Underneath [9/?]
anonymous
April 19 2010, 06:11:09 UTC
Later, much later, England would curse his own moment of indecision. If he'd just been able to speak, he could have made his excuses to America and left quickly, and maybe gone the rest of his existence being able to feign ignorance.
That wasn't what happened.
He was still badly shaken from the photo, staring dumbstruck at it. Coming on the heels of all of his calm, pleased feelings about America, it was a little like turning over a rock to see something squirming underneath. There was no avoiding the feeling of horror.
"England?" America called again, appearing at the end of the hall. For a moment, he was nothing but a silhouette, the light spilling from the kitchen throwing a long shadow down the hall towards England. Then he clicked the lightswitch on, flooding the hall with light and making England blink. "I heard the bathroom door open, I wasn't sure if..."
America trailed off as he came to a stop in front of England and saw what the other nation was staring at. England wasn't sure, but he thought he saw America's eyes flash.
"What is this?" England asksed, voice tight, gesturing to the picture.
"Looks like a picture of you," America said glibly, cheerfully. But England could see the way America seemed to be trying to figure out how much he knew.
"You took it without me knowing," England said, not letting America joke his way out of the situation. He wanted to take a step back, suddenly very aware of just how much taller America was, but he held his ground.
"Yeah," America said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down. "Look, I wanted a picture of you, and didn't want to ask you. I thought you'd say no and be a jerk about it, so I took one myself. I don't see what's the big deal."
England wasn't sure how to articulate it, how to explain that it was like a curtain had been pulled back and he could suddenly see everything in perfect detail. The falseness in America's movements, the danger that the picture of him represented, all of it stood out starkly.
"Because you snuck up on me and took a picture of me, and you did it all without me knowing, and--" he flailed, unable to explain it. The urge to step back got stronger.
"Like I said," America said, smiling at him, faking embarassment in a way that would have fooled England completely two weeks ago, "no harm meant. I'm not exactly proud of it. I'm sorry."
And it suddenly clicked for England. France, Russia, Japan, they'd all been right. God, they'd been completely right. Well, almost completely. America cared about him, yes, but it wasn't anything that simple or reassuring. England was beginning to fear the reality might be that America was obsessed with him.
That wasn't what happened.
He was still badly shaken from the photo, staring dumbstruck at it. Coming on the heels of all of his calm, pleased feelings about America, it was a little like turning over a rock to see something squirming underneath. There was no avoiding the feeling of horror.
"England?" America called again, appearing at the end of the hall. For a moment, he was nothing but a silhouette, the light spilling from the kitchen throwing a long shadow down the hall towards England. Then he clicked the lightswitch on, flooding the hall with light and making England blink. "I heard the bathroom door open, I wasn't sure if..."
America trailed off as he came to a stop in front of England and saw what the other nation was staring at. England wasn't sure, but he thought he saw America's eyes flash.
"What is this?" England asksed, voice tight, gesturing to the picture.
"Looks like a picture of you," America said glibly, cheerfully. But England could see the way America seemed to be trying to figure out how much he knew.
"You took it without me knowing," England said, not letting America joke his way out of the situation. He wanted to take a step back, suddenly very aware of just how much taller America was, but he held his ground.
"Yeah," America said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down. "Look, I wanted a picture of you, and didn't want to ask you. I thought you'd say no and be a jerk about it, so I took one myself. I don't see what's the big deal."
England wasn't sure how to articulate it, how to explain that it was like a curtain had been pulled back and he could suddenly see everything in perfect detail. The falseness in America's movements, the danger that the picture of him represented, all of it stood out starkly.
"Because you snuck up on me and took a picture of me, and you did it all without me knowing, and--" he flailed, unable to explain it. The urge to step back got stronger.
"Like I said," America said, smiling at him, faking embarassment in a way that would have fooled England completely two weeks ago, "no harm meant. I'm not exactly proud of it. I'm sorry."
And it suddenly clicked for England. France, Russia, Japan, they'd all been right. God, they'd been completely right. Well, almost completely. America cared about him, yes, but it wasn't anything that simple or reassuring. England was beginning to fear the reality might be that America was obsessed with him.
And England was alone with him.
Reply
Leave a comment