Arthur Kirkland's Problem

Chapter 17:

Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia, I do not.

_____________________________________________________________________________

        Arthur stumbled down the stairs, one side of his green pjs slipping down his shoulder, drool coming out of his mouth, his hand scratching his stomach. He had just woken up, but it felt like he was still asleep. He had the urge to go downstairs, though, for some reason. He managed to make it to the kitchen, where he saw his roommate eating a pile of hamburgers so large it made someone have a heart attack just seeing it. He stood there dumbly, staring at the sight before him. America still hadn't noticed him, and was eating the heart-stopping food like it was his last meal. Which Arthur thought it would be, at that rate. It wasn't that he hadn't seen him do that before, it was just one small thing that made him actually pay attention to the view; America was in his house.

        "Hey, bro." Alfred said, looking at him, with his mouth full. He held out one of his precious burgers. "Want one?"

        Britain didn't move, his hand still scratching his stomach. Then he slowly turned around and began shuffling up the stairs.

_____________________________________________________________________________

        Two hours later, Britain, now fully dressed and ready for the day, went down the stairs and saw America sitting in his living room, watching soccer (In America we call it Football!), a drink in his hand. "What are you doing in my house?" he asked, eyes narrowed.

        Alfred answered without even looking at him. How rude. "Hey, bro. You're awake. Again. Yeah, so the school burned down and Oliver offered to let me stay here cause my parents are asses and won't come and get me."

        Arthur stood there (again), staring at America. Then he sat down next to him (Read: on the other side of the couch), looking at the T.V. with uninterested eyes. Not much actually surprised him when it came to the other countries. He got comfortable and asked, "What are we watching? Soccer?"

        "Nah, football."

        "Soccer."

        "Football."

        "It's soccer, you twat!"

        "It's football!" America snapped.

        "Soccer!" Arthur hissed.

        "How could you have been raised in America and still call it soccer? It's football here!"

        "Too bad! I'm not American- I'm obviously British."

        "Obviously." Alfred rolled his eyes.

        A moment passed, then Arthur realized something. "What do you mean, obviously? Was that an insult?"

         "What? No! Touchy, much?"

        "Where did that come from? Are you implying that I'm sensitive?" Arthur jumped up, angry.

        "Yes." Alfred stayed where he was.

        "You bastard!" Britain threw the nearest item he could reach at America- which just so happened to be an apple.

        Not expecting this, and watching football, America still caught it right before it hit him. He looked at Arthur with an amused look on his face. He started throwing the fruit up and down. "Are you sensitive about being sensitive, Arthur?"

        "You bloody wanker! How dare you?" he picked up the rest of the fruit and began throwing it at Alfred, the loud boy catching it each time. America stood up, a grin on his face.