Sorry, My Boyfriend is Just Kind Of Old-Fashioned [Hetalia England x reader]

Chapter 1- Where The Bloody Hell Am I?!?!?

You held your breath. The weirdo had taken quite a nasty fall, and his head hit your bed with a clunk. Cursing, he mumbled something barely audible.

"Is this... is this the Queen's fair land...?"

"Oh!" you exclaim, surprised. "Your accent!" He looks confused and smiles weakly.

"Now get off my bed, those boots will ruin it!" you order. He starts to remove his shoes in a terrified manner. Wow. You didn't know you could be that scary, but hey, it was your brand new room. He pauses mid-shoelace and smiles pleasantly, extending his hand.

"Greetings. I am Arthur Kirkland."

Wait, what? He was actually real?

"Yeah, yeah, Arthur Kirkland, but WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!?" you snap.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!! I must be just lost... pray tell, is this still the Kindgom of Queensbury?"

"You're completely insane!!" He blinks.

"Well, hate to break it to you love but if anyone looks mildly insane now, it's you. You're the one who's screaming at me, and I never even caused you any harm! I just need to reunite myself with the troops, today we're sailing for America..."

What? A British accent? America? LOVE??

"What the hell are you doing here?!?" You scream.

"What the hell am I doing here?!?" He screams back.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE WE DOING HERE?!?!" You scream together.

Wait.

"This is my house!" you declare. "So I don't care if you're from the Queensicle or whatever, you can just scram!" Aw, geez, that was harsh. He looks very hurt, clearly he's trying not to show it.

"Oh, I'm sorry I—"

"Oh (Nameeee)~"

"Crap! That's my mother, quick, you just go up here—" You shove Arthur up the stairs to the loft, just seconds before your mum walks in the room.

"Don't. Say. A word." you mouth.

Mrs. (Last name) meanders around the room, taking in all the details of your room. It makes you feel very awkward, like someone is looking into your diary, or over your shoulder at your computer screen.

"Wow, look at this ratty place!" your mother exclaims. " I like what you've done with it!"

"Moo-om...! " you protest, hating the sarcasm.

She laughs. "No seriously! It's about as adolescent as they get—oh! What happened to your poster of Gerard Way?"

Oh! It was still torn from Arthur's crash landing— "I—I'm just kind of over the My Chemical Romance phase right now, I think." you manage to make out awkwardly. (LIES.) Darn it, what was it about her that made you feel so uncomfortable?!

"Oh, I see. I still don't get why you feel the need to plaster every wall of the new house with your junk but oh well..." She closes the (f/c) door plastered with Polaroids like it was before and walks back out.

"Oh, did you use non-stick tape?" she calls from the hallway. "With all those posters, I mean."

"Yes mum..." You answer, restraining a gag. Yes, non-stick tape, when the sole purpose of tape is to stick things together. She probably meant the kind that didn't ruin the walls. Oh, the walls, the walls, the walls, the house, the house the house—sometimes you wondered if she cared more about the house or you! You sigh. She was kind of that way, your mum. I mean, you're sure she was a really great person somehow, but you never really spent a lot of time with her. She and dad were always out working, and hardly ever at home. Ah well, someone had to pay for the house—

"Pssst, Miss (Name)!" Arthur! The voice gave you a fright, you had forgotten about him for an instant. He looks around, cautiously peering over and down at you from the loft.

"May I speak now?" Of course you can, you idiot, you already are.

"Sure."

"So you live with your parents, then?" He snickers. "Your mum is terrifying."

"What—I—" you stutter.

"But aren't you too old to live with your parents?" he comments. "In Queensbury, everyone who's sixteen or seventeen or about our age is already an adult for some time, married even! It's all well and good until it goes on to..."

He continues but you stare at him blankly. Okay, about this whole thing, there were two possibilities. One, the preferable one: he was delusional, and two, the probably more likely one: you were delusional.

"So all I want to know is how to get back to Queensbury so I can fight in the British militia!" he concludes triumphantly.

"Pray tell, possesest thou a map? Ah, there's no need, we can just use the stars!" He cranes his neck out the loft's little window.

"Indeed, the North star should be right here... CRIKEY WHY IS THAT STAR MOVING?!?" You sigh. It had been a long day.

"Look, 'Arthur...?', do you wanna just spend the night?"

"I would, very much so." he says, frazzled. "I need to compose myself, I just saw a moving star."

You toss him a few extra pillows and a throw blanket to the loft, and when everything had settled down you sneak a peek past his sleeping huddle of blankets at the tiny window.

The slow-blinking airplane moves through the sky, blinking, almost laughing.