[Fanfic] Tsuyu
He slides open the wooden door in answer to the knock, and the wind blows in a very drenched Englishman together with the rain.
Japan stares in surprise at the sight, but before he can speak his visitor looks up and the words still in his throat.
“I’m sorry for coming so late and without notice,” says England, raindrops dripping off his hair and chin, “It’s terribly rude of me, I know. But, it’s just that, well…” And England looks at him with the loneliest look a soul can give another. “I think I miss you. That’s all.” he says forlornly.
Those words, together with the look of utter abandonment on England’s face, are enough to make Japan’s mind go blank. Then he realizes that his unexpected guest is standing in the rain, and he quickly hustles him into the house and into the bath to get dried and cleaned off first.
When England next stumbles into the living room, puffs of steam coming off him from his bath, Japan is seated, a blanket in his lap, hot tea on the table. England steps just past the door and stops, as if unsure of what to do next.
“It must have been difficult coming here in this weather,” says Japan, holding out a hand. England takes a hesitant step forward, and lets his host take him by the wrist and pull him down to the floor.
“It was all right,” he murmurs. Somehow through the haze of jet lag he finds himself being led gently into Japan’s lap and a blanket being pulled over him. He doesn’t resist, because if this was indeed a dream, and this could very well be a dream (because the last thing he really remembers is working in his office and suddenly being overwhelmed by thoughts of Japan and a desire to be with him right there and then so strong that he felt that he was drowning) he’s perfectly content to just let it run its course.
“I took my boss’s plane,” he yawned, Japan’s fingers running soothingly through his damp hair. “She wasn’t using it anyway. But I forgot about the time difference between our homes, so it still feels like yesterday night and it really was very rude of me to just drop in like this but really, I just wanted to see you so very, very badly…”
England trails off as he finally succumbs to sleep, eyes closing, lips silent as his muddled thoughts finally quieten down. Japan continues to stroke England’s hair, his own thoughts like the rain falling softly outside the wooden walls of his home.
How is it, he wonders as he turns to look out the window, one hand slipping down to clasp England’s, that thoughts can cross an ocean so quickly, so swiftly, and make the same wishes from opposite ends of the world come true so marvelously.
“You were not the only one,” Japan says to the one in his lap, so quietly that only the rain hears, and only the wind answers.