[Fanfic] Hetalia Remix - Glass pane
I’m sorry to bring this fill so late in the game, but something called Real Life interfered with my plans in various ways, so I had less time to work on it than what you’d believe (and I wasn’t sure I was going at it the right way, hahaha…).
Written for the Hetalia Remix 2010 from the one-shot “Diner” by smrtypantz
Original one-shot (Diner)
Title: Glass pane
Author: me
Original author: smrtypantz
Pairing: America/England
Warnings: none
Summary: After a fight, England finds himself standing outside of a diner, watching America eat…
---Glass pane
England was angry.
It wasn’t just any kind of anger, either -he was self-righteously angry at his lover, and if he had to be really honest, which he didn’t really want to be at the moment, he was even angrier at himself.
He’d fought with America again -which was somewhat of a normal happening between them, but that didn’t mean England wasn’t disgruntled and unhappy about it.
It had started normally, with them picking at each other, then it had fallen into a full-out war, followed by England dignifiedly leaving the room and the house to cool down.
The cool air was doing wonders in regards to that, at least, and walking also made England relax a fraction.
Walking wasn’t exactly the right term to be applied to him, as he was more like stomping down the street, hands into his pockets, in a vain attempt to heat up his fingers, but no one was there with him to bitch about it.
It was cold.
He’d left without a coat, without even his gloves -a gift from America… one or two years before, if he remembered correctly- and was trying to keep his heat, muttering under his breath over and over again.
It was just a small fight, yet he’d reacted like an idiot, and the git America had just followed him down, and of course things had turned for the worst!
It wasn’t like he meant what he’d said.
Of course he hadn’t.
Fidgeting and blowing on his hands to warm them, England was startled to see he’d returned to their house without noticing, and let out a soft curse. He’d been gone for not even five minutes and he was back already?
Maybe getting back in and solving things out with America would be fine -blowing up like that was just… an unsettling experience, and remembering the warm embrace of his lover only made him long for it more.
Not that he would ever admit that to him. Never.
Things would be solved. Yes, he’d just go back in, and they’d talk it out. Like they’d normally do.
Fingers curling around the handle of the door, England pushed and slammed the door open, cheeks flushed (because he was cold, of course, not because he was ashamed or embarrassed), and cleared his throat.
“A-Alfred!”
There was no answer.
The lights were off, there was no one in the sitting room, and there was no bomber jacket in the rack.
America had also left.
Feeling a vague sense of urgency mixed with worry (that he would deny with passion), England ran out of the house, determined in finding where his lover had gone.
He wasn’t sure where to go, actually, all he knew was that he didn’t want America to be angry because of this. Yes, they fought over and over about things, but really, he loved the git. The last thing he wanted was to hurt him again… or be hurt by him.
Stomping down the street, he looked around, searching for some clue on the whereabouts of his lover; one of his faeries danced around his head, little wings flapping strongly against the whiffs of wind, and pointed wordlessly to the left.
On the other end of the road, in the cursed diner England couldn’t step into anymore, Alfred was sitting at a table near the window, busy glaring down at his burger.
Hurrying down, evading a car and waving at the driver, sheepish, he stopped right outside of the window, suddenly unsure.
What was he going to do? He couldn’t get inside, of course -stupid owner, just because he’d made a small scene when drunk… it had only happened once, bloody hell, there was no need to go to such extreme measures- and he didn’t want to go away and wait for America at home… because…
‘I don’t want you to be angry at me’ he sulked, fidgeting and shifting his weight from one foot to the other, hesitant.
It was stupid -he wanted to make peace with Alfred, and he wanted it now. Why waiting?
Inside the diner, Alfred started piling his fries, lips twitching downwards, eyes focused on his task, and Arthur stood mesmerized, admiring the contours of his face, those impossibly blue eyes glinting behind his glasses.
That soft crease in his forehead that he got when frowning.
Arthur was really in love with that git, and this love also meant he could suck it up and be the first to apologize, for once. Because pride was one thing, and love was…
He knocked softly on the glass, unable to keep silent anymore, wanting these eyes on him, but once they were, once America turned around, staring at him in surprise (eyes widening by a fraction, lips parting to unconsciously mouth his name), he found himself unable to speak.
Was it so hard to just admit he was sorry?
America looked away again, resuming his efforts on the fries, clearly intending to ignore England outside, and he shifted on his feet again.
Softly, he blew on the windowpane, tracing the glass with his finger, and wrote on it.
‘I’m sorry’
He wanted to write everything down -how he felt it was stupid to fight for such a silly reason, how he wanted to embrace his lover and be embraced back, how he wanted to kiss his lips… but he didn’t. it was enough as it was, right?
Hard enough to write that little line, he was unable to add anything else.
Cheeks terribly flushed, England fought against the urge to run away and instead rapped on the surface, attracting America’s attention.
He didn’t want to look -the idiot was probably laughing at him now, because he’d made England apologize first, and yet…
A knocking noise made him turn again, and his cheeks flushed even darker when he read the ‘me, too’ scraped on the glass.
Alfred looked put off at what he’d done, childishly pouting and huffing and fidgeting on his spot, but it made Arthur want to smile nonetheless. Instead he just rolled his eyes -his lover could be (just as) stubborn, when he wanted to…
He pointed at America and then back at himself, then at the door of the diner, a clear invite for the blond git to get his ass up and get out, so they could finally go back home.
To his surprise, America started looking around, half shifting out of the chair and then back down, slamming some coins on the table and grabbing his burger with both hands and-
‘G-gross!’
Much to England’s horror, America managed to stuff the thing down his throat, mouth stretching open to an extent England had trouble accepting (not that he hadn’t made several tries to see just how much he could… but this was burgers, that had been… yeah, well), and he curled his lips in disgust.
Following a sudden impulse, he breathed on the pane and scribbled down ‘sloppy’ on it, pouting and getting America’s attention again.
It was getting cold, so he put his hands under his arms again, shifting on his feet.
“…” he stared in shock when instead of simply dropping the burger down and coming out, America slowly placed down his food and then grabbed knife and fork, cutting a small place and placing it in his mouth.
‘t-that idiot-!’
England fought the urge to slam his head down on the glass surface, hands curling into fists and cheeks burning aflame -this wasn’t the time to mock him, damn it!
As America continued cutting small pieces of his burger, looking expectantly at the Englishman outside, England grunted and wiped away the remaining of the ‘sloppy’ word away from the window.
Stupid America.
Alfred, winking at him, grabbed his burger and started biting down on it again, probably feeling smart and almighty now that he had made his lover freeze to death outside.
Bouncing on his feet to try and bring some heat back in his body, running his hands down his arms to get the feeling back into them, England came to a conclusion -he didn’t want to wait for the idiot to finish his dinner there, as he was very cold and it looked like America wouldn’t be done anytime soon.
The burger would be gone by now, if he was truly hungry.
Attracting his lover’s attentions again, England pointed at the street and at himself. America apparently understood well enough, because he nodded and smiled a bit, pointing at the burger in his hand.
Arthur nodded briskly, knowing he’d have to leave the other there to finish his food.
Turning around and already busy picturing a warm house waiting for him, the Englishman started walking away; a few steps later, he faltered, fidgeting. Some lingering feeling trickled through his chest, and he turned around, hurrying to the glass window again.
In a similar rush of unexpected impulse, he blew hot breath on the pane and traced a heart on it.
Once again, unable to look at America as he attracted his attention, England turned around, flushed and embarrassed at the display.
Yet, he had to give him that, at least. After another one of their fights, he really wanted to express to Alfred how much he cared for him, but those open displays of affection always eluded him, making him uneasy and embarrassed.
If it was like this…
It was mushy, but at least it was a honest and spontaneous gesture.
With bathed breath, he peered as Alfred turned around again, eyes flashing with surprise before filling with warmth that made Arthur feel like his small gesture had been appreciated enough for him not to feel stupid for it.
The smile that appeared on America’s lips was enough to flood England’s body with contented warmth, and the small heart he got as a reply, quickly traced on the glass made the Englishman slightly stretch his lips upwards.
Maybe he couldn’t admit of being happy, but he wasn’t as off as he’d been before, when stomping down the streets in search of that idiot.
Walking away from the diner with a wave, England felt that smile turn wider. ‘Perhaps I should do these sorts of things more often…’ he thought, shaking his head slightly.
As he crossed the street, his fairy friends floating around his head, smiling at him, he wondered just how would America react if he were to write an ‘I love you’ on the mirror in their bathroom next. For when America came back home.
---
I hope this was good enough. ^^
Written for the Hetalia Remix 2010 from the one-shot “Diner” by smrtypantz
Original one-shot (Diner)
Title: Glass pane
Author: me
Original author: smrtypantz
Pairing: America/England
Warnings: none
Summary: After a fight, England finds himself standing outside of a diner, watching America eat…
---Glass pane
England was angry.
It wasn’t just any kind of anger, either -he was self-righteously angry at his lover, and if he had to be really honest, which he didn’t really want to be at the moment, he was even angrier at himself.
He’d fought with America again -which was somewhat of a normal happening between them, but that didn’t mean England wasn’t disgruntled and unhappy about it.
It had started normally, with them picking at each other, then it had fallen into a full-out war, followed by England dignifiedly leaving the room and the house to cool down.
The cool air was doing wonders in regards to that, at least, and walking also made England relax a fraction.
Walking wasn’t exactly the right term to be applied to him, as he was more like stomping down the street, hands into his pockets, in a vain attempt to heat up his fingers, but no one was there with him to bitch about it.
It was cold.
He’d left without a coat, without even his gloves -a gift from America… one or two years before, if he remembered correctly- and was trying to keep his heat, muttering under his breath over and over again.
It was just a small fight, yet he’d reacted like an idiot, and the git America had just followed him down, and of course things had turned for the worst!
It wasn’t like he meant what he’d said.
Of course he hadn’t.
Fidgeting and blowing on his hands to warm them, England was startled to see he’d returned to their house without noticing, and let out a soft curse. He’d been gone for not even five minutes and he was back already?
Maybe getting back in and solving things out with America would be fine -blowing up like that was just… an unsettling experience, and remembering the warm embrace of his lover only made him long for it more.
Not that he would ever admit that to him. Never.
Things would be solved. Yes, he’d just go back in, and they’d talk it out. Like they’d normally do.
Fingers curling around the handle of the door, England pushed and slammed the door open, cheeks flushed (because he was cold, of course, not because he was ashamed or embarrassed), and cleared his throat.
“A-Alfred!”
There was no answer.
The lights were off, there was no one in the sitting room, and there was no bomber jacket in the rack.
America had also left.
Feeling a vague sense of urgency mixed with worry (that he would deny with passion), England ran out of the house, determined in finding where his lover had gone.
He wasn’t sure where to go, actually, all he knew was that he didn’t want America to be angry because of this. Yes, they fought over and over about things, but really, he loved the git. The last thing he wanted was to hurt him again… or be hurt by him.
Stomping down the street, he looked around, searching for some clue on the whereabouts of his lover; one of his faeries danced around his head, little wings flapping strongly against the whiffs of wind, and pointed wordlessly to the left.
On the other end of the road, in the cursed diner England couldn’t step into anymore, Alfred was sitting at a table near the window, busy glaring down at his burger.
Hurrying down, evading a car and waving at the driver, sheepish, he stopped right outside of the window, suddenly unsure.
What was he going to do? He couldn’t get inside, of course -stupid owner, just because he’d made a small scene when drunk… it had only happened once, bloody hell, there was no need to go to such extreme measures- and he didn’t want to go away and wait for America at home… because…
‘I don’t want you to be angry at me’ he sulked, fidgeting and shifting his weight from one foot to the other, hesitant.
It was stupid -he wanted to make peace with Alfred, and he wanted it now. Why waiting?
Inside the diner, Alfred started piling his fries, lips twitching downwards, eyes focused on his task, and Arthur stood mesmerized, admiring the contours of his face, those impossibly blue eyes glinting behind his glasses.
That soft crease in his forehead that he got when frowning.
Arthur was really in love with that git, and this love also meant he could suck it up and be the first to apologize, for once. Because pride was one thing, and love was…
He knocked softly on the glass, unable to keep silent anymore, wanting these eyes on him, but once they were, once America turned around, staring at him in surprise (eyes widening by a fraction, lips parting to unconsciously mouth his name), he found himself unable to speak.
Was it so hard to just admit he was sorry?
America looked away again, resuming his efforts on the fries, clearly intending to ignore England outside, and he shifted on his feet again.
Softly, he blew on the windowpane, tracing the glass with his finger, and wrote on it.
‘I’m sorry’
He wanted to write everything down -how he felt it was stupid to fight for such a silly reason, how he wanted to embrace his lover and be embraced back, how he wanted to kiss his lips… but he didn’t. it was enough as it was, right?
Hard enough to write that little line, he was unable to add anything else.
Cheeks terribly flushed, England fought against the urge to run away and instead rapped on the surface, attracting America’s attention.
He didn’t want to look -the idiot was probably laughing at him now, because he’d made England apologize first, and yet…
A knocking noise made him turn again, and his cheeks flushed even darker when he read the ‘me, too’ scraped on the glass.
Alfred looked put off at what he’d done, childishly pouting and huffing and fidgeting on his spot, but it made Arthur want to smile nonetheless. Instead he just rolled his eyes -his lover could be (just as) stubborn, when he wanted to…
He pointed at America and then back at himself, then at the door of the diner, a clear invite for the blond git to get his ass up and get out, so they could finally go back home.
To his surprise, America started looking around, half shifting out of the chair and then back down, slamming some coins on the table and grabbing his burger with both hands and-
‘G-gross!’
Much to England’s horror, America managed to stuff the thing down his throat, mouth stretching open to an extent England had trouble accepting (not that he hadn’t made several tries to see just how much he could… but this was burgers, that had been… yeah, well), and he curled his lips in disgust.
Following a sudden impulse, he breathed on the pane and scribbled down ‘sloppy’ on it, pouting and getting America’s attention again.
It was getting cold, so he put his hands under his arms again, shifting on his feet.
“…” he stared in shock when instead of simply dropping the burger down and coming out, America slowly placed down his food and then grabbed knife and fork, cutting a small place and placing it in his mouth.
‘t-that idiot-!’
England fought the urge to slam his head down on the glass surface, hands curling into fists and cheeks burning aflame -this wasn’t the time to mock him, damn it!
As America continued cutting small pieces of his burger, looking expectantly at the Englishman outside, England grunted and wiped away the remaining of the ‘sloppy’ word away from the window.
Stupid America.
Alfred, winking at him, grabbed his burger and started biting down on it again, probably feeling smart and almighty now that he had made his lover freeze to death outside.
Bouncing on his feet to try and bring some heat back in his body, running his hands down his arms to get the feeling back into them, England came to a conclusion -he didn’t want to wait for the idiot to finish his dinner there, as he was very cold and it looked like America wouldn’t be done anytime soon.
The burger would be gone by now, if he was truly hungry.
Attracting his lover’s attentions again, England pointed at the street and at himself. America apparently understood well enough, because he nodded and smiled a bit, pointing at the burger in his hand.
Arthur nodded briskly, knowing he’d have to leave the other there to finish his food.
Turning around and already busy picturing a warm house waiting for him, the Englishman started walking away; a few steps later, he faltered, fidgeting. Some lingering feeling trickled through his chest, and he turned around, hurrying to the glass window again.
In a similar rush of unexpected impulse, he blew hot breath on the pane and traced a heart on it.
Once again, unable to look at America as he attracted his attention, England turned around, flushed and embarrassed at the display.
Yet, he had to give him that, at least. After another one of their fights, he really wanted to express to Alfred how much he cared for him, but those open displays of affection always eluded him, making him uneasy and embarrassed.
If it was like this…
It was mushy, but at least it was a honest and spontaneous gesture.
With bathed breath, he peered as Alfred turned around again, eyes flashing with surprise before filling with warmth that made Arthur feel like his small gesture had been appreciated enough for him not to feel stupid for it.
The smile that appeared on America’s lips was enough to flood England’s body with contented warmth, and the small heart he got as a reply, quickly traced on the glass made the Englishman slightly stretch his lips upwards.
Maybe he couldn’t admit of being happy, but he wasn’t as off as he’d been before, when stomping down the streets in search of that idiot.
Walking away from the diner with a wave, England felt that smile turn wider. ‘Perhaps I should do these sorts of things more often…’ he thought, shaking his head slightly.
As he crossed the street, his fairy friends floating around his head, smiling at him, he wondered just how would America react if he were to write an ‘I love you’ on the mirror in their bathroom next. For when America came back home.
---
I hope this was good enough. ^^