Right Under Your Nose (A USUK Hetalia Restaurant AU fic)

[meepsy]

Hey everyone, I'm back after a long hiatus, and I bring you Hetalia fan fiction! This is a human AU of my own invention, where Alfred and Arthur both work as severs at an international cuisine restaurant in the heart of a college city, somewhere in the New England/Mid Atlantic area. For those who are familiar with APH, my characterizations are probably far more headcannon than actual cannon, and I've also aged Alfred and Arthur a bit (Al is 21 and Art is 25), so apologies if it doesn't suit you. For those who don't know anything about Hetalia, I think the story stands alone enough so that anyone will be able to understand and enjoy it.

My writing is a bit rough, and the POV tends to bounce around a bit, but I've played around with it enough that I feel it's presentable. Anyway, here's part one. Enjoy!

(oh, yes, and there's slight use of heavy language. Sorry!)

~o~

Part One

“Soooo, how are you and the new girl doing, hm? Things getting serious yet?” Elizabeta asked, smiling a smile that clearly said “give me all the dirty deets”.

Alfred laughed in reply – his usual social reflex for scenarios which he wasn't quite sure how to respond to- and propped himself up on his hands as he leaned back over the break room table he was sitting on.

“Haha, that's the thing, Liz, I don't really know. I mean, Nat's great, right? Like really cool, and we have a lot of fun together, but there's some weird stuff. She's got this thing about, like, constantly showing me off to her brother, and the guy's a real douche, so yeah... I dunno.”

The girl nodded, resting her chin in her cupped palm, appraising him as a hired therapist might.

“Hm. Okay. But do you feel anything beyond just having fun? A chemistry or spark or something?” she pried, tossing her long ponytail behind her shoulder.

The blond boy shrugged. “Ummm, I think so? I mean, it's hard to tell, but I figure I might as well give it a shot and see where it goes, right?”

Elizabeta hummed sagaciously “Yes, but it's important not to close any doors. There could be a better match for you lying right under your nose, and you wouldn't even know it.”

Alfred rolled his eyes. “Pshh, come on, Liz. And people say I'm a romantic idealist!”

Elizabeta replied with one of her ridiculously loaded side-glances, and before Alfred a chance to interrogate her on it, the door to the break room slammed open, and an extremely irate-looking Englishman stormed in as though he'd just lost a world war or something. If Alfred had been paying any attention to Elizabeta at the moment, he would have seen her eyes widen a bit, and heard her mumble something that sounded and awful lot like “speak of the devil”, but his focus was instead turned fully toward the new party in question.

“Oh, hey, what's up, Prince Artemis?” Alfred greeted loudly as the other young man strode by with clear intentions of ignoring him. “Get in a good game of cricket before work today? Enjoy some spotted liver? How's the Queen doin'? I hear you two are good buddies!”

“Fuck off!” the young man snarled, finally cracking, and flashed the English-equivalent of the middle finger over his shoulder as he passed through to the small hallway that led to the coat racks.

Alfred smirked. “Huh. Looks like someone got up on the wrong side of the bed.” He jumped off the table and turned to Elizabeta.

“'Pardon, m'lady” he said in a fake British accent, bowing, “but I do believe I've got some pestering to do.”

He followed the Englishman's path, and leaned casually against the doorway of the small coat room.

“Yo Arts, I'm sorry if I offended you,” he continued, watching as the smaller man took off and hung his coat and scarf. “I know you English types can get kinda persnickety sometimes...” He prepared himself for the furious onslaught that was sure to come from the Brit, and was taken aback when the smaller man continued to ready himself for work without so much as a blink in his direction. He decided to take another poke, because it was just so hard to resist:

“Hey, Artie, you feelin' okay there? I mean, usually you'd be ready with like an entire dictionary of insults to throw back in my face. What gives, dude?”

The smaller blond, formerly occupied with tying the uniform-required maroon tie around his neck, paused to shoot a look of absolute fury at the American, which was shortly interrupted by something else:

“Hhh... hu'tCHUu!...” The Englishman cupped a hand to his mouth as the sneeze told hold of him, sniffed, and hitched his breath, his brow furrowed in anticipation of another:

“Huhh... hu'tCHu!... huhh... hh'ttCHUu!... ughn...” he sniffed again, wetly, and put the crook of his elbow to his mouth to cover a few loose, crackling coughs. Alfred watched with sort of guilty fascination.

“Bless you. Wow jeez, you really are sick, huh? Sorry, dude, I had no idea,” The Englishman shot a fiery glare at him, tempered by his nose and cheeks, which were flushed and, when paired with his rather elfin features, lent him a sort of juvenile appearance.

“I'mb prefectdly finde.” the smaller man growled. “Nodt thadt idt's andy of your bloody concernde.”

Alfred lifted an eyebrow, “Yeah, okay, you're fine, and Ludwig and Feliciano aren't secretly dating, and the whole staff totally doesn't know about it. Come on, seriously-” he continued as Arthur turned away to stifle more coughs. “Why didn't you call out?”

The Englishman groaned, which came out sounding more exhausted than irritated, though Alfred knew the Brit was aiming for the latter.

“Even if I did happben to be ill- whidch I'mb nodt, mind you- who could I pbossibly gedt tdo cover for mbe last mbinute on a bleedingg Sadturday night?” Arthur waited defiantly for the git's epiphany, but the taller blonde only shrugged.

“Heck, I'd do it, Artie. No sweat, I'd even split tips with you.”

Arthur felt his blood boil.“You cand't be serious, you jusdt workged an eighdt hour shifdt!” Alfred looked at him, and the genuine concern in his eyes was all the more infuriating.

“Just say the word, Arts. I don't mind, I promise. You look like you could use a night off.”

The Englishman gathered up all the dignity he could muster and regarded the American with an icy sneer. “Thangks, budt I'd rather suffer through ten thousandd coldds than placatde your self-worshiping hero compblex, you smug, obnoxious git.” He watched the effects of his rebuff as the American took it in, and felt the slightest twinge of guilt at the flash of hurt in the taller man's eyes.

“Okay, whatever, Artie. Suit yourself.”

Alfred's voice was quiet and hard, and the sound of it left a bad feeling in the pit of Arthur's stomach. The American left the doorway without another word, and Arthur was free at last to get ready for work in peace, but his victory did not feel satisfying in the slightest.

~o~

[Dye]

Oh my god they're so cute.

It's been ages since I've read a good USUK fic, and a sickfic at that. @W@ I'd love to see more!

[Not_Telling]

OHHHHH MYYYYYY GOODNESSSSSSS GOSH.

I AWAIT MORE OF THIS FATABULOUS FABULOUSNESS!!!

[Hibiscus]

Yay, meepsy, you're back!

I am familiar with your work; I swear, you write the best denial stories. I like this so far. Although Hetalia is not part of my fandoms, I can already tell Alfred is a easygoing, jovial guy- I like his dialogue in your story.

[SterlingSilver]

*spins around* Weeeee~! USUK~! <33 This is lovely~! And it's interesting to see an AU! You really capture the characters, and I also love the environment you set up for them~ I can't wait for another part <3

[JQLovesSneezes]

Aww!!! I love America so much!! <3 And I love how you added Hungary! XD

[squealofapproval]

Oooh, that was absolutely WONDERFUL! *grabs heart aghast* WONDERFUL.

[obsessed]

Oo, meepsy fic - can't wait to see where this goes!

[Akahana]

God I love this already!! Artie stop being such a dick XD

[meepsy]

Ohmygosh, thank you for all the lovely comments, guys! They made me smile

Here's another short chapter for you. Sick!Arthur is just too much fun to resist.

~o~

Part Two

“Hello, my name is Arthur, and I'll be your... hh'tCHUu! … hu'TCHSH! *sniff* Pardon mbe. And I'll be your server todday.”

Arthur groaned internally as his party, a young couple, blessed him politely, albeit warily. He really couldn't blame them. He knew he looked like death; the git Jones had confirmed as much for him earlier, and really, he felt like it too. Every molecule of his body ached, his nose was useless, stuffed to high heaven, and every sneeze felt like a bus hitting him at full speed. Not to mention the coughs that were tearing up his throat, or the shivery chill that ran through him every few minutes, alluding to the fact that he might very well be sporting a fever as well.

It infuriated him (as did everything about Alfred F. Jones) that the git had probably been right about him needing a night off, and the offer the American made to him still sat in his brain, taunting him, making everything all the worse because now the only thing that stood between him and sweet, blessed sleep was his own god-be-damned bloody ego.

Arthur knew that, even despite his earlier behavior, Alfred would still agree to take over his shift at the drop of a hat- all he needed to do was ask. But he couldn't. No, he wouldn't. He refused to give the git that satisfaction, even if it meant he was in for one of the more miserable nights of his life.

Speaking of miserable... he felt the itching ache of more sneezes coming on. He quickly excused himself from his table, and caught them in the crook of his arm as he headed down the hallway to the bathrooms.

“Hu'tCHSH! … HT'SHCHUu! … hh ...'TSCHSHU! ...nngh.”

He slammed open the men's room door and went to a stall to take care of the mess on his face and shirt. He grabbed a fist full of toilet paper to dry underneath his nose, and another to blow into. After exhausting that fist full he pulled another, and another, until at last, his nose felt, if not clear, than slightly less precariously over full. His relief was short-lived, however, as a bout of coughs overtook him- starting out breathy, but picking up weight- so that by the end he was doubled over and gasping for air.

He straightened up slowly, and regarded his reflection in the mirror. Yes, death. Not even warmed over. He was paler than usual, his eyes were dull with fatigue, and his nose was a glaring beet red. It would be a miracle if he got through this shift alive- let alone with any semblance of dignity- but it was still better than admitting to it out loud. He would power through it because he was Arthur Kirkland, and Arthur Kirkland did not bow down to silly head colds. Over his dead body, (which, admittedly, did not seem to be all that far off...)

~o~

Edited May 29, 2014 by meepsy

[obsessed]

Yes, death. Not even warmed over.

Your writing is fabulous!

[squealofapproval]

Wonderful! Again, so nice! Haha! I love it love it love it!

[Not_Telling]

OH GOODNESS GOSH AGAIN.

<3 <3 <3 I LOVE DENIAL AND HIDING SICKNESS AND WORKING THROUGH IT AND EVERYTHING ESPECIALLY WHEN IT'S CUTE ENGLISH BOYS SO YOU ARE VERY AWESOME TO ME RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[Hibiscus]

Yes, death. Not even warmed over.

Ooo, way to put a unique spin on a commonly used idiom! Nice!

The story just keeps on getting better and better.

[meepsy]

Glad you guys like it so far I'm exhausting my reserve now, but what the heck - if you got it you might as well post it, right?

Here's part three. More to come soon! (Oh, and this chapter contains a lot of coughing. Just fair warning.)

~o~

Part Three

Alfred huffed as he made his way to the punch clock. The last hour of his shift had been spent in supreme frustration. He had lost track within minutes of Arthur's arrival the number of times he caught the Englishman in the middle of a sneezing or coughing (or sometimes, it seemed, both) fit, looking more and more depleted each time, and all the while trying to cover eight tables at peak lunch hours, which was a tough job even when you were at your 100% best. But what could he do? It wasn't like he could force the Englishman to go home, and he doubted Ludwig would send him on his own without proper coverage. The whole thing left Alfred feeling helpless in the face of someone who clearly needed help, a feeling he hated more than anything.

Arthur had been kind of a jerk to him though, but then again, Arthur was always kind of a jerk, in a prudish, wet-blankety sort of way, which was one of the reasons why Alfred got such a kick out of teasing him. That and the fact that his eyebrows had this cute way of furrowing up, (not that he thought Arthur was cute. He did have a girlfriend after all.) The point was that Alfred was not going to spend precious energy worrying himself about it. The Brit had refused his offer, and that was that. He'd given himself this same speech many times over the course of the past hour, each time to little avail.

He was just passing by the men's room, when he heard something that sounded suspiciously like a person in the deep throes of a coughing fit. Instinct took over his mind, and he opened the door and stepped inside.

“Artie? You in here?” The coughing continued from the last stall, and Alfred could see a figure slumped down on the floor, propped against the stall wall. The coughs were huge and debilitating, and immediately replaced any annoyance Alfred had felt toward the Englishman with sharp concern.

“I'mb finde. Go away,” Arthur called hoarsely between coughs, which just served to amplify Alfred's worry.

“Jesus, you sound terrible! Hold on, I'll be right back.” He left and ducked around the corner into the kitchen to retrieve a water glass, which he filled with water and brought back to the bathroom.

“Hey,” he called, approaching the last stall, as Arthur continued to fall victim to his fit. “I'm coming in, okay?” The Englishman immediately tried to protest, but his words were lost in his coughs. Alfred pushed open the stall door, which he found unlocked, and made his way to the smaller man.

He crouched down next to the Brit and rubbed his back, trying his best to soothe the fit away.

“Hey, Artie. Hey now. It's okay. It's gonna be okay...” When at last the Englishman's fit subsided, Alfred handed him the glass of water. “Here, drink this.” he said softly.

“Thangks,” Arthur muttered, his voice completely ravaged by the fit, and took a small sip from the glass. He coughed a bit, and attempted to clear his throat, but the noises he made were sharp and painful-sounding, and he soon gave them up with a small, exhausted moan.

“Artie, you're shaking,” Alfred said. He instinctively placed a hand against the Englishman's forehead, and was dismayed with what he felt. “You're burning up, dude.”

“A-am I?” Arthur replied shakily, with just a hint of a laugh. He coughed again, and took another small sip of water. “Idt bloody well figures.” He immediately turned away, a hand lifting to cover what could only be an impending sneeze:

“Hhg'tCHSHu! ...Hhg'TCHSH! ...Hg'TCHSH! ...Huhhh...” he paused, hitching, the desperate look of anticipation suspended on his face. “Hh! 'TSCHSHUhgh! ..nnngn. *sniff* ohhh blooddy hell...”

“Bless you,” Alfred said, reaching behind him to grab a hand full of toilet paper. He handed it to the Brit, who accepted it gratefully, and dried his hand and nose. He folded the paper and blew wetly, repeating the motions until every inch of the strip was completely used. He balled the strip up, wiped his running nostrils one last time, then sniffed, leaned his head back against the stall wall and coughed a bit more.

“Arthur,” Alfred said seriously. “You can't work like this. You have to go home.”

Arthur closed his eyes and shivered, hugging himself as a chill went though him. “I cand't,” he whispered at last, defeated.

“Yes, you can,” Alfred said. “Here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna take my keys and get your stuff and wait in my truck for me. I'm going to find Lud and tell him that I'm driving you home and that I'm working the rest of your shift. Okay?”

“Alfred-” Arthur tried hoarsely.

“No arguing,” Alfred interrupted softly. Carefully, he brushed back the Englishman's bangs, which hung damp and limp in his eyes. “Can you stand up?” After a hesitant beat, the smaller man nodded.

“Okay, good. Here are my keys. I'll be out in a minute, okay?” He held the keys against the Englishman's hand until Arthur's fingers curled around them at last. Taking that as a sign of acceptance, Alfred lifted himself up and headed out back toward the manager's office.

~o~

[Not_Telling]

[Hibiscus]

Alfred is so sweet taking Arthur's shift for him.

And I can see Arthur's getting worse! Yay!

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Oh looky what I found, another cute drabble. Heeheehee this is too perfect!

[Dye]

oh my goodnesssss

it's adorable

poor arthur! QwQ

[squealofapproval]

Ha you do care! Lol!

That was freaking adorable <3

[obsessed]

This is too precious ahhh

[8lifflefoot]

So much amazingnes!!! I love the denial and the spelling!!

[cupkake]

USUK this is goooooooold <3 <3 I like it. I like it alot.

[Akahana]

UH:BVSKIBVD:IKVSYIVHDSYI:AVIIL BABUES!! I can't wait for more, I can't wait for the fluffiness~ <3

[meepsy]

You guys are the coolest, thank you so much for your encouragement!

Here's the next part wooo!!!

~o~

Part Four

Alfred rounded the corner and swung open the door to the office, finding a stern-looking German organizing paperwork at the desk.

“Yooo, Ludyyy! 'Sup, dogg?” Alfred greeted, swinging himself into the office by holding the frame of the door. The German huffed and looked over his reading glasses, which Alfred had only ever seen him wear in this room.

“What do you, want, Jones?”

Alfred swung his hands together in a loose clap as he walked further into the office. “Okay, here's the thing, Lud. Art's not feeling too good. He's not gonna be able to work the rest of his shift.”

The German man stiffened. “What are you talking about? He only got here an hour ago!”

“Yeah, I know, but the guy's like seriously on the brink of collapse. Sooo!-” he continued before the other man could begin to protest. “-I'm gonna take him home real quick, and then I'm gonna come back and work the rest of his shift. Cool?”

The German lifted an eyebrow. “Are you sure about this, Jones? That's going to be a fourteen hour day for you.”

“Yeah, it's no big deal,” Alfred replied casually. “I'll get Liz to cover the tables while I'm gone. Be like thirty minutes tops.”

Ludwig sighed. “Fine, fine. Just be back as soon as possible.” He made a sweeping “leave” gesture with his hand, and Alfred obeyed, shutting the door behind him.

Five minutes later, Alfred was walking swiftly across the parking lot toward his red Chevy pickup, his fists stuffed tightly in his pockets against the frigid January wind. He opened his door and climbed in, flashing a grin over at the passenger seat where Arthur sat, arms wrapped tightly across his chest, seemingly trying very hard not to shiver.

“Hey, Arturo,” he said, shifting the truck into drive. “You ready to rock n' roll?” His greeting was met with a sudden sharp inhale from the Brit as a sneeze took hold of him.

“Hh'TSHCHuh! ...Hg'TCHUgh! ...G'tSHUh! ..Hg'tCHSH!... nnngh...” the sneezes were thick and wet and messy, and Arthur sniffled hard against his knuckles, trying, and failing, to be discreet about it.

“Bless you,” Alfred said, trying to pretend he hadn't just been staring. “Hey, uh-” he began as the started to pull out of the parking lot. “I think there's probably some napkins in the glove compartment, if you want.” Arthur, still sniffling, wordlessly popped open the compartment and retrieved a hand full of napkins from some fast food place. Alfred remembered with embarrassment the pile of bags and french fry containers that were no doubt piled around Arthur's feet. “Sorry about the mess in here, by the way.”

Arthur wiped his nose and sniffed thickly. “Dond't be,” he said at last, his voice husky with congestion. “Itd's your car. You can do whadt you ligke with idt.”

Alfred felt himself blushing a bit- he wasn't used to seeing the Englishman so... submissive. It was unsettling, like catching someone in a state of weakness, but also strangely intriguing? It was the latter feeling that truly bothered Alfred, and he tried to push it away as best he could.

Arthur cleared his throat and tipped his head back against the headrest, a few shivery coughs escaping his reserve. “Thangk you for doingg this,” he said after a beat, and felt the last of his barricades fall, felt the pent-up exhaustion begin to set itself deep in his bones.

The American cast a swift glance in his direction, then back to the road. “Hey, don't worry about it, Artie. You'd do the same for me.” Arthur wasn't sure that he would, or had even had the means to. Alfred was four years younger than him, but he was an honors student and a pre-med major, and seemed to have a handle on his life and future that Arthur- a college dropout and struggling playwright- could only dream about. Where Alfred could effortlessly take control over a situation like this, Arthur would no doubt be plagued with insecurity and self-doubt.

Normally this thought would be a spark to ignite Arthur's resentful temper, but today it was just a dim ache in the back of his mind, draining him slowly.

Alfred drove, keeping a careful eye on the Brit, who suddenly seemed so despondent. “Hey, so... you're still on Jefferson, right?” he asked. The Englishman stiffened, then shook his head.

“No, *ahm*, um... actdually I'mb on Belmont ndow. Stdaying adt mby brother's pblace for a bidt...”

“Oh, really? Why the change?” Alfred asked innocently.

“I'd rather not talkg aboudt it.” Arthur said, his tone terse with fatigue. He began to cough harshly, and the American waited in sympathetic silence for the fit to abate. Once recovered, Arthur felt guilty for his shortness, and sighed.

“Sorry, Idt was jusdt, um... idt was a relationship thadt wendt too far too fasdt, and, um... jusdt turned sour, I suppbose...” he trailed off and sniffled, fought off emotions as painful memories from the past month hit him all over again. He wished he could just melt into a puddle on the floor and stay that way till the end of time, existing as not a person, not a real thing at all.

“Jeez, Art, that sucks. I'm sorry,” Alfred replied, easing the truck to a stop at a red light. Arthur shivered and huddled down into the seat a bit.

“Idt's alridght. Idt was mby fauldt, really,” the Brit admitted. “I dond't thngk I'mb quidte cudt oudt for relationdshibps, to be hondest.” He regretted his words immediately, however true he felt they were. The only way to respond to them was with false pity and encouragement – a social contract which Arthur always found grating and tedious.

“Oh, come on, Artie,” Alfred responded predictably. “You know that's not true. One day you'll find somebody that works with you, and appreciates you, and they're gonna be the luckiest person in the world because you're seriously a really incredible guy.” The American's words were cliched as hell, (as was to be expected), but the earnest sincerity with which he said them touched Arthur, and made him blush.

“Thangk you,” he said softly. Courtesy dictated that he respond with an inquiry about Alfred's love life, but he couldn't seem to summon up the energy for it. The exhaustion was hitting him hard, swallowing him up, and all he could do was succumb. He leaned deeper into the chair and closed his eyes, dimly aware of Alfred turning the heat up as yet another shiver escaped his control.

He wondered about it, though, dimly. He knew from the gossiping cesspool that was his place of work that Alfred was seeing some Belorussian girl, but beyond that – how long it had been or how serious it was – he wasn't sure. The slight, nagging curiosity he felt, paired with a twinge that felt almost the tiniest bit like jealousy, would have been troubling under normal circumstances, but the pull of sleep was far too powerful, and at last, Arthur yielded to it.

~o~

Edited June 1, 2014 by meepsy