Hetalia - I'll Give You Bucks For Your Stars

By chicky-the-dragon.deviantart.com

Hetalia – I'll Give You Bucks For Your Stars
Written for AskKirkland

It was too early for this shit. Plain and simple, this city, nay, this COUNTRY was one massive headache for a young Briton stuck far away from his blessèd home island with a job that he hated but needed. Why his American uncle (Mr. Tobias Wallis, on his mother's side of the family) insisted that he should come to the “U S of A” to “make his dreams come true”, he didn't know. His uncle had lied, there were no more opportunities in this boisterous country than there were back in England.

Arthur Kirkland was a twenty-three year old, blond-haired, bushy browed man with a slim frame and a professional at appearing sophisticated. He pointedly refused to use any Americanisms and would gladly return home to the UK the second anyone said that he was picking up a foreign accent.

Arthur was known for his grumpy disposition, but that was mostly angst caused by his shitty Call Centre job (he wanted to work for Broadway as a scriptwriter, dammit!) and being deprived of a quiet atmosphere was taking the cake.

Today, listening to some prat bitch at him about some supposed bad service they had got from their company, was the day that Arthur Kirkland recklessly disconnected the call and took his lunch break one hour before he was supposed to. He didn't care if his boss yelled at him and fired his arse! Good riddance to the crappy position. Maybe he could become a writer or editor from home or something? This was all overwhelming and depressing, so much so that he shouldered through the crowded streets in search of some place that could provide him with tea of some form. Tea... Scones... English rain... God, he was homesick!

Stopping suddenly on the pavement, causing various very busy Americans to yell at him for getting in their way, the Englishman scanned the shop signs for some indication of a café.

“Starbucks,” he muttered under his breath. Sighing, knowing that it was a heavily commercialised establishment that he was about to step into, he convinced himself to deal with the busy crowds and long queues because he desperately needed some tea in his system or he would flip a table. Resigning himself to wait patiently at the back of the queue (that extended beyond the shop door) he thought once again to the savoury taste of Earl Grey tea... Okay, he really was spacing out. Standing in the heat for so long was a terrible idea.

The queue gradually shrank, but Arthur wasn't paying attention to the noisy customers or the busy staff members as he zoned out into a sleepy haze. Suddenly, someone clicking their fingers in front of the Briton's face snapped him back to reality.

Wait, he was at the front of the queue already?!

“Dude, yo! Helllloooo~ D'ya want anythin' or are ya just here to admire the shop? HAHAHA!”

Arthur blinked and looked into the shimmering blue eyes of a youthful-looking, blond-haired local whom was wearing spectacles along with an apron that denoted that he was an employee. Regaining his composure, he ordered an Earl Grey tea. The blue-eyed employee flashed him a Hollywood smile and continued chatting as he made the beverage.

“Awesome, you sound British! Are ya from England? Is that why ya ordered tea? Haha, that's funny! My bro Mattie is totally Canadian nuts! Like, he'll guzzle down tons of maple syrup, it's cool.” He – Alfred, according to the nametag – accepted the payment for the tea.

Arthur zoned out again, scanning the room for a place to sit down.

---

Alfred F. Jones was a nineteen-year-old man with an awesome body (if he could say so himself) and a love of all things American. He participated in a lot of sport activities and made some extra money with his part-time job at Starbucks. Life was pretty sweet! He also enjoyed studying science but nobody believed him because of his hyperactive personality. His biggest flaw? That would be the tuft of hair that refused to be flattened on his head. He called it Nantucket, not that many cared to know that fact.

Today Alfred was on till duty as the mad lunchtime rush came in for their snacks and coffee. He served them all with a cheery disposition and a bright smile, knowing that some of their hard-earned cash would end up in his pocket next payday. He was depositing some change into the till from his previous customer when his eyes were drawn to an odd-looking man whom was staring into space directly in front of him. That was pretty rude.

Eventually, Alfred caught the scruffy-blond's attention and gained his order. Earl Grey Tea? Well, the dude sounded English. Those guys functioned on the stuff, didn't they? However, as the man paid for his tea and walked away in order for Alfred to serve the next customer, the American teenager glanced curiously back at the Briton. The poor guy was zoning out again. Was he lost? Sick? Insane? Unable to find a seat...?

“Lizzy!” he called to a petite brunette Hungarian waitress.

“Yes, Alfie, what is it?” she asked with a smile. Alfred indicated his former-customer; “See him? Can ya find the dude a seat? I'm worried he's getting' heatstroke or sommat.”

Elizaveta Héderváry (Lizzy's full name) nodded and searched the room for a free seat. She dumped a squirty bottle of cleaner onto one of the chairs to “reserve” it and hurried over to the Briton whilst Alfred was busy. “Excuse me, sir?” She tapped Arthur's shoulder. “Would you care to take a seat?”

Revived from his stupor, the Englishman smiled politely at the lady. “Ah, if it's no trouble, please.”

“No trouble at all! Follow me.” Arthur complied and was led to the vacant chair, which was unfortunately opposite a flamboyant Frenchman whom was conversing in his own native tongue through an expensive-looking mobile phone. Everything about the Frenchman made his blood boil and his headache increase.

Lizzy sensed his foul mood and hailed his attention once more. “Would you like something eat, or a glass of water to cool down?” Oh that hint was not subtle at all. He agreed to pacify her. “Great!” she answered cheerfully. “I will be right back!” She skipped over to the kitchen sinks to fill a glass, then whispered in Alfred's ear before hurrying over to the Briton; “I'll take over on the till for you in a minute, dear, I think that the little gentleman by the window needs a hero to cheer him up.”

Alfred followed her with his eyes and shrugged. He didn't mind lifting the spirits of troubled customers, it was all part of his work as a server of Justice and coffee after all (although that title was better suited for a bartender). He nodded to the young woman, letting her serve the next customer as he approached the disgruntled Briton.

---

God, Arthur was about ready to deck that French tosser across from him! He was so glad that he didn't live in the 11th Century when French was Britain's primary language. He never liked learning French at school. Just as he was about ready to lob his cup of tea at the bearded git, whom was still on his phone, the cashier from earlier approached him with a happy smile. What did he want?

Arthur's scowl did nothing to deter the younger male. “Yes... Alfred?” He read the nametag. The other bloke perked up.

“Dude! I totes love the way you say my name. It's awesome. Anyways, you should come here more often, you look really stressed. Oh! That reminds me, ya kept on spacin' out. Not feelin' faint, are ya? I know you Brits can't take the heat but if ya want any ice, just ask and I'll get it for ya.”

God that boy had a set of lungs on him! Talking loud, quickly and with terrible grammar. Arthur didn't know whether to be flattered by his concern or annoyed about the incessant prattle. The lad won bonus points for irritating the Frenchman across from him. Hmm, maybe Arthur could have some fun here...

Arthur took a sip of his tea and smirked at the teenager. “Thank you for your concern, lad, but I am fine. I've just had a horrible day at work and I really don't feel like going back.”

Alfred frowned, which looked far too adorable for a maturing male. “Man, that sucks! Where d'ya work? You should work somewhere far more awesome coz you seem real smart and every citizen deserves job satisfaction!”

The Frenchman continued his phone conversation and turned his head to avoid showing his scowl. Haha, I caught him in the act, that damn slimeball! Arthur thought victoriously. He then quirked his eyebrow at Alfred's words. “And you you have full job satisfaction here?”

The adorable male protruded his bottom lip in thought. Wow, he actually had flawless skin on closer inspection... He needed to stop zoning out lest he worry the bloke again. Alfred, after far too much contemplation to be necessary, suddenly shot his customer a Hollywood smile (twinkling eyes and all). “Yeah! I love it here. I get to see all kinds of people and I can sometimes get to chat to them. My boss doesn't mind coz customer satisfaction helps business boom! Hahaha!”

Goodness, that LAUGH again! Keep him far away from the megaphone, people!

Arthur sipped his water and surreptitiously kicked the Frenchman's foot under the table, earning him a glare, which he returned with a devious smile that went right over the employee's head.

“So, dude,” the chipper American said to his current victim. “I see you smilin' there. Have I done an awesome job and deserve an awesome tip?” Arthur's face dropped from 'mildly amused' to 'deadpan' in a second flat.

“No.”

“YEAH RI-- What?” The dumb expression on the American's face was too funny not to laugh at. Arthur burst into laughter, earning a sharp kick to his shin from the pissed off Frenchman whom was STILL ON THE BLOODY PHONE!

The Englishman fumed and glared at the Frenchman. “That tosser across from me hasn't shut up from his fucking phone conversation since I was seated here. I am not happy at all!”

Alfred's mouth formed an 'O' shape and he tapped the French businessman on the shoulder, offering him a polite smile. “Sorry, sir. Will your phone convo be long? My friend here-” (“I am NOT his friend!”) “-is feelin' a bit put out about it. Maybe say hi to him or sommat to break the tension?”

Oh, so he DID notice the tension?

“I do NOT want to talk to that Frog!”

The Frenchman sighed and ended his phonecall, sending a curt glare at Arthur. “Excuse me, rosbif, but you are very rude!”

“I'M rude?! How could you have a fucking phone conversation in THIS noisy place?!” Arthur retorted hotly. Alfred was forgotten on the sidelines, but that was okay because these two might make an interesting form of entertainment for the rest of the work day.

“I was having a very important conversation with a client!”

“Some businessman you are if you can't find a quiet place to chat to them!”

“You English types are so stuck up!”

“I'M stuck up?! Your suit must cost five grand!”

“Oh, so you like my suit?” The Frenchman waggled his eyebrows suggestively, causing the Briton to boil. “I see zat yours is of the cheap variety.”

“Are you implying that there is something wrong with my clothes, sir?!”

“Who is implying anything, stupide.”

“Bastard, I'll kick your arse from here to Japan!” Arthur stood up, ready to strangle the other man when Alfred's child-like laughter interrupted his move. “What are YOU laughing at?” he complained irritably. Their squabble had gone unnoticed by the other customers. Typical. These places seemed to generate impenetrable bubbles of ignorance from everyone but quiet people-watchers... Like a certain Japanese man sat ten tables away whom was staring in their direction. Creepy.

“HAHAHAHA! You two are a RIOT! You don't even know each others' NAMES and you fight like you've known each other for YEARS!”

Arthur blushed heavily in embarrassment and the Frenchman looked a little shocked himself. “Uh...” He turned to his newly acquired rival and reluctantly extended his hand to be enclosed in a larger, warmer hand. “Hello, Frog, my name is Arthur Kirkland. As you can tell, I hail from the glorious island of Great Britain.”

“Salut, Arthur. Je m'appelle Francis Bonnefoy. I hail from the country of l'amour!”

Arthur rolled his eyes as Alfred frowned in confusion. “Dude, what continent is Lamore on?” Neither Arthur nor Francis could contain their hysterics at that innocent question, earning a whine from the teenager. “Whaaaat? Don't make fun o' me!”

Arthur snorted. “Sorry, but your question was simply adorable.”

Francis concurred with a wicked glint in his eye. “Mais oui! I bet that you were a cute child.” Arthur kicked him under the table.

“Don't leer, Frog, it's unnerving.”

“Ow! Stop aiming for the shins!”

“I'd aim somewhere else but I don't want to cause a scene.”

“Black Sheep of Europe.”

“Bastard.”

“Brute!”

“Arselicker.”

“Is that an invitation?” Francis suggested lewdly. Arthur pushed his chair back from the table in disgust.

“Ew, no! Piss off, wanker,” he cried in alarm. Francis chuckled and glanced at the Caller ID on his mobile phone. He smiled happily and produced two business cards from his jacket pocket, flicking one across the table to Arthur and handed one to Alfred whilst fishing out some extra dollars to leave as a tip.

“I must take my leave but feel free to call at any time, mes amis! Au revoir!” And with that, Francis picked up his belongings and exited the shop.

The young employee of Starbucks wasted no time to steal Francis' seat and waved enthusiastically at his retreating form. “SEEYA, MAN! THANKS FOR COMIN'!”

Arthur glared icily at the business card in his hands, contemplating whether or not to tear it up into confetti. Instead, he placed it in one of the folds of his wallet with no intentions to ever call that man. He caught a glimpse of his phone and lit up the screen to check the time. He really should get back to work...

But he didn't want to. By merely setting foot into a coffee shop that bore no appeal to him personally, Arthur felt that he had the most incredible conversations here, of all places, out of his entire working month.

God, that was a depressing revelation.

“Hey, dude? You okay? You look kinda sad. Didya want French Fry to stay?”

Arthur's head shot up and glared at Alfred's innocent blue eyes. “I do not miss that self-centred twat!” he exclaimed in outrage, gaining a mirthful laugh from the younger male.

“Then what's the prob, bro?”

The Briton sighed and folded his arms. “As redundant as this phrase is; I don't want to return to work.”

Realisation dawned on the teenager. “Ohhh! Your lunch break is over? Too bad, bro, we were really bondin'.”

Arthur did not dignify the last remark with a response. He frowned. “Yes, unfortunately. Although I am very tempted to quit.”

Alfred gaped dramatically and grasped his hand tightly from across the table, making Arthur blush terribly. “Whaat? Why would ya do that?!” His scandalised voice took the Englishman aback. “You're like seriously clever, I can tell, don't quit while you have nowhere else to go. Pleeeease?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. This man was a child. “You are blabbering on as if I will go homeless. And I have no desires to work there another day. They treat me, quite frankly, like crap.”

Alfred patted his hand reassuringly, and gave him a dazzling smile. It made Arthur feel extremely conscious about how intimate they were being. “Then come and work here.”

Arthur had to fight the expression of disgust at the suggestion. If anything, he viewed it as a demotion. He settled for a simple response, “No.”

Alfred whined again. “Whyyyy?”

The Briton flicked a crumb at Alfred's forehead and retorted. “Because with my work experience and qualifications I can afford to work in an area where I will receive a healthy wage.”

The American stared blankly at him for a moment, letting the words fly right over his head, and then let out a loud laugh. “Alright, dude! Then why don'tcha phone that Frenchman? He looked all smart an' classy. He's probably loaded.” The Englishman's eyebrow twitched in annoyance. Alfred studied the business card that the stranger handed them and whistled lowly. “Wow! I can't believe it. That dude works for the Beilschmidts! You totally have to get a job there. Gil is awesome and I've no doubts that you'll fit in with those white collar guys. I can totally provide you with references but if you wanna ticket out of that shithole job you're doin' now, then they'll totally hire you. Look, look, look!” The American whipped out his phone and, using the shop's WiFi connection, loaded the company's webpage. “These guys run a totally cool advertising business. In fact, I'll call Gil later tonight to see if he can getcha anythin'.”

Arthur was baffled by the lad's dedication. He gaped in astonishment at the shop assistant. “Wh-Why are you helping me? There is no requirement to and I barely kn-” He was cut off by a gentle peck to the lips and mischievous blue eyes bored into his own.

“Shh. Coz I like ya,” was the simple repsonse that made Arthur Kirkland blush like a bride.


Several table away, Elizaveta and the Japanese customer shared a packet of tissues to stem their sudden nosebleeds at the newly-blossoming love.


Arthur paid Alfred extra that day, exchanging phone numbers with the promise that they would both keep in touch. He also refused to return to work except to hand in his leaving notice. For some reason he trusted Alfred completely, and he was not let down.