting into his vision. "What else?" Arthur asked even as he skimmed through the articles.

"That's all. More immigration, meaning more groups of police stationed along the borders." Antonio sighed, resting his head on his hand and looking off dreamily into his imagination, "One day, I will escape from this crappy newsstand job and Lovino and I can finally run away to another country, possibly by the countryside, together..." A silly grin stretched across his lips as he gazed off, causing Arthur to snap his gloved fingers at him, annoyed. "Oi, Spaniard, wake up. You're in the real world now. No escape to anywhere unless your newsstand magically becomes some kind of rich restaurant."

"Hey, it could happen!" Antonio laughed, now pulling a red towel from underneath the desk and starting to wipe it clean as Arthur turned away from him, continuing to scan the black and white newspaper, "If the countryside option doesn't work! I mean, Lovi and I are both great cooks, we could pull it off together!"

"Mhm. Sure. Especially with the increasing prices to rent a flat these days, you could totally gather up the money to rent out a restaurant."

"Always the skeptic, Kirkland."

"It's just no one looks at life realistically outside this city!" Arthur exclaimed angrily, turning around and slamming the paper onto the desk, ignoring Antonio's mumbling.

"Here we go," he said quietly as he shuffled towards the back of the newsstand.

Antonio sighed. "Arthur, everyone looks at life differently. Not everyone has to see life exactly like you."

"I've seen life as it is, Antonio. I know the ups and downs of it, and how people are actually stupid enough to-"

"OI! STOP, YOU!"

Both the Spaniard and the Englishman turned around towards the sound of the cry, which was shrieked from the corner of the street, attracting the attention of others surrounding them. There, turning around the corner, running quickly and stealing quick glances at the group of British police chasing after him was a young man, his golden wavy locks dancing in the air behind him as he frantically dashed around the crowd of Londoners.

And out of the entire crowd, he seemed to stand out the most in Arthur's eyes. As everyone else had an expression of focus and tension across their faces, he had complete fright in his eyes, and, instead of wearing dark colored-clothing, he had a light blue shirt and white jeans on, which both seemed to flutter behind him along with his hair.

"What the hell?" Arthur muttered, and then turned back to Antonio, whose green eyes were staring at the commotion in a concerned manner.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" He asked the Englishman, his mouth twisting.

"He'll be fine," The blonde waved his hand, shaking his head nonchalantly, "Criminals like them these days deserve to be punished, the police catching another one today will just help our society."

"But he seems so scared, and-"

"He'll be fine. The criminal deserves what he gets, so he'll be fine." Arthur looked over at the packs of cigarettes, his hand trembling slightly. He wanted to reach over there, grab a packet, rip it open, and-

"C'était pas moi! It wasn't me! Gentlemen, please leave me alone!" The voice cried out, and Arthur turned around once more to watch as the man was now being gained upon by the angry police along the brick wall of the building across, a look of worry striking upon his pale face. "Please!"

"We saw you reaching for that guy's wallet! Give it up!" One policeman roared, his face red and puffy from chasing the man down the streets, and stretched his hand out as he grew closer, "Now! Or else we're taking you in!"

"Non, non, you have it all wrong!" The man waved his hands timidly, his hair falling over his face as he continued to run along the street, his blue eyes large with fright, "That gentleman had dropped it and I was simply returning it to him! I swear, monsieur, I have never stolen anything in my entire life! Except for maybe a few women's hearts, but other than that, I've never taken anything without asking!"

"Lies!" Another growled, reaching into his pocket, and Arthur could see the outline of circular objects jangling around in the dark interior as he ran after the man.

Handcuffs. He was going to arrest the man who looked so frightened he was about to puke.

"Look at him, Arthur!" Antonio whimpered, pointing at the group of policemen and the young man, "Doesn't he look innocent? He really looks like he didn't do it, and they won't leave him alone!"

Arthur could feel his chest twist a bit, as the man truly did seem like he hadn't done the crime he was accused of; then again, there were things called lies that existed in the world.

Yet there were also facial expressions. And this man as well as Antonio both shared the mutual look of needing aid.

He sighed and gave Antonio one last glance, who waved at him, ushering him eagerly towards the opposite side of the crowded streets. He rolled his eyes. "I cannot believe I'm doing this." He muttered, turned back and then darted.

Through the crowd and quickly avoiding the honking cars, Arthur ran quickly towards the chasing party, cutting through the dark alleys before them, knowing where it would lead him to. He turned this way and that through the alleys and then, in a few moments, found himself behind a flat building, a few steps ahead of the young man and the police. Taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm his racing heart, he looked back at the figures heading towards his way, raised his hat, and ran a sweaty hand through his dirty blonde hair, gulping. "You won't get caught, Kirkland." He thought, brushing out the wrinkles in his coat, "For the Queen's sake, get a grip on yourself." He wouldn't get caught, would he? The police hadn't ever caught him before, and so they wouldn't this time, would they?

Pursing his lips, he reached out and grabbed the pale hand and yanked it towards the alley, hearing a brief yelp of surprise as his fingers intertwined with the young man's. Bringing him closer to the darkness of the alley, he cupped his hand over the man's mouth as he slammed him against the wall, hoping the stern look in his eyes would convey the message he couldn't speak out loud.

The man winced at the slumped lower against the hard surface, breathing heavily under the shadows of Arthur's large coat and the alleyway. He gulped, small spheres of sweat rolling down the side of his face, and then nodded, a light of realization hitting his wide light blue eyes as he stared at Arthur.

The Englishman looked back and, after confirming that the policemen were far from their location, pulled the man back up. "Are you okay?"

"O-Oui." The man nodded, blonde curls bouncing up and down as he stood up to about Arthur's height, "Merci beaucoup."

"Oh, great." Arthur mumbled under his breath. He should have known. Earlier, with the pleading in French, the accent, the fashion, the hair- everything.

The man was French.

He tilted his head. "What is it, monsieur?"

"You're French." Arthur simply stated, as if it were the most obvious thing on the planet, and to the Englishman's surprise, the man laughed, running a hand through his hair. "Well, yes, I am. Is that a problem?"

"I don't like French frogs." He muttered. He knew it sounded childish to state such a thing, to dislike someone because of where they were from, and he didn't want to, but he couldn't help it.

The man laughed again. "Well then, I shall rid you of my presence, Sourcils." He turned away, winking at him, "Merci for saving me, and-"

"Wait!" Arthur advanced forward, grabbed the man's arm and brought it towards him, staring at the red scratches etched all along the Frenchman's skin. He looked up and saw a few more bruises and scratches on his face, especially around the cheekbones, and Arthur could feel his mouth twist into familiar worry. He turned away, still holding the Frenchman's outstretched arm, and mumbled something quietly.

"What did you say?" The other asked curiously, leaning in towards Arthur. "I couldn't quite-"

"I said forget it." Arthur muttered, poking at the injuries, "You're coming home with me. We need to tend to these."

A/N: Yay! Lotsa stuff goin' on here~ (:

Please review! I'd like to know if people are actually interested in my continuing the story or not~ I'm not too sure, so if you think it should be continued, drop me a review and I'll be happy to continue! :D