[APH] Happy Birthday (the 1st of a 2-part series)
Title: Happy Birthday (part 1)
Category: Axis Powers Hetalia
Characters/Pairings: Mediterraneans, Greece/Japan
Genre/Rating/Warnings: Friendship, Romance/G/none
Summary/Excerpt: How Greece celebrated his birthday.
A/N: Written for Greece's birthday and originally posted at giripan .
Happy Birthday (part 1)
Stuffs you may be interested in:
Cordornices con Higos
Galician Almond Tart
Steak alla Pizziaola
Herakles woke up not quite knowing what to expect for the day. He could tell it was going to be bright and warm. The thick comforter he had snuggled into for the night was somewhat uncomfortable. He noted with mild amusement the bit of happy bubbling in his stomach and rolled over in bed to check what time it was. Seven in the morning. Way early.
And then he caught sight of the date.
Oh.
With purpose (and a small smile on his face), Herakles got up, made his bed and went to his kitchen, followed by the cats meowing for their breakfast. He passed by his living room and paused for a moment, before opening all the windows to let the sun in. Gold splashed all over the blue and whitewashed walls.
A few can openings later, Herakles was sitting on his dining table, sipping strong coffee while the cats ate (something more substantial for their breakfasts). He wasn’t exactly in the mood for moussaka at such an hour. But then, there was so much in the fridge it’d be a huge shame to let it go to waste. Perhaps he’d deliver some to the neighbors again. And then he felt a wee bit bad, because they were always at the receiving end of the excess of his cooking whims (even though they insisted it was fine, such a nice elderly couple).
Funny how a man who lives alone can never seem to cook for himself, always for a bunch of people. Either that or Herakles needed to curb his energy whenever he felt the urge to concoct something in the kitchen.
Having had enough caffeine pumping through him not to provide an excuse for spontaneous cat naps (standing, no less), he washed the used dishes and wandered about his home, absently gathering clothes and heading for the laundry area, though his mind was still wondering what to do for the day.
Should it be special? In theory, there was really no occasion for celebration. The earth just completed its own spinning while going around the sun. The fact there being a day is only for convenience.
Huh, but that wouldn’t be fun, he thought, turning on the tap, dumping his shirts in a plastic basin and grabbing the laundry bar. His own people were going to have a few celebrations here and there, but of course that was for them and commemorating history (or perhaps to prepare for Lent, but that was a different festival altogether and one he wouldn’t want to miss!) To Herakles, this commemoration simply meant celebrating a birthday, like any other normal citizen.
He tried to remember what he did last year, and blushed at the thought. I hope Kiku comes to visit again.
The sun was overhead by the time he finished hanging up the last of his washing. Herakles returned to the living room, having been seized by a sudden urge to rearrange his plastic-covered couches, when there was a knock on his door.
With some enthusiasm, he jogged over to answer it, but his hand froze on the doorknob. What if it was Turkey to come bother him again, of all the days to do so? Banking on the better half of probability, he opened the door anyway.
“Greece~!”
“…Spain?”
He emitted a small ‘oof’ as Antonio collided with him in a fierce hug. The man smelled of cold wind and dried tomatoes, which probably meant they came here on a Vespa. Herakles tried to look over brown curls with difficulty. Ah yes, he spotted Lovino and Feliciano unloading food strapped to the seat.
Wait, what?
Antonio pulled away, radiating happy. Herakles felt somewhat overwhelmed.
“What brings you guys here?” he asked.
Antonio laughed. “What, we can’t cook for a guy’s birthday?”
“Well…”
Lovino marched up his porch, arms full of flour and produce. “You’ve been doing laundry all morning?”
“Ve~ That’s lame!” Feliciano piped, bringing in meat and poultry fresh from the market, and invited himself in. His brother followed.
Herakles glanced at the wet front of his shirt and pants. “…I had coffee for breakfast…and fed the cats,” he said somewhat defensively.
“Come on, man. We’ll make you good food.” Antonio closed the door and bodily steered him into his kitchen where the brothers were already rummaging through the cupboards for various bits of edibles-‘Ve~! You have a lot of moussaka!’ ‘You can take some home if you like’-they can use to spice up lunch.
Herakles sighed and sat on his dining table, watching them with a sort of amused resignation as the three men assimilated themselves with his kitchen. Within an hour and a half, Cordornices con Higos was baking merrily in the oven to be followed by a ‘best of three countries’ sort of pizza (Herakles’ slices having been bombarded with olives, Antonio’s and Lovino’s with tomatoes and Feliciano’s with cheese). Steak alla Pizzaola was looking delicious and pretty in its marinade by the less busy part of the counter, waiting for its turn to be baked. Feliciano was making himself pasta and Antonio was satisfying his own craving for churros. By then, even Herakles was up and about making a salad and Lovino seemed to be the only one following the unspoken birthday menu they agreed on (having started on the Galician Almond Tart with zeal).
The smells of roasted garlic, sweet tomatoes, figs, melting chocolate, bitter cheese, tangy olives, herbs and dampness rising from the walls of the house swirled, heady and tantalizing, inside the kitchen. For all the careful preparation and cooking time, lunch, still close to piping hot was, consumed in thirty minutes, along with a bottle of Ouzo.
Soon enough, the four nations sat sated and nursing their drinks, only waiting for the steak to finish. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink, the salad half eaten. The empty Ouzo was on the floor and the Cerveza had taken its place.
“Thanks guys…” Herakles said, meaningfully raising his glass in a sort of toast.
Lovino met it with his in a loud clunk. “I don’t miss out on good cooking.”
Antonio brightened up. “I-is that a compliment, Lovi~?”
“Sh-shut up, you bastard! I meant Greece’s cooking! Greece’s!”
“Ve~! Brother Spain’s cooking is yummy too~!”
“Uwa~! Thank you Ita!”
Herakles chuckled as figurative flowers of joy and innocence bounced their heads. Lovino sighed and downed the rest of his drink in one gulp.
“In for one tonight?” Herakles asked quietly.
Lovino shot him a look. “…why, are you offering a room?”
Herakles laughed and the other man continued. “Saving it up for Valentines. Don’t tell Spain.”
“I won’t…”
“Tell me what?” Antonio queried cheerfully, having aided Feliciano raid the fridge when the doorbell rang once more. The three men stared when Herakles bolted out of his seat to answer it.
“Ve~ Is he expecting anyone-?”
“Geh! You old man!”
“Oi, brat! You were having a party and didn’t invite me? Sneaky of ya!”
Feliciano bristled. “This moussaka is mine!” He declared as Sadiq entered the kitchen, hanging his overcoat on one of the chairs
He scoffed at the Italian hugging a roll of foil to his chest. “Pff, I wouldn’ be wanting any of that. But I do smell something good.” He took a peek inside the oven, spotted the steak and rubbed his palms together.
“Dibs on the middle.”
“No way, damn it,” Lovino snapped. “I’m slicing that.”
“Ah! You brought raki!” Antonio said, lifting a bottle from the paperbag Sadiq had brought along with him.
“O’course! Ain’t no good birthday without it!”
Herakles sighed once more, not exactly annoyed. His house was indeed lovely when lively, the company wasn’t at all bad (and Sadiq somewhat redeemed his presence by bringing liquor) but it was a little too much noise for two in the afternoon. He wondered if they were planning to take siestas in this weather. It was likely because napping in the cold with the right sort of blankets was pure bliss.
The cats wandered in the kitchen, enticed by the food and started calling for attention. Turkey yelled loudly as a pretty white one mistook his leg for a scratching post. Indeed, this was going to be one long day.
- - - -
Kiku rearranged the scarf around his neck and shifted his humble package from one hand to the other. He was grateful for having left his house early. He never quite got used to it, different time zones. He made his way to Herakles’ home without difficulty, commuting here and there and confirming directions in clipped Greek, hoping this particular hour of the afternoon was not something the other man was occupied with. He was looking forward to spending time with him, most likely in peaceful quiet as they always would, perhaps under the stars with a humble dinner taken outside to eat, but he blushed at the embarrassing thought.
It was getting dark by the time the royal blue roof came into view. He thanked his taxi and started walking down the winding path to the front door. Kiku had always admired the quaintness of Herakles’ home amidst the hustle and bustle of his city. But then, compared to Tokyo, this might not be a hustle and bustle at all.
Kiku smiled as the cats started milling about his feet, pawing the square watermelons inside his bag. With some surprise, he heard loud voices coming from inside the house and hesitated, hand poised to knock. Perhaps he shouldn’t have come at all? His arrival was indeed unannounced. Herakles generally enjoyed spontaneity, but if he was busy entertaining guests (and he had every right to), Kiku would not like to get in the way.
A cat rubbed incessantly against his leg and Kiku thought of Pochi back at home. His instinct got the better of him and he picked it up, cooing softly to it. Without intention, he overheard a few snippets of conversation from within the house, the voice was loud after all.
“You seem restless, kid. Expecting anyone?” Ah. So Turkey-san is there?
“…it’s none of your business.”
“It’s Japan, isn’t it?” The awkward silence that bloomed both in and out the house was undeniable. Kiku’s hand stopped in mid-stroke on the cat’s fur. His eyes trained warily to the closed door, to the open window, scared and both horribly tempted to move a mere inches to the side in the hopes of being able to peer into it.
Thankfully, the cat in Kiku’s arms started protesting loudly at the lack of attention. The sound of heavy footsteps approached the door and before Kiku could prepare himself, it opened.
He and Herakles stood staring at each other for a few moments. The cat jumped deftly out of the way as the Greek all but hugged him tightly. From further within the living room, Sadiq peeked curiously and smiled smugly to himself when he saw what was happening.
“Hah!” he declared triumphantly, walking to the door and leaning on its frame. “This is certainly a nice surprise…”
Herakles pulled away from the hug just enough to shoot the older nation a glare.
Sadiq shrugged. “Be thankful! Imma give ya two lovebirds some alone time so shoo!” His hand was poised on the doorknob, ready to close it. “I’ll tell the others when they wake up where ya went.”
“You can’t throw me out of my own house, on my birthday no less.”
The Turk flashed him a killer grin. “Did it once, will do again!” And before any further protest could be made, Kiku and Herakles stood facing a closed door. The latter sighed.
“Um…” Kiku began, unsure of himself. “You have company?”
Herakles blinked. “Just Spain and the Italies…and Turkey. They’re taking their siesta.”
Kiku hid his laugh in his sleeve, a habit he couldn’t quite break even if he wasn’t wearing a traditional yukata. “At this hour?”
“They missed their regular schedule. I guess…we overdid it with lunch.”
“Lunch?”
“They… came over and decided to cook.”
“That is very kind of them.”
“Hn.”
Their feet took them down a nameless route to nowhere in particular, companionship seemingly syncing as naturally as puzzle pieces. You complete me! Herakles was on the verge of saying something cheesy, the bit of happy he felt in his stomach when he woke up that morning threatened to burst through the seams of his composure.
Despite the increasing pounding of his heart, he found that he really had no words to say, not that they were needed much.
“I’m really glad you came,” Herakles began, as they finally stopped on a grassy hill overlooking some ruins. Kiku blushed but smiled all the same.
“I thought I wouldn’t be able to make it today. Timezones still confuse me sometimes.”
They sat in silence, ironically something Herakles hasn’t yet done for the day. There was a rustling of plastic and he turned to look Kiku happily slicing a square watermelon for them to share.
“I have yet to get you a present,” the smaller man says in a matter-of-factly tone and offers a piece.
“…you don’t need to .”
“I insist.”
Herakles takes the watermelon and bites into it. Kiku does the same and for a while, they take turns unceremoniously spitting seeds.
“Just you being here is enough…”
“…hah. You are quite direct.”
“You don’t like it?”
“…n-no. Just still not used to it.”
Herakles looked at Kiku pensively before wiping a bit of watermelon juice off his cheek with his thumb. The Asian’s eyes sparkle with amusement.
“You aren’t going to lick your thumb, are you?”
“So the reason…you were late is because you were reading BL again.”
For a second, Herakles tensed, anticipating all possibilities of reaction his comeback could garner. He exhales when Kiku laughed. “It is the season for romance after all.”
Sweet silence falls again as Herakles leaned closer. Kiku considered him squarely before promptly coughing into his sleeve, small and courteous. The former took it as a ‘not now’ plus a promise and fell back slightly, undeterred, opting to sit closer instead.
“Stay for dinner?”
“Will it be alright?”
Herakles thought and resisted facefaulting. “…as long as Turkey doesn’t try anything stupid.”
Kiku smiled. “Your house will be lively.”
“Once in a year, it’s nice that way. We made almond tart. You’ll like it.”
“Is it sweet?”
“…not overly so.”
Kiku liked trying new stuff, Herakles knew and despite the talk of food and numerous things under the skies, they returned home close to nine in the evening, freezing, slipping on the grass as they did a little game of tag in the melting snow.
He opens the door to his house (windows already closed) as is greeted by a strong whiff of hooka, cats meowing, Sarbel blasting from the stereo and frying onions, ground beef and cumin.
“Ve~! Japan~! You’re here!” And Kiku was lost in Feliciano’s hug, enthusiastic discussions of pasta and songs, all while being bodily brought to the kitchen where Lovino and Antonio were cooking.
Herakles sighed and stepped inside, whapping Sadiq sharply atop the head. “No shisha in my house.”
Sadiq laughed and pointed to Hassan by his left, who’s had a tube in his mouth and raised a hand to wave hello. Herakles was torn.
“Came while you were on yer date. Want a session tonight? We could ask Japan to join!” Sadiq said cheerfully as the Greek sat beside him with a huff.
“No. Remember the first time he tried the stuff?”
Hassan chuckled a bit. “…I’d give to see him pole dance without a pole again.”
From inside the kitchen, Kiku sneezed and Feliciano panicked.
Lovino and Antonio served dinner past eleven, bringing out various bottles from refills of Ouzo, raki, Cerveza again to wine, champagne and even sake. The company stayed up past the cats caterwauling and when Kiku woke up around noon the next day, sandwiched between Feliciano and Herakles on the bed, with the others sprawled still knocked out on the floor, he thought indeed, it wasn’t bad to have the house as lively once in a while.
END
Category: Axis Powers Hetalia
Characters/Pairings: Mediterraneans, Greece/Japan
Genre/Rating/Warnings: Friendship, Romance/G/none
Summary/Excerpt: How Greece celebrated his birthday.
A/N: Written for Greece's birthday and originally posted at giripan .
Happy Birthday (part 1)
Stuffs you may be interested in:
Cordornices con Higos
Galician Almond Tart
Steak alla Pizziaola
Herakles woke up not quite knowing what to expect for the day. He could tell it was going to be bright and warm. The thick comforter he had snuggled into for the night was somewhat uncomfortable. He noted with mild amusement the bit of happy bubbling in his stomach and rolled over in bed to check what time it was. Seven in the morning. Way early.
And then he caught sight of the date.
Oh.
With purpose (and a small smile on his face), Herakles got up, made his bed and went to his kitchen, followed by the cats meowing for their breakfast. He passed by his living room and paused for a moment, before opening all the windows to let the sun in. Gold splashed all over the blue and whitewashed walls.
A few can openings later, Herakles was sitting on his dining table, sipping strong coffee while the cats ate (something more substantial for their breakfasts). He wasn’t exactly in the mood for moussaka at such an hour. But then, there was so much in the fridge it’d be a huge shame to let it go to waste. Perhaps he’d deliver some to the neighbors again. And then he felt a wee bit bad, because they were always at the receiving end of the excess of his cooking whims (even though they insisted it was fine, such a nice elderly couple).
Funny how a man who lives alone can never seem to cook for himself, always for a bunch of people. Either that or Herakles needed to curb his energy whenever he felt the urge to concoct something in the kitchen.
Having had enough caffeine pumping through him not to provide an excuse for spontaneous cat naps (standing, no less), he washed the used dishes and wandered about his home, absently gathering clothes and heading for the laundry area, though his mind was still wondering what to do for the day.
Should it be special? In theory, there was really no occasion for celebration. The earth just completed its own spinning while going around the sun. The fact there being a day is only for convenience.
Huh, but that wouldn’t be fun, he thought, turning on the tap, dumping his shirts in a plastic basin and grabbing the laundry bar. His own people were going to have a few celebrations here and there, but of course that was for them and commemorating history (or perhaps to prepare for Lent, but that was a different festival altogether and one he wouldn’t want to miss!) To Herakles, this commemoration simply meant celebrating a birthday, like any other normal citizen.
He tried to remember what he did last year, and blushed at the thought. I hope Kiku comes to visit again.
The sun was overhead by the time he finished hanging up the last of his washing. Herakles returned to the living room, having been seized by a sudden urge to rearrange his plastic-covered couches, when there was a knock on his door.
With some enthusiasm, he jogged over to answer it, but his hand froze on the doorknob. What if it was Turkey to come bother him again, of all the days to do so? Banking on the better half of probability, he opened the door anyway.
“Greece~!”
“…Spain?”
He emitted a small ‘oof’ as Antonio collided with him in a fierce hug. The man smelled of cold wind and dried tomatoes, which probably meant they came here on a Vespa. Herakles tried to look over brown curls with difficulty. Ah yes, he spotted Lovino and Feliciano unloading food strapped to the seat.
Wait, what?
Antonio pulled away, radiating happy. Herakles felt somewhat overwhelmed.
“What brings you guys here?” he asked.
Antonio laughed. “What, we can’t cook for a guy’s birthday?”
“Well…”
Lovino marched up his porch, arms full of flour and produce. “You’ve been doing laundry all morning?”
“Ve~ That’s lame!” Feliciano piped, bringing in meat and poultry fresh from the market, and invited himself in. His brother followed.
Herakles glanced at the wet front of his shirt and pants. “…I had coffee for breakfast…and fed the cats,” he said somewhat defensively.
“Come on, man. We’ll make you good food.” Antonio closed the door and bodily steered him into his kitchen where the brothers were already rummaging through the cupboards for various bits of edibles-‘Ve~! You have a lot of moussaka!’ ‘You can take some home if you like’-they can use to spice up lunch.
Herakles sighed and sat on his dining table, watching them with a sort of amused resignation as the three men assimilated themselves with his kitchen. Within an hour and a half, Cordornices con Higos was baking merrily in the oven to be followed by a ‘best of three countries’ sort of pizza (Herakles’ slices having been bombarded with olives, Antonio’s and Lovino’s with tomatoes and Feliciano’s with cheese). Steak alla Pizzaola was looking delicious and pretty in its marinade by the less busy part of the counter, waiting for its turn to be baked. Feliciano was making himself pasta and Antonio was satisfying his own craving for churros. By then, even Herakles was up and about making a salad and Lovino seemed to be the only one following the unspoken birthday menu they agreed on (having started on the Galician Almond Tart with zeal).
The smells of roasted garlic, sweet tomatoes, figs, melting chocolate, bitter cheese, tangy olives, herbs and dampness rising from the walls of the house swirled, heady and tantalizing, inside the kitchen. For all the careful preparation and cooking time, lunch, still close to piping hot was, consumed in thirty minutes, along with a bottle of Ouzo.
Soon enough, the four nations sat sated and nursing their drinks, only waiting for the steak to finish. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink, the salad half eaten. The empty Ouzo was on the floor and the Cerveza had taken its place.
“Thanks guys…” Herakles said, meaningfully raising his glass in a sort of toast.
Lovino met it with his in a loud clunk. “I don’t miss out on good cooking.”
Antonio brightened up. “I-is that a compliment, Lovi~?”
“Sh-shut up, you bastard! I meant Greece’s cooking! Greece’s!”
“Ve~! Brother Spain’s cooking is yummy too~!”
“Uwa~! Thank you Ita!”
Herakles chuckled as figurative flowers of joy and innocence bounced their heads. Lovino sighed and downed the rest of his drink in one gulp.
“In for one tonight?” Herakles asked quietly.
Lovino shot him a look. “…why, are you offering a room?”
Herakles laughed and the other man continued. “Saving it up for Valentines. Don’t tell Spain.”
“I won’t…”
“Tell me what?” Antonio queried cheerfully, having aided Feliciano raid the fridge when the doorbell rang once more. The three men stared when Herakles bolted out of his seat to answer it.
“Ve~ Is he expecting anyone-?”
“Geh! You old man!”
“Oi, brat! You were having a party and didn’t invite me? Sneaky of ya!”
Feliciano bristled. “This moussaka is mine!” He declared as Sadiq entered the kitchen, hanging his overcoat on one of the chairs
He scoffed at the Italian hugging a roll of foil to his chest. “Pff, I wouldn’ be wanting any of that. But I do smell something good.” He took a peek inside the oven, spotted the steak and rubbed his palms together.
“Dibs on the middle.”
“No way, damn it,” Lovino snapped. “I’m slicing that.”
“Ah! You brought raki!” Antonio said, lifting a bottle from the paperbag Sadiq had brought along with him.
“O’course! Ain’t no good birthday without it!”
Herakles sighed once more, not exactly annoyed. His house was indeed lovely when lively, the company wasn’t at all bad (and Sadiq somewhat redeemed his presence by bringing liquor) but it was a little too much noise for two in the afternoon. He wondered if they were planning to take siestas in this weather. It was likely because napping in the cold with the right sort of blankets was pure bliss.
The cats wandered in the kitchen, enticed by the food and started calling for attention. Turkey yelled loudly as a pretty white one mistook his leg for a scratching post. Indeed, this was going to be one long day.
- - - -
Kiku rearranged the scarf around his neck and shifted his humble package from one hand to the other. He was grateful for having left his house early. He never quite got used to it, different time zones. He made his way to Herakles’ home without difficulty, commuting here and there and confirming directions in clipped Greek, hoping this particular hour of the afternoon was not something the other man was occupied with. He was looking forward to spending time with him, most likely in peaceful quiet as they always would, perhaps under the stars with a humble dinner taken outside to eat, but he blushed at the embarrassing thought.
It was getting dark by the time the royal blue roof came into view. He thanked his taxi and started walking down the winding path to the front door. Kiku had always admired the quaintness of Herakles’ home amidst the hustle and bustle of his city. But then, compared to Tokyo, this might not be a hustle and bustle at all.
Kiku smiled as the cats started milling about his feet, pawing the square watermelons inside his bag. With some surprise, he heard loud voices coming from inside the house and hesitated, hand poised to knock. Perhaps he shouldn’t have come at all? His arrival was indeed unannounced. Herakles generally enjoyed spontaneity, but if he was busy entertaining guests (and he had every right to), Kiku would not like to get in the way.
A cat rubbed incessantly against his leg and Kiku thought of Pochi back at home. His instinct got the better of him and he picked it up, cooing softly to it. Without intention, he overheard a few snippets of conversation from within the house, the voice was loud after all.
“You seem restless, kid. Expecting anyone?” Ah. So Turkey-san is there?
“…it’s none of your business.”
“It’s Japan, isn’t it?” The awkward silence that bloomed both in and out the house was undeniable. Kiku’s hand stopped in mid-stroke on the cat’s fur. His eyes trained warily to the closed door, to the open window, scared and both horribly tempted to move a mere inches to the side in the hopes of being able to peer into it.
Thankfully, the cat in Kiku’s arms started protesting loudly at the lack of attention. The sound of heavy footsteps approached the door and before Kiku could prepare himself, it opened.
He and Herakles stood staring at each other for a few moments. The cat jumped deftly out of the way as the Greek all but hugged him tightly. From further within the living room, Sadiq peeked curiously and smiled smugly to himself when he saw what was happening.
“Hah!” he declared triumphantly, walking to the door and leaning on its frame. “This is certainly a nice surprise…”
Herakles pulled away from the hug just enough to shoot the older nation a glare.
Sadiq shrugged. “Be thankful! Imma give ya two lovebirds some alone time so shoo!” His hand was poised on the doorknob, ready to close it. “I’ll tell the others when they wake up where ya went.”
“You can’t throw me out of my own house, on my birthday no less.”
The Turk flashed him a killer grin. “Did it once, will do again!” And before any further protest could be made, Kiku and Herakles stood facing a closed door. The latter sighed.
“Um…” Kiku began, unsure of himself. “You have company?”
Herakles blinked. “Just Spain and the Italies…and Turkey. They’re taking their siesta.”
Kiku hid his laugh in his sleeve, a habit he couldn’t quite break even if he wasn’t wearing a traditional yukata. “At this hour?”
“They missed their regular schedule. I guess…we overdid it with lunch.”
“Lunch?”
“They… came over and decided to cook.”
“That is very kind of them.”
“Hn.”
Their feet took them down a nameless route to nowhere in particular, companionship seemingly syncing as naturally as puzzle pieces. You complete me! Herakles was on the verge of saying something cheesy, the bit of happy he felt in his stomach when he woke up that morning threatened to burst through the seams of his composure.
Despite the increasing pounding of his heart, he found that he really had no words to say, not that they were needed much.
“I’m really glad you came,” Herakles began, as they finally stopped on a grassy hill overlooking some ruins. Kiku blushed but smiled all the same.
“I thought I wouldn’t be able to make it today. Timezones still confuse me sometimes.”
They sat in silence, ironically something Herakles hasn’t yet done for the day. There was a rustling of plastic and he turned to look Kiku happily slicing a square watermelon for them to share.
“I have yet to get you a present,” the smaller man says in a matter-of-factly tone and offers a piece.
“…you don’t need to .”
“I insist.”
Herakles takes the watermelon and bites into it. Kiku does the same and for a while, they take turns unceremoniously spitting seeds.
“Just you being here is enough…”
“…hah. You are quite direct.”
“You don’t like it?”
“…n-no. Just still not used to it.”
Herakles looked at Kiku pensively before wiping a bit of watermelon juice off his cheek with his thumb. The Asian’s eyes sparkle with amusement.
“You aren’t going to lick your thumb, are you?”
“So the reason…you were late is because you were reading BL again.”
For a second, Herakles tensed, anticipating all possibilities of reaction his comeback could garner. He exhales when Kiku laughed. “It is the season for romance after all.”
Sweet silence falls again as Herakles leaned closer. Kiku considered him squarely before promptly coughing into his sleeve, small and courteous. The former took it as a ‘not now’ plus a promise and fell back slightly, undeterred, opting to sit closer instead.
“Stay for dinner?”
“Will it be alright?”
Herakles thought and resisted facefaulting. “…as long as Turkey doesn’t try anything stupid.”
Kiku smiled. “Your house will be lively.”
“Once in a year, it’s nice that way. We made almond tart. You’ll like it.”
“Is it sweet?”
“…not overly so.”
Kiku liked trying new stuff, Herakles knew and despite the talk of food and numerous things under the skies, they returned home close to nine in the evening, freezing, slipping on the grass as they did a little game of tag in the melting snow.
He opens the door to his house (windows already closed) as is greeted by a strong whiff of hooka, cats meowing, Sarbel blasting from the stereo and frying onions, ground beef and cumin.
“Ve~! Japan~! You’re here!” And Kiku was lost in Feliciano’s hug, enthusiastic discussions of pasta and songs, all while being bodily brought to the kitchen where Lovino and Antonio were cooking.
Herakles sighed and stepped inside, whapping Sadiq sharply atop the head. “No shisha in my house.”
Sadiq laughed and pointed to Hassan by his left, who’s had a tube in his mouth and raised a hand to wave hello. Herakles was torn.
“Came while you were on yer date. Want a session tonight? We could ask Japan to join!” Sadiq said cheerfully as the Greek sat beside him with a huff.
“No. Remember the first time he tried the stuff?”
Hassan chuckled a bit. “…I’d give to see him pole dance without a pole again.”
From inside the kitchen, Kiku sneezed and Feliciano panicked.
Lovino and Antonio served dinner past eleven, bringing out various bottles from refills of Ouzo, raki, Cerveza again to wine, champagne and even sake. The company stayed up past the cats caterwauling and when Kiku woke up around noon the next day, sandwiched between Feliciano and Herakles on the bed, with the others sprawled still knocked out on the floor, he thought indeed, it wasn’t bad to have the house as lively once in a while.
END