[Hetalia] "Under the Sky"
TITLE: "Under the Sky"
AUTHOR: shuriken7
FANDOM: Hetalia
PAIRING: America/England
GENRE: Slash
PROMPT: 11. In Pictures @ 12_stories, 13. Summer @ hetachallenge
RATING: G
WORD COUNT: 1036
SUMMARY: England muses about a fantasy that he had, but then he realizes the reality is so much better.
WARNINGS: Hetalia deals with personifications of nation-states. Some stories may be historical while others may be examining them as just people.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hetalia.
England leaned back in the grass comfortably, staring up at the bright blue sky. It was a summer sky, a few small wisps of clouds dancing across the sky, creating shapes that were just begging to be guessed at. He considered pulling out his phone and taking a photo, but he felt that it would somehow ruin the moment, it . That, and he didn't want to disturb the person pressed against his shoulder. He shifted just a little so that he could look down at him. America had fallen asleep, his soft eyelashes pressed against his cheek and his glasses askew. He reached over and pulled the frames off of his nose, folding them carefully above their heads where they wouldn't be broken.
He brushed his fingers across his forehead, shifting his bangs out of his face. Without the glasses and while sleeping peacefully, England could almost see the boy that pushed him away so many years ago with harsh words and weapons. However, he could look even further back than that, to the little boy that would curl up against him in the meadow chattering about the bird he had made friends with. He would begin to mumble as he became comfortable against England's side and then his eyes would drift shut. England smiled fondly as he watched America's blonde hair ruffle slightly in the breeze. When America had been little he would then carry him home and tuck him into bed. He was far too big to do that with now. He glanced back up at the sky and began to look for the shapes that America had been excitedly describing that he saw there.
England chuckled slightly remembering about how they could be looking at the same thing and see them entirely differently. America was usually much more unpredictable with what he saw, sometimes seeing something common like a coffee mug to seeing something outrageous like a space monster that he would then proceed to describe in great deal. The tale would then become about how America was going to build a space ship so that he could go and visit Tony's home planet at some point. England could only shake his head and laugh. At times like these it was fun to hear America dream, when idle chatter was all it was. He would probably scold him for a similar speech in several days when they were back at a full meeting schedule. But right now, they had a quiet weekend. Quiet weekends could be filled with dreams and wild stories.
England let his own eyes drift shut as he considered his own fantasy that he would indulge in. He imagined what his world would be like if they could always just stay this way, together, away from all the things that tore them apart. Where they didn't have any more obligations than any of their citizens. It was a lovely fiction, one where they could wake up in each other's arms every morning instead of the usual morning text or voice message. One where they could share a house and America would hang his coat beside his in the closet. Maybe America would let him cook a meal once in a while, they could take leisurely vacations and not have to worry about making diplomatic visits if they ever went somewhere outside their countries. He could imagine all of the scrapbooks he would fill with pictures of their lives, simple as it would be. There would be pictures of his garden and of America's newest inventions. He was sure they would have some kind of pet like a dog, maybe he would get a cat. He mused that it would be fun to make a blog where he chronicled the pictures of his cat, or maybe his embroidery. They would be able to grow old in rocking chairs on the back porch. He would shout at the noisy kids down the street and America would laugh and probably join them in their fun. He would It was a peaceful vision, but something stirred in the back of his mind when America sighed in his sleep and snuggled in closer to him.
He glanced down at him again, thinking of who they would be without everything that had happened between them, the bad and the good. Would the world that they knew still be the same if America hadn't grown up the way he had? Would it be worse? Would it be better? What about him? Would he who he was now without America and those beginnings of an Empire that would spread across the world? He furrowed his brow, he didn't think he would ever know the answer. He could speculate of course, but that was all that it would ever be. None of them would ever know for sure if they had taken a different course of action things would have turned out differently. They may have still been the same.
He supposed he was grateful for it. If America had never pointed a gun at him and told him he was no longer his brother. If he had never called him out on some of his actions in the 19th Century, if they hadn't considered business ventures. If he hadn't reached out to him in the 20th, and (although he sometimes grudgingly admitted it) had saved the day sometimes when he desperately needed it. If the 21st Century hadn't started to sober America a bit. He brushed his fingers through America's hair, deciding that even though it involved immeasurable pain, their history together had also contained immeasurable happiness.
He tried to imagine that scrapbook from his fantasized human life that they could never have. Although it was a peaceful though, he would never trade all of the portraits, black and whites, sepias, polaroids, instant, color, digital and many other forms of media over the decades of their lives. He would never trade all the pain, sorrow, torment, joy, happiness, elation for anything fictional. The real was so much better. England leaned over and kissed America gently on the forehead, trying not to wake him.
America smiled a little in his sleep.
Yes, indeed, the real was so much better.
AUTHOR: shuriken7
FANDOM: Hetalia
PAIRING: America/England
GENRE: Slash
PROMPT: 11. In Pictures @ 12_stories, 13. Summer @ hetachallenge
RATING: G
WORD COUNT: 1036
SUMMARY: England muses about a fantasy that he had, but then he realizes the reality is so much better.
WARNINGS: Hetalia deals with personifications of nation-states. Some stories may be historical while others may be examining them as just people.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hetalia.
England leaned back in the grass comfortably, staring up at the bright blue sky. It was a summer sky, a few small wisps of clouds dancing across the sky, creating shapes that were just begging to be guessed at. He considered pulling out his phone and taking a photo, but he felt that it would somehow ruin the moment, it . That, and he didn't want to disturb the person pressed against his shoulder. He shifted just a little so that he could look down at him. America had fallen asleep, his soft eyelashes pressed against his cheek and his glasses askew. He reached over and pulled the frames off of his nose, folding them carefully above their heads where they wouldn't be broken.
He brushed his fingers across his forehead, shifting his bangs out of his face. Without the glasses and while sleeping peacefully, England could almost see the boy that pushed him away so many years ago with harsh words and weapons. However, he could look even further back than that, to the little boy that would curl up against him in the meadow chattering about the bird he had made friends with. He would begin to mumble as he became comfortable against England's side and then his eyes would drift shut. England smiled fondly as he watched America's blonde hair ruffle slightly in the breeze. When America had been little he would then carry him home and tuck him into bed. He was far too big to do that with now. He glanced back up at the sky and began to look for the shapes that America had been excitedly describing that he saw there.
England chuckled slightly remembering about how they could be looking at the same thing and see them entirely differently. America was usually much more unpredictable with what he saw, sometimes seeing something common like a coffee mug to seeing something outrageous like a space monster that he would then proceed to describe in great deal. The tale would then become about how America was going to build a space ship so that he could go and visit Tony's home planet at some point. England could only shake his head and laugh. At times like these it was fun to hear America dream, when idle chatter was all it was. He would probably scold him for a similar speech in several days when they were back at a full meeting schedule. But right now, they had a quiet weekend. Quiet weekends could be filled with dreams and wild stories.
England let his own eyes drift shut as he considered his own fantasy that he would indulge in. He imagined what his world would be like if they could always just stay this way, together, away from all the things that tore them apart. Where they didn't have any more obligations than any of their citizens. It was a lovely fiction, one where they could wake up in each other's arms every morning instead of the usual morning text or voice message. One where they could share a house and America would hang his coat beside his in the closet. Maybe America would let him cook a meal once in a while, they could take leisurely vacations and not have to worry about making diplomatic visits if they ever went somewhere outside their countries. He could imagine all of the scrapbooks he would fill with pictures of their lives, simple as it would be. There would be pictures of his garden and of America's newest inventions. He was sure they would have some kind of pet like a dog, maybe he would get a cat. He mused that it would be fun to make a blog where he chronicled the pictures of his cat, or maybe his embroidery. They would be able to grow old in rocking chairs on the back porch. He would shout at the noisy kids down the street and America would laugh and probably join them in their fun. He would It was a peaceful vision, but something stirred in the back of his mind when America sighed in his sleep and snuggled in closer to him.
He glanced down at him again, thinking of who they would be without everything that had happened between them, the bad and the good. Would the world that they knew still be the same if America hadn't grown up the way he had? Would it be worse? Would it be better? What about him? Would he who he was now without America and those beginnings of an Empire that would spread across the world? He furrowed his brow, he didn't think he would ever know the answer. He could speculate of course, but that was all that it would ever be. None of them would ever know for sure if they had taken a different course of action things would have turned out differently. They may have still been the same.
He supposed he was grateful for it. If America had never pointed a gun at him and told him he was no longer his brother. If he had never called him out on some of his actions in the 19th Century, if they hadn't considered business ventures. If he hadn't reached out to him in the 20th, and (although he sometimes grudgingly admitted it) had saved the day sometimes when he desperately needed it. If the 21st Century hadn't started to sober America a bit. He brushed his fingers through America's hair, deciding that even though it involved immeasurable pain, their history together had also contained immeasurable happiness.
He tried to imagine that scrapbook from his fantasized human life that they could never have. Although it was a peaceful though, he would never trade all of the portraits, black and whites, sepias, polaroids, instant, color, digital and many other forms of media over the decades of their lives. He would never trade all the pain, sorrow, torment, joy, happiness, elation for anything fictional. The real was so much better. England leaned over and kissed America gently on the forehead, trying not to wake him.
America smiled a little in his sleep.
Yes, indeed, the real was so much better.