Okay. To be honest, I'm a bit embarrassed about writing a story about US and UK. A couple of my friends aren't supportive of them, and I was thinking stuff like "Crap, what would they think about me if they know I support them - and it's yaoi-ish, no less!" But, well, in the end I just thought that I should have the privilege to write about whichever pairing I want. So, here you go. My first Hetalia fanfic.

P/S: The age of the characters range from fifteen to their mid-twenties.

Epic Burger Hero,

How do you get away from your ex-girlfriend who is something of a stalker? Doorknobs and any form of regular human reasoning don't seem to work.

Vodka

Vodka,

Woah! That's some tough, creepy shit you've got there. Rope in some friends to help you out of this mess – be together with them as much as possible so that that crazy chick won't have a chance to corner you. If that doesn't work, you're better off moving to some place far, far away – preferably Siberia or something.

Epic Burger Hero

Greetings, Epic Burger Hero,

I do apologize for the trouble. Thank you for taking the time to read this. I have been constantly reprimanded by my friends that my diet is unhealthy as it contains too much sodium. What do you think I should do?

Manga

Manga,

Dude, it wasn't any trouble! Try burgers, though. They're amazing!

Epic Burger Hero

"Arthur Kirkland? Dr. Zwingli will see you now."

Arthur folded the newspaper in his hands and stood up to follow the smiling nurse, sighing inaudibly as he did. The hospital was the very last place he wanted to be.

It had been his concerned younger brother, Peter, who had arranged the appointment with the psychiatrist. Peter had been convinced that Arthur had needed it – an outlet to release his anger, or any form of pent-up emotions. It was an unnecessary move, and Arthur wasn't pleased.

Something hard elbowed him in the waist. It was Peter, who was giving a stern stare.

Arthur ran his fingers over his hair in frustration. "You shouldn't have done this, Peter. This is the fifth psychiatrist you've set me up with, and you always insist on coming along."

"You'd just skip out on all of them if I weren't here," Peter replied, determination written on his child-like face. "Come on, just go in already."

Arthur groaned in defeat, allowing himself to follow the nurse into the psychiatrist's room. It was tastefully furnished, filled with both classical and modern designs. Dr. Zwingli, a young man with sharp eyes, was seated on a leather chair. He motioned for Arthur to have a seat, to which Arthur reluctantly did.

"Arthur Kirkland, yes?" Dr. Zwingli cast Arthur a careless glance. "What brings you here today?"

Arthur glanced into those jade-colored eyes, a mixture of trepidation and wistfulness blooming in his chest. For a moment, Arthur wanted to spill out everything – and by everything, he meant everything.

He wanted to talk about how things had been like since the death of his parents occurred, and he wanted to blurt out on how utterly helpless he felt when it came to taking care of Peter – the only one who was important to him left. Arthur wanted to talk about how desperately lonely the nights were, and how difficult it was to integrate back into a normal life – or society, for that matter.

But those were things that he never shared with anyone, not even Peter – so why the hell would he speak about them to some stranger of a psychiatrist?

He couldn't tell Peter, of course. He was Arthur Kirkland, the strong, dependable big brother. He was the one who could find a way out of everything – and he was supposed to be coping with everything just fine.

Somehow, Peter must have seen through it – that the emotional scars his brother bore were more than what was visible to the eye.

To hell with that. Arthur would do anything to convince everyone that he was alright no matter what.

"Listen well, because I won't say it again," Arthur began. "I wouldn't be here if it weren't for my little brother, who's concerned that I'll snap and turn into some kind of hideous monster in time to come. To be honest, I feel perfectly fine." At Dr. Zwingli's raised eyebrow, he carried on, "Yes, I kid you not. It's wonderful. Life's wonderful. There's nothing that worries me – which means that I should be leaving as soon as possible."

"But," Dr. Zwingli retorted, "Your little brother feels that something is wrong."

"That's just what brothers do – they read too much into things," Arthur said with exaggerated patience. "Maybe you should talk to him instead, since he's the one feeling insecure about my emotional state."

Dr. Zwingli tapped the clipboard in his hands with a pen several times before setting it down carefully. "Are you certain that you have no concerns? Nothing at all?"

I'm a total emotional wreck, Arthur thought. One that no one really should approach. However, what came out was a confident, loud "no".

"Well, then I suppose you can leave," Dr. Zwingli said dismissively. Arthur vaguely heard him mutter something like, "Hmm, what a waste of time that was…"

When Arthur left the room, he found Peter reading the newspaper's advice column – the same one he had been reading minutes ago. He smiled a little, tapping his younger brother at the top of his head.

Peter jumped, his sailor-styled hat flopping onto the ground. Arthur stooped down to pick it up, abruptly realizing that was Peter glaring at him.

"...What?"

"You were in there for barely five minutes!" Peter wailed, grabbing his hat and pounding mock punches into Arthur's chest. "That happened to the rest of the psychiatrists too! Are you even taking this seriously?"

"Not really," Arthur answered truthfully.

Peter pouted. "You're hopeless, brother!"

"Perhaps. Shall we return home?"

Peter sighed gloomily. "I s'pose. There's not much point in staying here any longer. Oh, look, it's raining."

And indeed it was. The rain was coming down in torrents. Arthur frowned. He hadn't brought an umbrella along, and it wouldn't do them good to sprint home in the downpour. There wasn't much of a choice but to wait until it lessened. In the mean time, what were they going to do?

"Let's go to the next door café for some food," Arthur suggested.

Peter's expression lightened up at the mention of food. "Let's!"

The café was small but incredibly cosy. Peter curled up on a seat by the window, munching on scones while catching up on the advice column he was reading earlier on. Arthur had ordered a cup of Earl Grey, and was watching the streets outside with disinterest.

"This guy is funny," Peter giggled. "Are burgers that amazing?"

Arthur blinked, wondering what Peter was talking about before remembering what the columnist – the one named Epic Burger Hero – had written.

"And…moving to Siberia! What a riot!" Peter laughed, not caring how bits of scones were flying out of his mouth.

Arthur sighed, handing his younger brother a napkin. "What have I ever told you about talking with your mouth full? Besides, they really should get another columnist. Ideas as far-fetched and preposterous as that are simply inappropriate for the press."

"But he's funny," Peter said, accepting the napkin with a cheeky grin. "He'll probably make the ones who write in laugh about their own problems too!"

"He's probably just off his rocker," Arthur grumbled.

"He might be Dr. Zwingli in disguise!" Peter all but sang out, causing the customers in the café to cast curious looks at them.

Arthur chuckled. "I highly doubt it."

The rest of the hour was spent discussing on what type of person Epic Burger Hero would be like in real life. Peter decided that he would be kind, helpful and incredibly cheerful – whereas Arthur settled for the fact that Epic Burger Hero was most likely a dim-witted, annoying dunce who suffered from a severe case of ADHD.

"Still, he'd be helpful," Peter sighed wistfully. "He might even be able to help you."

Arthur stiffened. He set his teacup down onto the table carefully before cautiously asking, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, those psychiatrists don't really help…so…"

"Peter," Arthur snapped, emphasizing the next few words. "There. Is. Nothing. Wrong. With. Me, do you understand that? I don't know why you insist that there has to be an issue! You've been doing this ever since…" His words trailed off, and Arthur realized that he was taking his anger out on his younger brother – his fifteen year-old brother, who was merely worried about him. "Damn, never mind. Forget it. Just – just stop doing that, okay?"

Peter didn't seem to be offended. In fact, he didn't even seem surprised. He merely sat there, watching his brother with an undecipherable expression on his face.

Arthur gave up.

"Come on, Peter, we're going home."

Home was a tiny apartment, with two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchen. As both had a trait of being neat and orderly, home was also neat and pleasantly comfortable despite the lack of living space.

"Arthur? The electricity bill for this month has arrived."

"Alright. I'll have a look at it later."

"It's a bit on the high side though," Peter mumbled softly. "I suppose we should cut back on turning on the heater so often…"

"Don't worry about it. We have enough," Arthur replied.

Thanks to some of the money his parents had left behind, the two brothers had been able to live a somewhat decent life. Arthur had even be able to allow Peter to go to school – and as for himself, Arthur was glad that he had worked hard enough in order to secure a scholarship in the university.

Peter had offered to take up a couple of part-time jobs in order to support the household, but Arthur hadn't allowed it. No way was he going to let his brother fret about financial worries. It was only about cutting down on the materialistic expenses, and adopting a simpler lifestyle – which Arthur knew he could do. In return, he wanted Peter to experience a normal teenage lifestyle as much as possible – and that meant allowing Peter to have new clothes, girlfriends, and all the food that he could eat.

"Brother…? I think there's someone at the door."

Peter was right. Someone was knocking on the door, and the thumps were impatient and increasing in volume. Arthur scrambled to his feet, wondering who it could be on a rainy day like this.

"Yo, Arthur!" The door swung open to reveal a silver-haired man with garnet eyes, whose grin stretched like a Cheshire Cat. Without waiting for a response, he stepped over the threshold.

"What the hell do you want, Gilbert?" Arthur asked bluntly, eyebrows twitching at how the newcomer took off his wet jacket and casually flung it over the couch. Heck, that git was practically dripping all over the floor!

Gilbert sank onto the couch with a grunt. "Damned weather. I had to make this trip to your place because you don't even own a fuckin' cell phone…"

"Skip the obscenities and state your purpose," Arthur said coolly.

"Ah, hell. Might as well get it over and done with," Gilbert muttered. "So, I'm organizing this awesome party on Saturday. You're invited."

It wasn't the first time that Gilbert had extended him an invitation to parties. The Beilschmidts were rich, Arthur knew. An extravagant lifestyle was something that Gilbert indulged himself in. That resulted in him being quite the party animal, often organizing outrageously large-scale parties that were more wild than civil.

There was no question about it. Arthur's decision was made in a second. "I can't make it. Sorry."

"You always say that! What about taking that stick outta your ass and try loosening up for once, huh?" Gilbert cackled, laughing at his own joke.

"I'm perfectly fine without attending any of your…flamboyant events," Arthur replied stiffly.

"You should go," Peter interrupted. He had merely been watching their conversation quietly from a corner, but something had to be done when things came down to this.

Arthur's emerald eyes widened. He knew his mouth had hung open, because he had to snap it shut again. Did Peter just imply that he, Arthur Kirkland, should participate in Gilbert's wild parties?

Apparently, Peter had. "I'm no longer a child, brother. It's only one night – I can take care of myself."

Gilbert grinned and reached over to pat Peter on the head. "See? Even your lil' brother supports me!"

"No bloody way," Arthur snapped. "Peter, I am staying home on Saturday night – and that's final. Gilbert, get out of here. Now."

However, it was obvious that Gilbert wasn't about to give up. "But everyone's turning up! Feliciano, Francis, Antonio, Ivan – fuck it, even Kiku's coming. You gonna stay here in this moldy apartment forever, or what?"

"Brother," Peter said softly. "How long has it been since you've been out with your friends?"

Arthur's smart retort died on his lips. Peter's question rang hollowly in his head – how long, indeed? Months? Years? Even as a young boy, Arthur was never a socialite – and after the death of his parents, Arthur had retreated even further into his shell. He solely devoted his life in ensuring that his brother was well taken care of – nothing else had really mattered.

"W-what are you talking about, Peter? I just saw my friends at the university yesterday."

But no, Arthur knew that wasn't fooling Peter. Not one bit.

Gilbert wisely chose to remain silent, watching the next dialogues unfold.

"That's a lie, and you know it." Peter folded his arms, something he only did when he was nervous. "I mean, how long was it since you've really hung out with them – having a good time and…you know, just being happy?"

Arthur sighed tiredly. He didn't want to have this conversation right now. Honestly, all he wanted to do was to shoo Gilbert out of the door, calm Peter down, and go back to whatever work he had to do. "I'm happy with you here, Peter. Isn't that enough?"

"But you need them," Peter pleaded. "Your friends. I want you to go and have fun. Please?"

Gilbert smirked at how Arthur seemed to deflate under Peter's hopeful gaze. Things were turning out fine after all.

"Alright," Arthur relented. "I'll go. Satisfied?"

"It'll be awesome," Gilbert said, obviously delighted. "You might even meet the love of your life or something. That's what those fairy tales you read are about, right?"

"GET OUT!"

Alfred F. Jones hummed cheerily, munching on a burger from McDonalds. The weather had been increasingly temperamental nowadays – granted, he wasn't too used to London's weather. Sometimes it was just a little too dreary for his liking, and some of the people spoke in a weird, formal way that he couldn't really comprehend. It was bizarre.

He liked his new job, though. Writing for an advice column was a lot of fun, and his colleagues got along with him pretty well. There wasn't anything else that he would really ask for, really.

His phone buzzed with a new message. Alfred blinked and set his burger down onto a table, reaching into his pocket.

From: German Guy

Message: My brother happens to be hosting a party this Saturday evening. Would you care to come?

Brother…? Oh, wait, that would be Gilbert. Alfred grinned. Ludwig was one of the reporters for the papers, and often mentioned about Gilbert to him.

To: German Guy

Message: Definitely! Say hi to Gil for me.

There, that settled it.

Alfred continued on his meal. He couldn't wait for Saturday now. Some part of him knew it was definitely gonna rock!

Okay okay ohmygod. First off, I'm sorry if the mentioning of ADHD or psychiatrists offends anyone. Seriously, it's all just for the story. Promise. Secondly, there won't be too much yaoi in the story - well, nothing that exceeds little T over there. Thirdly, I'm neither English nor American - so if some of the accents written here are out, pleaaaaase just tell me.

Ps: Anyone can guess who those people who write in for advice are? :D

Pss: Final sentence was changed with advice from Hoshi19 and The Bitter Kitten. Thank you! :)

Read, and review! :)

- Anne