Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
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req here: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/9482.html?thread=13794570#t13794570
America/Italy. They are frustrated with how things are stagnant with UK and Germany, they speak about it, start spending time together and end up falling for each other (refer to the prompt for more info).
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America let out an exaggerated huff as he walked down the street, not knowing where he was going; it had been a tiring day, what with all those reports to go through, and then having to do that long speech about being the hero and saving the world again -the other Nations never did anything on their own, they were so uncooperative!- and he was terribly tired.
Being a huge, strong, loved Nation was life draining.
He had wanted to indulge in a glass of beer, but unfortunately, the pub closer to the UN building had been taken hostage by some of the Nations he really didn’t want to meet (namely France, England and Russia, god forbid), so he was wandering around, hoping to find another promising one.
He needed alcohol.
Until the previous year, if in need of booze, he’d trick England into going to the nearest bar and chug it all down, laughing at how quickly the British could get drunk, undressed and violent, but times had changed.
Things were… uncomfortable lately. Very much so, to the point that he had started avoiding England whenever he happened to cross paths with him, and even during UN meetings, he tried to evade speaking directly to him.
England, of course, had noticed, but had not modified his course of action, simply becoming a bit more gruff and a bit less nice when he started spouting insults at his once-colony.
Alfred might have looked an idiot to most, but he truly wasn’t. Not deep down, at least… not when it regarded his feelings.
‘Beer’ he thought, eyes darting around; then he brightened up as he noticed a green neon banner that signalled the presence of a pub. It was not that far from the UN building, so he would be able to get back there and take the car to his house, but it was far enough that it would never attract England.
England preferred refined English-looking pubs, not this one.
This one looked more like a… well, something else.
It would have to do.
Pushing the door open, America was greeted by soft lights, a row of seats on the counter, and many strong-built men gulping down huge mugs of beer. Oh, the manly appeal of a but, late at night.
Alfred cringed but decided to ignore it all for the booze.
As he approached the counter, though, he noticed with a grimace that he was not the only Nation who had opted for this pub. In a corner, sitting at one of the farthest tables, there were Germany, Prussia and Denmark chugging down beer like pros, laughing and basically being chaotic together.
On a better day, he would have joined and drowned in alcohol with them, but as it was, he needed a subdued form of booze.
Trying to fight the urge to make a hero-like appearance, he slumped at the counter with his back to the group, and attracted the attention of the bartender.
“A beer!” he stated, cheerfully.
“Uh~ that was my place~”
America tried to put together a scary face and turned around, pissed off at the interruption, only to blink in surprise when he noticed it had been Italy speaking; the Italian eeped in surprise and fear, and backed away, waving his arms in front of him.
“N-no! It’s nothing! I’ll… I’ll go take another seat! You can keep my jacket too!”
‘Jacket?’
Looking down to his stool, he noticed in shame he had sat upon what looked like Italy’s jacket. He jumped up too, feeling quite silly, and chuckled. “Italy, here, take your seat back, I didn’t mean to scare you”. ‘Heroes can’t scare their minions!’
Italy stopped his apologizing, blinked in surprise, then a sheepish smile appeared on his lips. He accepted his jacket and seat back and waited until Alfred pushed another stool next to his.
“Why aren’t you there with them?” America pointed at the chaotic table behind them.
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Did heroes even get depressed in the first place?
“Oh, well…” Italy fidgeted a bit, and was grateful when the bartender brought on Alfred’s beer and his own.
“You drink beer?”
Italy pouted. “I prefer wine, but I’m not picky when I need to get drunk, ve~”.
Which didn’t sound as cool as he might have wanted.
America chugged down his first glass of beer, feeling the liquid run through his throat, leaving some sort of bitter aftertaste, and he licked his lips, wiping the remains of his foam from his chin.
Slamming the glass on the counter, he snapped his fingers at the bartender to order a second one.
“It looks I’m not the only one wanting to get drunk~”
Alfred turned around and stared in annoyance at the Italian, who was busy sipping his own beer and was not looking at him, so with a small shrug, he also returned to his second beer. Not to be outdone, Italy chugged the remaining of his own glass and ordered a second.
For a few minutes, the two simply minded their own business, each one drinking at their own pace until they reached the third glass. They didn’t drink it with the huge mugs Germany and Prussia were used to lap at like dogs, so it wasn’t half the amount it occurred to have them drunk.
“You didn’t answer me” the American pressed his elbows on the counter and returned his attention to the fellow Nation; the beer, although still too little to affect him, had at least mellowed his annoyance, and he felt prone to some light speech.
“Ve~?”
“Why are you drinking here, alone, and not with them?” he pointed a thumb at the three drinking fiends with a raised eyebrow.
Italy’s eyes flickered in that direction, mainly on Germany, who was by now rolling his sleeves up and chugging down what looked like his sixth pint of beer, and sighed.
“It evolved into a challenge” he stated, as if it was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. “They’re trying to drink each other under the table -again”.
“And this is wrong because…?”
Italy attempted a glare, but it came out more as a pout than anything else, and resumed his sipping at the beer.
“… it’s complicated” he muttered finally, low enough that America had to strain his ears to hear him.
It was quite strange, to watch Italy being so subdued, but there again, America himself was acting a bit differently. Not that it mattered much. Not that he cared.
He was just there for the booze.
“Stupid England” he muttered.
Italy stared at him, curious, then shrugged.
Both fell into some sort of comfortable silence after that, drinking their beers.
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I hope this pairing attracts or interests people ^^ as it did with me :D
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By anychance have you seen the Italy/America fanart by bluefox?
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and thanks *hearts*
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Ah, I feel so bad for poor America and Italy DI I can't wait to see their relationship start to grow and evolve X3~
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Greatly enjoying this so far if not only for the fact that this is such rare pairing but that I like how you've written Alfred and Feliciano. The two are both so quiet but in a way that fits their personalities~
Plus, I find the idea of Denmark, Prussia, and Germany drinking together amusing :D
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denmark somehow fit in this picture thanks to my head!canon o.o nordics, why do i love you so much now?
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“And I think this is the last point of the day!” brightening up at his own words, and shuffling through his documents with a huge smile, Alfred pointed one finger to the sky (or the ceiling, but it was the same). “The meeting is adjourned!”
The second day of the UN meeting had moved on quite faster than the first, and it had been even funnier. Mainly because a good part of the present Nations were suffering from hangover, of course.
America never suffered hangover. He barely knew the word, but it was useful to explain why Germany was pressing his head on the table, groaning in pain, why Russia was tormenting Latvia without his usual cheery smile, and why England was standing in a corner, with a blanket pulled over his head.
Where he had managed to get the blanket, Alfred didn’t know.
But alas, so it was.
He bounced out of the room, ignoring the groans of relief from the nations, feeling refreshed and ready for a good work out, when-
“Alfred, wait a bloody moment!”
He winced, although not visibly, and stopped. Oh, good. Perfect.
Turning around, he faced a pale England with shadows under his eyes, who looked like he was going to get sick any moment; yet, he appeared to be able to speak correctly, which was a feat on itself.
“I need to talk to you about your bloody idiotic speech on how to remedy to the petrol demand!” England truly looked pissed off.
America felt his own anger resurface. It was not his fault that Seychelles hadn’t allowed him to build a huge robot-machine to pump the hell out of those oil caves she surely hid somewhere on her islands!
That girl was a fiend with a nice happy face, he was sure of it.
“You dolt! And you consider yourself a strong nation? Learn your own borders and we’ll talk then -bloody git” England was clearly about to start another shooting match, but this time America felt less than inclined to indulge.
He was getting stressed and tired of always fighting.
Their banter proved to be funny and entertaining at first, because God only knew how much he liked to rile England up, to watch him squirm, flush in embarrassment, then anger, then build the tension up until he started yelling… he counted it almost as a foreplay of sorts, but it kept being just that. Foreplay.
That led to nothing.
They got angry, got a ruse out of each other, yelled and fought and then…
And then fought even more.
It stopped being funny… he didn’t even know when anymore.
It was not enough, and it would never be enough, because this dancing around, this shifting and fighting, it was frustrating. America wanted something more, wanted their banter to lead to something, wanted England to stop yelling for a second and acknowledge that he wanted something more, and…
“Engl-”
“Italy! Why is there a tomato sauce stain on my… lower back!”
“Ve~ Germany, you were drunk and sat on my pasta yesterday night~”
America, one unable to keep his attention on something for too long, looked above England’s head and stared as what had once been considered the Axis powers passed through the corridor in front of him.
Germany was blushing hard, slapping Italy’s hands away from his arm as he tried to cover his lower back from prying stares, speeding up so the Italian would just drop it and not try to touch his behind, and Japan was trying to keep up, with a soft blush on his cheeks.
“I-it’s not that bad, Ludwig-san” he was saying, trying hard not to look. “You can go wash it in the bathroom…”
America chuckled, for a second forgetting about England yelling at him, and met Italy’s eyes as the other nation looked up. Italy cheerfully waved at him and he waved back, only to be kicked in the side by a very enraged British.
“You better listen to me, you bloody-”
Alfred drowned his voice again whilst thinking of heroes and hamburgers, watching the Axis move away.
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Just because Italy had suggested they could clean the stain without taking out his pants… it was terribly unfair~…
Sighing in annoyance, Italy slid on the ground, his back to the bathroom door, a bit like a kicked dog, and waited, closing his eyes.
He always waited for Germany, he had been for a long time.
Sometimes he wondered if he had waited so much he’d lost his opportunity…
Things with Germany… were unsettling.
He loved Ludwig a lot. Loved him. That kind of love that made seeing him everyday a necessity and a pleasure, that made things brighter, that made Italy cheery and clingy.
The kind of love that scared him a bit, too. He was already a dependant person, someone who easily befriended and cared for people, but this feeling with Germany held a deeper, stronger meaning.
He fought together with Germany during the war, and always remained by his side, even though everybody else considered him useless, and Germany protected him and cared for him, and Italy was happy.
But…
But he was starting to fear it was not enough.
He was supposed to be happy with just that? Was it bad to want something more?
Or want something less instead…?
It was confusing, and it made him feel guilty. He had already rejected Germany’s proposition once, back during the forties, but back then he had been unable to understand. He had thought that Germany had been unsure, and just confused. He had been confused as well, unsure on how to take Ludwig’s clumsy approaches… and yet he had wanted Ludwig’s love so desperately, he still did.
Had that been a mistake on his part? Had he accepted, back then… would things now be different?
And now… he wanted Germany to care for him. He wanted Germany to love him. He wanted something more, but at the same time, he didn’t want that. Ludwig was important to him, but this dancing around each other was hurtful, and yet both choices in the end didn’t completely satisfy him…
And it scared him.
He didn’t understand.
“Ve… but it hurts here~” he murmured, pressing his hand over his heart, feeling confused and alone. “I want Germany to love me but I don’t want him to love me~?”
“Feliciano, did you say something?” muffled from the other side of the door, Germany softly knocked on the wood, whilst desperately trying to wash the stain away.
Italy let out a gasp and stilled, mumbling something about pasta that would erase any curiosity Germany might have had, and then felt a shudder ran through his body. Even this was unsatisfying.
Ludwig couldn’t notice, because Feliciano hid his confusion from him, and at the same time, he couldn’t but want the German to notice.
He stood up suddenly, backing away from the door and feeling strangely pissed off. He didn’t like this situation, and the more he remained around Ludwig the more he’d feel this way. And he didn’t want that… he wanted to be carefree and happy and himself.
Why couldn’t Germany notice? Was Italy so unworthy his attention that Germany took everything for granted, underestimating the depths of what Italy was, ignoring that there was a problem?
Was it too much to ask?
He turned around, ready to stomp away and calm down, and almost bumped into Japan, who was holding up a stash of documents.
The Japanese Nation blinked in surprise, staring at Italy’s vaguely troubled face, and frowned. “Feliciano-kun, where are you going?” Kiku tilted his head to the side.
“O~ut for pasta~” he replied, smiling at his friend and hiding his uneasiness. “I’ll be back, eventually~”
Japan nodded hesitantly and moved out of the way, resuming his quiet pace towards the main room, as Italy disappeared behind the corner.
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I think I'll post a short chapter every day, unless otherwise stated, but I am still not sure how long this will become. Please do stay in for the ride!
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I feel bad for the both of them, I can't wait for the rest ^_^
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