Alfred and Arthur live across the hall from each other, and both have a huge crush on their neighbour. Thing is, they've never actually met, and are planning to keep it that way. Their first meeting needs to be Perfect with a capital P, but that's rather difficult when they keep risking running into each other in the worst situations.

Warning: Um. Swearing? Romance/Humour.

Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.

It was on a quiet Friday evening, around the time people were just returning home from work, that he found himself pressed against the door to his apartment, eye on the peephole and staring through at the door across the hall. He'll be home soon, was the thought running through his mind, and somewhere deep inside, he knew that he should be ashamed for memorizing his schedule, but at the moment that just didn't matter.

Gilbert, who'd had the misfortune of being over at a time like this, sighed from behind him.

"Are you actually gonna go out and talk to him this time?"

"Nope," Alfred said much too cheerfully, popping the P. "Shut up now."

Okay, so it was true. He'd never actually spoken to his across-the-hall-neighbour, but that didn't make his feelings any less real, he'd decided. He was in love and the object of his affections didn't even know he existed and he was perfectly fine with that constant heartache.

Gilbert felt the need to make an unnecessary comment. "You're such a freak."

"Says you," Alfred shot back. "Why don't you go sit on the couch and leave me to observe in peace?"

He heard Gilbert's retreating footsteps and grinned in triumph. Alfred – one, Gilbert – zero. People said that friends would always be there to support you with this kind of thing! Obviously they'd never met his friends, who only reprimanded him.

And then the sound of boots lightly tapping on the tiled floor outside the apartment reached his ears. His focus was immediately back on the hallway and the person who had just walked into his field of vision. His normally messy blond hair was even more hazardous than usual because of the windy weather and his boots were dripping with melting snow. Key already in hand, he shook his boots off on the doormat before unlocking the door, then made to step into his apartment, and paused. He looked over his shoulder, Alfred's way, and for a moment his heart stopped. He quickly ducked and slid down to the floor, trying to grasp onto the dark wooden boards for dear life.

"He didn't see you," Alfred muttered to himself. "There's no way. No way he saw you. And if he did, well that's okay! I'll just, um, move to Siberia... Change my name..."

He didn't know how long he sat there, at the foot of the door, but eventually it opened and came crashing into his shoulder. With a shout, he scrambled away on all fours like a wild animal and glared up at his assailant.

"Matthew," he spat accusingly. "How could you?"

His brother responded with a sign. "Don't sit in front of the door, Alfred." The way he said it made is sound like he was used to this happening, and he probably was. It wasn't as though spying on neighbours and nearly being caught was something he did often, but it probably happened more to him than to the average person.

He slowly brought himself to his feet, then moved out of the way to let Matthew into the apartment, glancing over his shoulder as he did so. The door opposite theirs was closed and the one who lived there was nowhere in sight, but he knew that tomorrow at noon he'd leave to go buy groceries, as he did every Saturday.

"I hope he doesn't forget the milk again," Alfred found himself mumbling. Matthew paused in what he was doing to slowly turn and stare at him.

"This thing you've got going on is bordering stalker-like behaviour," he said matter-of-factly. "Imagine what Arthur would think."

Arthur, he thought, and his brother might as well have just ceased to exist. Arthur Kirkland was his name. He had moved into the building at the beginning of the year, and from the moment Alfred saw him, he knew he wasn't like the rest. It sounded incredibly cheesy, but it was true. He couldn't get him out of his mind and wanted to know more about him, but they'd never got around to actually meeting.

Alfred could have gone and knocked on his door right then, but how, in his baggy old sweatpants and red sweatshirt he'd stolen from his brother's closet? He needed Arthur's first impression of him to be perfect. It wasn't as if he could ride up to him on a white horse, dressed in his best suit as cherry blossoms cascaded down around him, but surely it could be better than this? He just needed to wait for the right moment.

And while it was true that the right moment hadn't come for nearly a year, it would soon. Eventually. Possibly. Probably?

Finally realizing that Matthew had said something, he opened his mouth to answer, only to see that he'd left and he was standing alone in the dark hallway. Matthew hadn't even left the lights on. That jerk. Alfred marched his way into the kitchen where Matthew was peering into the fridge, Gilbert tiptoeing up behind him with a can of pop in his hand that Alfred didn't remember offering to him. He followed the so-called Prussian's move, and after he'd accomplished his goal of scaring the hell out of Matthew, Alfred clamped his hand down on his shoulder and did the same to him.

Unfortunately, that didn't work out as planned. Gilbert always claimed that he wasn't responsible for his actions if you managed to surprise him. In fact, a few weeks after the brothers had met him, he'd made them sign a contract that stated he couldn't be held responsible for any injuries he caused. And in that moment, Alfred found his face, hair, and clothes drenched in root beer.

"Dude!" Alfred exclaimed. "Not cool!"

Matthew didn't even try to hide his smirk as Gilbert huffed, turning away from Alfred. "You only have yourself to blame," was all he had to say.

Alfred felt his eye twitch. "Really? I don't even get a sorry? The least you could-" a short, quiet knocking interrupting him from his rant. With a final glower at the back of Gilbert's head, he stomped off with a grumble of, "I'll get it."

But what he wasn't expecting when he briefly glanced through the peephole was to see a mop of blond hair, the windswept look appearing to have been brushed out. He blinked, wondering if he was imagining things, then tore his hand away from the doorknob as if it burnt him. Arthur was there, impatiently tapping his foot, while Alfred cowered on the other side of the door, coated in sticky root beer. Well shit.

And so, he did the obvious thing. He sped away from the door and went to hide in his room, shrieking at his brother as he dashed past the kitchen.

"Mattie, you get it!"

Heyy! So this is a really old fic of mine that I don't think I ever actually posted. I still find it amusing though, so I've touched it up a bit and decided to post it! Stay tuned! ;D

Please review!