Hetalia Today.

America's Message.

"Mornin.."

Turning his collar up, Alfred hurried past the other countries and through to find one of them.

Big and foreign and definitely out of his league, the EU building was not familiar ground for him. He knew his way from about the foyer to the conference room, but that was only on special occasions, so to seek someone out was a hassle. It was raining outside and he hated it, the extreme weather building up as the global thermometer followed suit-

Ew. Not something he wanted to think about. Best avoid it like Japan did whenever they occasionally met up for anime binges.

"Scuse me, you seen France anywhere?"

Romano glared at him, then shrugged dismissively, mumbling, "why should I know where that groping bastardo is?"

Alfred scratched the back of his head, sighing, "he isn't that bad, y'know-"

"Amérique?" Hastily tying his hair up, Francis swept up beside him, "fancy seeing you here, mon garçon... what brings you?"

"Seen England around? Only I gotta talk with him. Like now."

Francis frowned slightly at Alfred's serious expression. "Oh, mon dieu, not another argument, not now, not here-"

"No, it's-" Alfred dropped his voice and the pair leaned in closer to each other, "it's just a message from my boss."

"Just-" Francis wrung his hands before jerking them over his shoulder, "in there, but be gentil, Amérique."

A nod was all that was necessary: the reason he should be so gentle and the subject of the message were both the same source of stress for the entire household. He left Francis in the hall, pulling his hair down and retying it as he paced the halls.

"Hey, England!"

Arthur looked up wearily, head in hand, fingers to temple, from the laptop and sea of documents strewn across his desk. Documents and more. His long suffering look lessened as his eyes fell on Alfred, but he hid it as he groaned bitterly, "oh, spare me the bloody agony."

Alfred swung himself into the chair and put his elbows up on the table, "aw shucks, y'love me!"

A grunt. "What have you come to pester me about now. Bacon toothpaste?"

"Been there done that, nah, I came here-" Alfred dropped his gaze and his voice faltered, "came here with a message."

Another grunt showed he was listening.

"From my boss."

A halt in the typing and a raise of thick eyebrows showed he was paying attention.

But Alfred wasn't so ready to cough up. He fiddled with his glasses for a moment, huffing on them before wiping slowly, round and round, smearing the grease even more-

"Alfred."

"'Kay, 'kay, don't getcha wand in a twist.." replacing them, he cleared his throat, stared intently at his shoes, and announced, "if you leave the EU, we will no longer trade with you."

A silence followed, cut into pieces of seconds by the grandfather clock looming in the corner. Arthur's mouth hung open a little, pen in hand. Then he closed his mouth and clicked his pen, brow furrowing. This was exactly the prospect, the upcoming referendum, that hung like Russia's dark aura over the EU household.

Of course, as ever, there were many, many more things to add to the cloud, but this was the biggest and most threatening one. The people's decision could possibly change everything.

And that was what Arthur found so worrying; it was the people, not him, who would decide.

He lowered his pen with a soft clunk.

"..America, you know perfectly well that there's nothing I can do about-"

"England, yknow damn well I can't do a thing about what my boss decides to say! I can give my input here and there- look, England," he leaned forwards, head in hands, with a sigh, "he said it whilst on a lil trip here so it's probably public by now but ya need to know this."

Arthur clicked his pen again irritably. "Yes, yes, America, I know how to do ny job. I know how this works."

"Never said you didn't."

Tapping his screen back to life, he muttered, "like to see you do better."

Alfred stood with a clatter of the chair and slammed his fists on the table, "DON'T GIVE ME SHIT, ARTHUR!"

Arthur flinched- calling him by his name like that was rude. And also meant he was pissed. "America, I only-"

"NO. SHUT THE FUCK UP I HAVE quite e-fucking-nough going on with this wall-happy fat ass trying to get elected to run me, so don't you fucking DARE TRY TO GIVE ME SHIT ON HOW TO DO MY FUCKING JOB, ARTHUR-"

"Amérique!"

Alfred spun around to see Francis and Matthew in the doorway, both shaken. His brother swallowed and gave him a look that simply asked 'why?'. Francis reached out, "come here, mon cher, the other countries are disturbed by all this shouting."

Sure enough, behind him, a small crowd of murmuring, mainly concerned countires was gathering. But to Alfred the concern was lost and it just sounded like bitter judgement. He lowered his head and stepped over the chair, leaving Arthur stiff in his own. Brushing past Francis, he shot a glare at Matthew before pushing through the crowd.

"...oh mon dieu. What did you say this time?"

After a moment, Arthur sniffed and sat up and shuffled some disturbed papers, "nothing. He just blew up."

Francis sensed the bullshit and raised an eyebrow, but chose to remain silent- both were under so much stress. Matthew, however, could not keep quiet: he had heard the yelling as clear as everyone else had, he knew what had happened.

"England, maybe you should be, maybe, more sensitive around this presidential election, after all, he-"

"Oh bloody hell Matt!" Arthur flipped the chair back onto its legs with more force than necessary, "leave it the bloody hell alone! You've finally gotten what you ruddy wanted, being noticed, mister Number One Wannabe country with the perfect model president, just be damn satisfied and don't stick your nose it where it doesn't bloody well belong!"

"ARTHUR."

That was the second time today someone had used his name. He spat a poisonous glare at the frog and sat down heavily in his chair as Matthew turned and ran from the room. Most countries shook their heads and left. Only Antonio stayed back, close behind Francis with a hand reassuringly on the small of his back. Francis returned the glare without hesitation. Then he sighed and it fell into one that simply asked 'why?'.

"Bonne journée, Angleterre.." he called softly as he swung the doors shut with a gentle click.

Arthur stared at the screen, at the paper, at his pen without really seeing anything. Finally a great, weary sigh that carried all his years escaped him and his head sunk into his hands.

"...why?"