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

Chapter 2- In which a man from the 18th century discovers crayons

beep-beep. beep-beep. beep-beep...

"FUUUUUUU--" You groan and give the alarm clock a karate chop of fury.

"Why are you ringing?!?" You exclaim. "IT'S SATURDAY!!" Why, oh why, had the hands of fate denied you your time of res-- Then realization struck you like an arrow to the knee.

"Crap! It's not Saturday! It's still Friday-- and my first day at my school!! What time is it-- 7:45-- Oh SHIT! I'm gonna be late!!"

You grab the first pair of clothes in your closet that would make you appear decent to society and are about to rip off your pajamas and squeeze into them when a tiny voice inside your head stops you.

"Hey, (Name), aren't you forgetting something...?"

"ARTHUR!!! Git, git, git, out of my room, I have to change!" He groans melodramatically from the loft and just rolls over to the other side.

"Ahhhh I don't have time for this!" You rush over to the bathroom with all your clothes, splat a bunch of makeup all over your face (and nearly stab your eye out with the mascara) and turn on the hair drier to dry and defrizz you hair that was still super damp from last night's shower.

"Ack, I'm gonna be late, bye Arthur!"

"Wait!" he exclaims sleepily, apparently having just woken up. You take one last glance at your room before having to scram to not be late.

"Come on, what is it??"

"Ah, (Name), do you have a quill I could borrow?"

"A quill?!" you exclaim. "What's that?"

He looks at you incredulously. "You know, to write with...? Ah, never mind, that's right-- you don't know how to write, you're just a woman."

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Letting out a sigh of frustration (for by now, you were going to be late for sure), you yank open the junk door in your closet and start rummaging through... well, the junk.

"Here!" you declare victoriously. You had pulled out a colouring book with a set of four primary crayons. "This should keep you busy, now I've really got to go!" The last thing you see as you leave the house is Arthur staring pulling a crayon out of the plastic-wrapped box and staring at it as if it came from outer space.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Reader POV)

Stepping into the car, I brace myself for my mom's wrath because we were definitely going to be late. But instead she was only sweet, overly so.

"Are you ready for your first day, (Name)?"

"As I'll ever be, I guess..."

"Don't say that, of course you'll be fine! What are your classes for today?"

"I don't know, they haven't given me my schedule yet, remember?" I explain patiently for the third time.

"Well, I'm sure they will be nice," she replies.

"Yeah." I say flatly. Damn, how I can't wait to get my driver's license and be able to drive to school myself, I thought, just realizing how much I was going to hate the stupid small talk every morning. I mean, I guess it was an excuse for Mom and I to spend more time together, but if it's anything like this, I was going to throw up.

"We're here!"

"Wish me luck," I mutter, thinking that anything at this school will be better than a stuffy car ride with my mum.

(Arthur POV)

Mesmerized, I examined the two small objects (Name) had given me. One was a package of sorts, while the other was some sort of manuscript. They were both coated in glossy plastic.

"Oh!" I exclaim upon opening the booklet." Such elegant woodblock prints!" I spent the next forty-five minutes or so simply admiring the art in the book (Name) gave me. There was a portrait of a chicken, and another hen, and oddly-dressed children, and finally a cute little sailboat on an ocean. It was truly ahead of it's time. The lines were perfectly straight — actually I had never seen a woodblock print like it before. (The Chinese, although they are really good at woodblock printing, inevitably smudge the lines here and there from the fresh ink.)

Wow, (Name) must really like me if she would have given me this. I thought we got off on the wrong foot yesterday, but I guess not! And what's in the other package... I take out and admire the small rods of coloured wax delicately wrapped in printed paper.

"C-R-A-Y-O-L-A. Hm. These look expensive. I wonder how much it took to import this wax, and hire a craftsman to make it, custom." I think out loud. Wow, (Name) must really like me, then. But what did she want me to do with these?

I put myself to work and add a stupid doodle of mine to a blank page at the end of the amazing book of artworks. I hope she will like it. It looks something like this...

because I only had the primary colours. I smudged it a little artistically too. Pah, who am I kidding-- I've never been good at art!

Well, this was a great pastime and such, but I still required a quill. I wanted to start keeping a traveller's log, yes? So I wandered around (Name)'s house looking for something suitable.

"Oh look, birds!" I exclaim. Luckily (Name)'s family kept a giant cage of them in the living room. It was a very large and pretty white wire cage, Victorian Era, that stretched across the far end of the room and up for about half the ceiling.

"Come back!!" I shout, grinning at myself a little for what I was going to say next. "Ah, you bloody pigeon, come back!!— I just need one of your feathers!"