Oh, America, why so silly?
America was pacing. He had never been the type to sit still, and this was only expedited when he was anxious.
And oh, was he anxious. Was he ever anxious.
“You know,” Canada said wonderingly from the chair, watching his brother with something between concern and amusement, “Wearing a hole in your floor is not going to make England come any faster.”
After starting briefly, obviously just remembering that Canada is there, America huffed irritably. “It might.” Despite this, he stopped pacing, instead taking up a post by the window. “Where do you think he is? Do you think he would decide just not to come? That would be just like him.” Canada opened his mouth to point out that this would be nothing like England when America interrupted him, obviously not really talking to Canada at all. “I mean, it’s not like he really wants to do this anyways, right? It’s kind of just something he agreed to because he didn’t want to deal with me whining. Although I am so amazing, and he just had to be around me. Except then why is he late?”
“He’s not late,” Canada interjected. Which was true - England wasn’t due to show up for another 15 minutes. America, predictably, either did not hear him or, more likely, did not care.
“He’ll come, though, right? Of course he will. It’s England. If nothing else, we made an appointment, and it’s all official and stuff. I bet he penciled me in and everything, and we all know how much it would kill him to miss something that he’d scheduled in. But then, he did pencil me in. He could just erase it. Oh god, Canada, what if he erased me?” America turned with sudden urgency towards his brother, who jumped a little at America’s apparently renewed awareness that he existed. “He would do that! He would!”
“He wouldn’t, America, calm down,” Canada placated, for all the good he expected it to do.
America swung back into pacing, and Canada let out a sympathetic sigh and at the same time resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Really, England was as mad for America as America was for England; in fact, arguably more so. There was no reason they should be this nervous, but he’d bet every drop of maple syrup in his country that England was just as bad right now.
“That’s it!” America exclaimed a minute later, exactly ten minutes before England was actually due to show up. Canada was immediately apprehensive. “I cannot take this anymore! Either he will show up, or he will not show up, but I have to know now! I cannot deal with waiting!”
Apprehensive and, despite himself, curious, Canada asked, “So what are you going to do?”
“I am going to build a time machine!” America announced this as though it was the most brilliant, sensible idea that he had ever invented.
Canada promptly burst out laughing.
Looking slightly hurt, America said, “You don’t think I can do it, can you.”
Canada blinked, unsure of the correct response to that question. “Well.” No, he did not, but somebody had to have some faith in America, and it certainly wasn’t going to be the rest of the world. “Maybe.”
“I can!” America said, sounding more like a petulant child than he really had any right to. “I’ll show you!”
America had rushed out of the room and was almost to the back door, clearly about to rush out to the shed and attempt to figure out how to assemble a time machine, when there was a knock at the door.
Half a second of total silence and stillness later, America suddenly stood, coughed, straightened the dressy shirt that he was wearing, half-attempted to flatten his hair and then promptly mussed it up again, and then apparently gave up all attempts and just walked over and opened the door.
“You’re late,” he said to England, who was standing at the door and also appeared to be a peculiar and somewhat adorable shade of red.
“I’m late?” England asked, his accent thick in his offense and nervousness. “I am not late, you twit, I’m seven minutes early!” This, Canada noticed, gave away that he’d been watching the minutes too, but both were too preoccupied to notice that little slip-up.
“That’s late… er… than…” America fumbled, looked at England, and gave up completely. “Never mind. I’m glad to see you.”
England’s blushed darkened. “You too,” he mumbled, under his breath, but the smile on America’s face said that he’d definitely been heard.
They left without saying goodbye to or, indeed, even acknowledging Canada at all, but Canada was used to this. Besides, he doubted that they would have noticed anything, caught up as they were in each other.
But oh, no, they weren’t on a date, Canada thought wryly. Not at all.
Hopeless, his dear brothers were. Absolutely hopeless.
And oh, was he anxious. Was he ever anxious.
“You know,” Canada said wonderingly from the chair, watching his brother with something between concern and amusement, “Wearing a hole in your floor is not going to make England come any faster.”
After starting briefly, obviously just remembering that Canada is there, America huffed irritably. “It might.” Despite this, he stopped pacing, instead taking up a post by the window. “Where do you think he is? Do you think he would decide just not to come? That would be just like him.” Canada opened his mouth to point out that this would be nothing like England when America interrupted him, obviously not really talking to Canada at all. “I mean, it’s not like he really wants to do this anyways, right? It’s kind of just something he agreed to because he didn’t want to deal with me whining. Although I am so amazing, and he just had to be around me. Except then why is he late?”
“He’s not late,” Canada interjected. Which was true - England wasn’t due to show up for another 15 minutes. America, predictably, either did not hear him or, more likely, did not care.
“He’ll come, though, right? Of course he will. It’s England. If nothing else, we made an appointment, and it’s all official and stuff. I bet he penciled me in and everything, and we all know how much it would kill him to miss something that he’d scheduled in. But then, he did pencil me in. He could just erase it. Oh god, Canada, what if he erased me?” America turned with sudden urgency towards his brother, who jumped a little at America’s apparently renewed awareness that he existed. “He would do that! He would!”
“He wouldn’t, America, calm down,” Canada placated, for all the good he expected it to do.
America swung back into pacing, and Canada let out a sympathetic sigh and at the same time resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Really, England was as mad for America as America was for England; in fact, arguably more so. There was no reason they should be this nervous, but he’d bet every drop of maple syrup in his country that England was just as bad right now.
“That’s it!” America exclaimed a minute later, exactly ten minutes before England was actually due to show up. Canada was immediately apprehensive. “I cannot take this anymore! Either he will show up, or he will not show up, but I have to know now! I cannot deal with waiting!”
Apprehensive and, despite himself, curious, Canada asked, “So what are you going to do?”
“I am going to build a time machine!” America announced this as though it was the most brilliant, sensible idea that he had ever invented.
Canada promptly burst out laughing.
Looking slightly hurt, America said, “You don’t think I can do it, can you.”
Canada blinked, unsure of the correct response to that question. “Well.” No, he did not, but somebody had to have some faith in America, and it certainly wasn’t going to be the rest of the world. “Maybe.”
“I can!” America said, sounding more like a petulant child than he really had any right to. “I’ll show you!”
America had rushed out of the room and was almost to the back door, clearly about to rush out to the shed and attempt to figure out how to assemble a time machine, when there was a knock at the door.
Half a second of total silence and stillness later, America suddenly stood, coughed, straightened the dressy shirt that he was wearing, half-attempted to flatten his hair and then promptly mussed it up again, and then apparently gave up all attempts and just walked over and opened the door.
“You’re late,” he said to England, who was standing at the door and also appeared to be a peculiar and somewhat adorable shade of red.
“I’m late?” England asked, his accent thick in his offense and nervousness. “I am not late, you twit, I’m seven minutes early!” This, Canada noticed, gave away that he’d been watching the minutes too, but both were too preoccupied to notice that little slip-up.
“That’s late… er… than…” America fumbled, looked at England, and gave up completely. “Never mind. I’m glad to see you.”
England’s blushed darkened. “You too,” he mumbled, under his breath, but the smile on America’s face said that he’d definitely been heard.
They left without saying goodbye to or, indeed, even acknowledging Canada at all, but Canada was used to this. Besides, he doubted that they would have noticed anything, caught up as they were in each other.
But oh, no, they weren’t on a date, Canada thought wryly. Not at all.
Hopeless, his dear brothers were. Absolutely hopeless.