Drabble [All To Myself]
I'm half asleep, and I am wide awake
This habit is always so hard to break
----------------------------------------
The lightning raged outside, the thunder threatening to break the glass windows separating them from the outside world. America screamed, waking up with a jolt. He panicked, looking around and finding his twin perfectly wrapped up in his own blanket of comfort, a certain bear clung to his chest. He was jealous; how could he sleep so comfortably like that?
Sniffling, he made his way towards England’s room, knocking on the door. There was no answer. After five minutes, there was still no answer. Resignedly shivering, he made his way back towards their bedroom, sucking his thumb and whimpering, blue eyes wide in fear of the storm monster.
Suddenly, a literal blanket of warmth washed over him, and he stared, wide-eyed at his twin, who was blinking and smiling groggily up at him. Without another word, Canada pulled his brother up to him, curling to provide his brother with his body warmth, before promptly falling asleep.
“Thanks, Canada”, America said, eyes slowly sealing shut, nuzzling with his brother.
“Mm, o’course. Anything for you.” He wasn’t so asleep, after all.
----------------------------------------
I don't want to be the bad guy,
I've been blaming myself and I think you know why
----------------------------------------
“Why don’t you ever visit me anymore? Are you suddenly too good for me?” America screamed, despite the fact that there was no one else in sight, and it was a straight, open field.
Canada grimaced, before frowning. Something in his brother’s tone enraged him, and there was no way he was backing down this time when he was as much at fault at this as he was. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Don’t give me that!” He hadn’t known Canada to be a liar. Well, there was always something new to learn every day, wasn’t there?, he thought to himself sarcastically. “You’re always off visiting France when there’s someone else you can visit right next door! What about me?”
Canada gritted his teeth, hurt by the accusatory tone in his brother’s voice. “Says the person who always goes to visit England. What’s the point of me coming over if you’re just going to go on and on about the “old days”? Huh? What about you? Dammit, if you’re so in love with him, then just GO for it. Excuse me if I’d rather not be dragged as a third wheel into your little love mess! I’m not the coward who won’t admit his feelings!”
It hurt too much; he had seen America’s eyes lighting up whenever the grumpy blonde was within earshot. He would take no more of this. He would not admit that his visits to France were nothing more than a way to douse his depression and nurse his broken heart. Tears were on the brink of falling.
America merely stared at his retreating figure, unable to voice the vehement protest stuck in his throat.
'But...'
----------------------------------------
I'm killing time, and time's killing you
Every way that I do
----------------------------------------
Canada was curled up in a foetal position on the couch, half-sitting up. His breathing was hitched and his face was ghost-like, save for his cheeks that were a bright crimson. His eyes were scrunched up tight; his entire expression was contorted into one of pain.
“Here’s some soup. Open up!” America said cheerfully, despite the lack of any sort of optimism in the room. The other did not stir, except for a small movement of a mouth opening weakly. He promptly fed the spoon into his mouth.
There was silence except for hitched breathing, until Canada whispered, “S-sorry…”
America shook his head, the smile wiped off his face as he embraced his brother’s entire torso. “No, I should be the one to say I’m sorry.”
He had been too late. He had been too distracted to visit. He had overlooked his brother’s deteriorating condition. And now, Canada was dying in a day’s time.
It was all he could do to pull his lover into one final embrace, tears trickling down his cheeks and onto the other’s pallid face. He was so stupid. He wished the other would be well, he wished to see the ghost of a smile on his face whenever they played catch.
But it was too late.
Canada stopped breathing.
----------------------------------------
It's not enough, it's never enough
And I wish I could breathe without getting it stuck
----------------------------------------
They had played catch all that afternoon, and now the sun was setting as a trumpet to signal the end of the day. Now America sat, leaning under a tree, Canada’s head propped on his legs. He was breathing regularly; he had recovered from the exertion that America had forced him into.
The blue-eyed blonde chuckled at the memory, and from his lap came a mumbled voice. “What’sso funny?”
“Nothing.”
Canada grumbled at his brother’s little secret, before proceeding to readjust his head on his lap and fall asleep. He was too tired to think any more. “So, America. Can we’play, mmm… again, tomorrow?”
America smiled, smoothing the hair off his brother’s face, twining it through his fingers. “’Kay.”
But that would not be enough. But it was alright. He had the rest of eternity with him to play catch.
It was never enough.
----------------------------------------
Please just follow me
I thought you wanted me
'Cause I want you all to myself
----------------------------------------
Canada found himself slammed against the bedroom door, a sound of pain leaving his lips. Indigo eyes widened in surprise… and fear, as they surveyed the room and found himself face-to-face with a very angry looking America. America’s hands firmly grasped him against the door, preventing escape. His eyes were cold and shallow, like there would never be warmth again.
“A-America?” He had to ask shyly; the other looked as though he was about to explode.
“Who told you that you could go visit Russia without telling me?”
Canada scowled, able to pluck up some courage. “I didn’t know I had to tell you everything I do and everywhere I go,” he retorted shortly.
“Jesus. Do you want to be turned into a Commie? Huh? ‘Coz if that’s what you want, then go ahead and wander all la-dee-da into his territory.” There was an unmistakeable tone of rage in his voice, a murderous look intent in his eyes.
“Why does that matter? I just wanted to go for a visit. Don’t be so uptight about it!”
The hands on his arms tightened, and Canada yelped. He whimpered, distressed, unable to stare down the cold eyes of his brother that were boring into him. He turned his face away, closing his eyes and awaited retaliation for what he had just said. Instead, the grip loosened, and he found a pair of soft lips touched over his own, moving almost aggressively.
His mind reeled. This was not like America.
When they broke apart, Canada looked at his brother with a questioning look in his eyes, puzzled and scared all at once. He melted when he saw that the previous chill was no longer in his brother’s eyes. But instead, tears fell rhythmically from his eyes the colour of the sky.
“A-Ame-?”
“I just… I don’t want anyone else to have you. You’re damn well as good as mine,” he growled under his breath. “Especially not that Commie bastard. I want you to myself, and only myself. You can’t…” The tears flowed more steadily now, in larger amount. “You can’t leave me like that.”
Canada held his breath, his now freed arms gently pulling the male’s head towards his chest. His fingers thread through the silky hair absentmindedly.
“You’re mine, you’re mine,” America whimpered uselessly, as he fell into a slump in his brother’s waiting arms. “You’re mine, mine, only mine…”
Canada only nodded, kissing his brother’s forehead. He understood. He understood that feeling when England would come and whisk his brother away. He had always understood.
“I know.”
Because sometimes, all it took was two words to repair the damage.
This habit is always so hard to break
----------------------------------------
The lightning raged outside, the thunder threatening to break the glass windows separating them from the outside world. America screamed, waking up with a jolt. He panicked, looking around and finding his twin perfectly wrapped up in his own blanket of comfort, a certain bear clung to his chest. He was jealous; how could he sleep so comfortably like that?
Sniffling, he made his way towards England’s room, knocking on the door. There was no answer. After five minutes, there was still no answer. Resignedly shivering, he made his way back towards their bedroom, sucking his thumb and whimpering, blue eyes wide in fear of the storm monster.
Suddenly, a literal blanket of warmth washed over him, and he stared, wide-eyed at his twin, who was blinking and smiling groggily up at him. Without another word, Canada pulled his brother up to him, curling to provide his brother with his body warmth, before promptly falling asleep.
“Thanks, Canada”, America said, eyes slowly sealing shut, nuzzling with his brother.
“Mm, o’course. Anything for you.” He wasn’t so asleep, after all.
----------------------------------------
I don't want to be the bad guy,
I've been blaming myself and I think you know why
----------------------------------------
“Why don’t you ever visit me anymore? Are you suddenly too good for me?” America screamed, despite the fact that there was no one else in sight, and it was a straight, open field.
Canada grimaced, before frowning. Something in his brother’s tone enraged him, and there was no way he was backing down this time when he was as much at fault at this as he was. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Don’t give me that!” He hadn’t known Canada to be a liar. Well, there was always something new to learn every day, wasn’t there?, he thought to himself sarcastically. “You’re always off visiting France when there’s someone else you can visit right next door! What about me?”
Canada gritted his teeth, hurt by the accusatory tone in his brother’s voice. “Says the person who always goes to visit England. What’s the point of me coming over if you’re just going to go on and on about the “old days”? Huh? What about you? Dammit, if you’re so in love with him, then just GO for it. Excuse me if I’d rather not be dragged as a third wheel into your little love mess! I’m not the coward who won’t admit his feelings!”
It hurt too much; he had seen America’s eyes lighting up whenever the grumpy blonde was within earshot. He would take no more of this. He would not admit that his visits to France were nothing more than a way to douse his depression and nurse his broken heart. Tears were on the brink of falling.
America merely stared at his retreating figure, unable to voice the vehement protest stuck in his throat.
'But...'
----------------------------------------
I'm killing time, and time's killing you
Every way that I do
----------------------------------------
Canada was curled up in a foetal position on the couch, half-sitting up. His breathing was hitched and his face was ghost-like, save for his cheeks that were a bright crimson. His eyes were scrunched up tight; his entire expression was contorted into one of pain.
“Here’s some soup. Open up!” America said cheerfully, despite the lack of any sort of optimism in the room. The other did not stir, except for a small movement of a mouth opening weakly. He promptly fed the spoon into his mouth.
There was silence except for hitched breathing, until Canada whispered, “S-sorry…”
America shook his head, the smile wiped off his face as he embraced his brother’s entire torso. “No, I should be the one to say I’m sorry.”
He had been too late. He had been too distracted to visit. He had overlooked his brother’s deteriorating condition. And now, Canada was dying in a day’s time.
It was all he could do to pull his lover into one final embrace, tears trickling down his cheeks and onto the other’s pallid face. He was so stupid. He wished the other would be well, he wished to see the ghost of a smile on his face whenever they played catch.
But it was too late.
Canada stopped breathing.
----------------------------------------
It's not enough, it's never enough
And I wish I could breathe without getting it stuck
----------------------------------------
They had played catch all that afternoon, and now the sun was setting as a trumpet to signal the end of the day. Now America sat, leaning under a tree, Canada’s head propped on his legs. He was breathing regularly; he had recovered from the exertion that America had forced him into.
The blue-eyed blonde chuckled at the memory, and from his lap came a mumbled voice. “What’sso funny?”
“Nothing.”
Canada grumbled at his brother’s little secret, before proceeding to readjust his head on his lap and fall asleep. He was too tired to think any more. “So, America. Can we’play, mmm… again, tomorrow?”
America smiled, smoothing the hair off his brother’s face, twining it through his fingers. “’Kay.”
But that would not be enough. But it was alright. He had the rest of eternity with him to play catch.
It was never enough.
----------------------------------------
Please just follow me
I thought you wanted me
'Cause I want you all to myself
----------------------------------------
Canada found himself slammed against the bedroom door, a sound of pain leaving his lips. Indigo eyes widened in surprise… and fear, as they surveyed the room and found himself face-to-face with a very angry looking America. America’s hands firmly grasped him against the door, preventing escape. His eyes were cold and shallow, like there would never be warmth again.
“A-America?” He had to ask shyly; the other looked as though he was about to explode.
“Who told you that you could go visit Russia without telling me?”
Canada scowled, able to pluck up some courage. “I didn’t know I had to tell you everything I do and everywhere I go,” he retorted shortly.
“Jesus. Do you want to be turned into a Commie? Huh? ‘Coz if that’s what you want, then go ahead and wander all la-dee-da into his territory.” There was an unmistakeable tone of rage in his voice, a murderous look intent in his eyes.
“Why does that matter? I just wanted to go for a visit. Don’t be so uptight about it!”
The hands on his arms tightened, and Canada yelped. He whimpered, distressed, unable to stare down the cold eyes of his brother that were boring into him. He turned his face away, closing his eyes and awaited retaliation for what he had just said. Instead, the grip loosened, and he found a pair of soft lips touched over his own, moving almost aggressively.
His mind reeled. This was not like America.
When they broke apart, Canada looked at his brother with a questioning look in his eyes, puzzled and scared all at once. He melted when he saw that the previous chill was no longer in his brother’s eyes. But instead, tears fell rhythmically from his eyes the colour of the sky.
“A-Ame-?”
“I just… I don’t want anyone else to have you. You’re damn well as good as mine,” he growled under his breath. “Especially not that Commie bastard. I want you to myself, and only myself. You can’t…” The tears flowed more steadily now, in larger amount. “You can’t leave me like that.”
Canada held his breath, his now freed arms gently pulling the male’s head towards his chest. His fingers thread through the silky hair absentmindedly.
“You’re mine, you’re mine,” America whimpered uselessly, as he fell into a slump in his brother’s waiting arms. “You’re mine, mine, only mine…”
Canada only nodded, kissing his brother’s forehead. He understood. He understood that feeling when England would come and whisk his brother away. He had always understood.
“I know.”
Because sometimes, all it took was two words to repair the damage.