cyanclouds
in
usxuk
[Secret Santa Fic] The Things That You Do
TITLE: The Things That You Do
AUTHOR: cyanclouds
RECIPIENT: flyingfortress
GENRE: General/Humour/Romance
RATING: K+
WARNING(S): Immaturity, and so much sap it could burn your eyes.
SUMMARY: After a simply horrible day, Arthur trudges himself to Alfred’s home for business matters. Though, what he finds isn’t exactly what he expected…
NOTES: MANY thanks to yaoishadow66613 for betareading! Also, flyingfortress, I maaaay have another prompt ready for you derp. And the title is a verse from the song, "Hard Day's Night" by The Beatles.
Brilliant… Just brilliant…
England silently curses as his eyes drop down to his now soaked and muddy clothes clinging to his body like a second skin. He attempts to brush some of the fresh mud off, but the effort is in vain as he realises that he has nowhere to wipe his hands off from. Closing his eyes, he ignores the snickers and the stares surrounding him and decides that he’s definitely woken up on the wrong side of life that morning. It doesn’t really do anything to help his sour mood though. It doesn’t even make the mud disappear.
Everything just seems to have gone downhill from the moment he woke up. About a thousand and three things have gone wrong that day, and right when he thinks that he’s finally hit rock bottom, life seems to prove him otherwise by throwing some new problem his way. Clearly the fates are mocking him today. To top it all off, his clothes are now completely caked with mud as a car just flew by and splashed mud from yesterday’s rain all over him.
And he thought that only happened in movies.
Of course, if he were in London, this problem would be a cinch, as he’d merely rush straight back home for a change of clothes. But of course, as luck has definitely turned its back to him today, he just has to be in D.C. instead, delivering some documents to America to discuss over with him. On another day, though he’d never admit it aloud, Arthur would’ve rather looked forward to meeting Alfred, even if it’s for business matters. Despite that the two had been together for about two years now, they’ve both become increasingly busy with their own work, and as a result, neither of them found much time to contact the other. This could’ve served as a perfect excuse for them to catch up with each other, and well, perhaps do a little more than just boring ol’ business talk.
But at the moment, Arthur finds that he’d much rather be curled up in his bed with a book and an Earl Gray tea. He could deal with not seeing Alfred another day… especially since knowing the American, he would probably waste ten minutes immaturely laughing his bloody arse off at the sight of the Briton all irritated and caked in mud.
He sighs at that thought. Yes, he most certainly can live another day without seeing Alfred.
Arthur finally reaches the doorway to Alfred’s household, but before ringing the doorbell, he hesitates for a moment and jams his hands into his muddy pockets. All he finds is some extra change though, and no napkins or handkerchiefs, even though he usually does carry around some in his pockets. He curses the fates as he finally gives up, rings the doorbell, and braces himself.
England waits for the American to get off his lazy arse and answer the door, but after what seems like decades, it never happens. He rolls his eyes and slightly pushes against the door, and sure enough, it swings wide open for anyone to just come bounding in. He frowns disapprovingly as he remembers he’s lectured America about five billion times about locking the door, and yet he still leaves the door unlocked. That sodding git, he never learns.
England’s immediately greeted with an upbeat tune flooding from upstairs. The song sounds familiar, but with the lyrics slightly muffled as he’s far away from it, he can’t exactly put his finger on which song it is. Scanning the living room, he finds no American sight, so his best guess is to follow the music. He sighs as he closes the door behind him and locks it before climbing up the large, winding staircase.
“Alfred?” he calls as he ascends, finally reaching the top of the stairs. He notes that the music is now much clearer, but still a little distant.
Upon receiving no response, he rolls his eyes and continues to follow the music, wondering what the idiot is up to now.
As he draws closer and closer to the source of the music, he begins to also hear America’s voice singing along to the song, and at an obnoxiously loud volume too. Bewildered, he quickens his pace and fights back an incredulous, highly amused smile when he hears the younger nation’s voice crack at some of the higher notes.
He finally reaches America’s bedroom, where music is playing full blast, and opens his mouth to reprimand the younger nation for having the music up so loud, but he quickly freezes at the doorway. England’s eyes positively bug out, seeing Alfred singing at the top of his lungs and dancing across the room in a mere white button-up shirt, socks, and boxers-boxers decorated with little hamburgers. With his back to Arthur, Alfred continues to obliviously dance and sing his heart out along with the song, occasionally wildly strumming his air guitar, accompanied with sound effects.
Upon listening more closely to the song, England finally recognises it as one of Elvis’ hit songs-“Jailhouse Rock.”
“Let’s rock, everybody, let’s rock
Everybody in the whole cell block
Was dancing to the jailhouse rock!”
America then turns, mid-singing and dancing, but quickly freezes when he sees the Briton staring back at him incredulously.
A pregnant pause immediately fills in between the two nations gawking at each other, and it would’ve been awkwardly quiet if it wasn’t for Elvis’ continuous singing. The silence between the two doesn’t last long though, and they suddenly simultaneously burst into loud, boisterous laughter.
England leans against the doorway, holding his stomach as he laughs immensely. He honestly can’t remember the last time he laughed this much, nor can he remember the last time he’s seen America do something so silly, even though the idiot does frequently do some ridiculous things oftentimes. At that thought, Arthur continues to laugh, more so because he hasn’t laughed in so long, and it feels good to finally loosen up. At the back of his mind though, he does wonder why Alfred is laughing so much.
After a few more moments of more laughing, Arthur finally calms down, but he continues to smile rather confusedly at the American’s direction.
“Why-why are you laughing, git?!” He finally frowns. “And would you please turn down that music!”
“Your-your clothes!” America can make out, before he goes into yet another fit of laughter.
England’s eyes drop down to his own clothes, and he realises that America means the mud caked all over them. He had completely forgotten about it when stepping into the house, but of course, as he predicted, America was laughing his arse off as if he was watching some hilarious sitcom.
“Oh, grow up! This is only funny when you’re five.” He rolls his eyes to mask his embarrassment, but his cheeks give way as they flush crimson.
After a few more painful moments, Alfred finally calms down as well, and even turns down the volume of the music a little bit. He grins rather goofily towards the Briton’s direction and responds matter-of-factly, “Well this isn’t that funny either!” He frowns as well and puffs his cheeks while folding his arms across his chest. At this, England has to stifle back another laugh at the American’s childishness. It’s times like these he wonders why he’s even dating the idiot.
England gives America’s clothes a once-over, starting from his loose button-up shirt that’s splattered with what seems like ketchup, to his boxers decorated with tiny hamburgers depicted with faces, and finally to his mismatched socks that reach halfway to his shins.
The Brit finally snorts. “Oh, yes it is! It’s ten times more hilarious than the sight of me! Honestly, do you always sing and dance around your room, dressed like that? You really have way too much spare time on your hands!” He snickers.
The tips of America’s ears turn bright red, as he opens his mouth to speak, but closes it, and finally opens it again. He then scowls back indignantly, looking like he finally made up his mind about what to say. “Like you don’t sing and dance in your spare time! I bet you sing and dance around your room butt naked to… The Beatles or some other pansy British band!” He smirks, as if he’s just stated the nastiest, wittiest comeback ever.
England’s eyes widen for a second, before he quickly grits his teeth and glares at the American. How dare he pull The Beatles into this! “First of all, I wouldn’t even dream of dancing and singing around in my underwear! I have more of a life than that, mind you. And second of all, you did not just insult The Beatles! They’re a legend, you bloody wanker! Don’t you dare call them pansy or whatever just because they don’t sing ear-bleeding rock songs like your Elvis!”
The younger nation’s jaw drops. “Oh no you didn’t! Elvis is the king of rock and roll! If there’s anyone who’s a legend, it’s him…” He then pauses, before flashing his trademark smile. “And well, me too, of course.”
England scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Legend, my arse,” he mutters, but he has to fight back a smile as well.
A pregnant pause then follows, filling in the spaces between the two nations, as they both look at each other expectantly, waiting for the other to make the next move. The only sound filling in the awkward silence between the two nations is Elvis’ voice now singing to “Hound Dog.”
Unsurprisingly, Alfred’s the first to break the silence as he raises his eyebrow in confusion towards the Briton’s way. “Wait a minute… why are you even here anyways? And, how the hell did you get inside?! You’re not stalking me or anything… are you?”
At first, Arthur stares back at him incredulously, thinking that he’s kidding, but seeing Alfred’s rather serious expression, he realises that he’s actually genuinely curious. At this, Arthur quickly grits his teeth and glares darkly at the younger nation, a thousand questions and curses racing through his mind. He honestly feels like America is regarding him like a piece of trash that no one wants, and no one wants to even take the liberty to pick up and put it back in its rightful place. He thought that Alfred would’ve missed him at least to some extent, but then again, he would’ve at least called and asked for a quick date once in a while, wouldn’t he? It’s clear to England that America is fending off rather well by himself.
And he has been ever since the War for American Independence, England thinks bitterly, but he quickly shoos it away, not wanting to drag the war into every thought he had about America like he used to years ago.
England swallows the lump in his throat as he stiffly opens his briefcase and takes out the documents he’s supposed to discuss over with America.
In a surprisingly calm and composed manner, he begins, “Hasn’t your boss told you that I was coming over to discuss…” But he pauses and shakes his head bitterly, as he strolls over to him and pushes the documents into America's hands. “You know what, never mind. I’ll just leave this here for you to read over yourself, and I’ll be going now since you seem to rather not care about our supposed ‘relationship’ anymore. It makes me wonder if we even were together for a while, but if we were, then I guess this is the supposed ‘end’ of it. I hope you have a nice life, America.”
Arthur then sniffs, turns his heel and leaves the room, muttering incoherent curses along the way. As he reaches halfway down the hall though, he wonders in the back of his mind if he’s being irrational and over-sensitive though. The thought troubles him, but he quickly rationalises to himself that if he is, then he sure as hell has the right to be, with the horrible day he’s having, and anyway, his supposed ‘significant other’ acted like he rather didn’t want him here. Shortly, he feels the tears welling up in his eyes, and he quickly wipes them away with the sleeve of his shirt, only to have forgotten once more that his clothes are soaked with mud. Realising that he now has mud all over his cheeks from the sleeve of his shirt, he sighs in frustration and stops in his tracks.
“Oh, now isn’t that just fantastic!” England yells, as he seriously wonders what he’s done to anger the fates. No doubt he looks absolutely ridiculous right now, red-eyed from crying, with clothes soaked in mud, and now with mud even on his cheeks as if he just literally rolled around in it.
“Arthur! Arthur, wait!”
Hearing footsteps advancing towards him from behind, England picks up his pace and rushes down the rest of the hallway and down a few steps of the vast, winding staircase. He suddenly feels a hand grasp his wrist however, making him halt. Cursing under his breath, he turns and glares sharply at the American looking desperately back at him.
“Let go of me, you bloody wan-“
But then England stops mid-sentence as he sees America’s bright blue eyes suddenly widen and gleam. A large, goofy smile stretches across his face, and he quickly clamps his free hand across his mouth, obviously trying to stifle back a laugh.
The Briton’s face turns bright red as he realises that he’s laughing at the fresh mud spread across his cheeks, and he glares darkly at the American. He hastily tries to wriggle free from his grasp, but even while laughing, America is still stronger and has an iron grip on him, although he’d never admit that aloud. Irritated, England then wipes some of the mud off his face and rubs it on the younger nation’s forehead and the tip of his nose as revenge. Alfred immediately ceases laughing as he instinctively touches his forehead, bewildered. Seeing the look on his face, a small laugh escapes Arthur’s lips before he can stop himself.
Alfred catches the laugh all right though, and at that, he quickly grins too and leans forward. For a second, Arthur freezes, thinking that he’s going to kiss him, but instead, he lightly rubs his nose against his, and Arthur immediately feels something wet on his nose-no doubt, some of the mud from Alfred’s nose.
America then steps back and grins goofily at the other. “We match now! And I think we look more stunning than we did last Christmas to Francis’ formal.”
England cracks a smile too and chuckles a little as he realises that he’s right. They both probably look ridiculous right now, standing halfway down the stairs with America in mere underwear and mismatched socks, and England soaked in mud. He knows that if he saw any other couple in this kind of attire, he’d definitely ponder sending them to an asylum.
“And you know...” America then says, still smiling goofily, “you are such a girl, Arthur! Did you write that down somewhere in your diary, then memorise it by heart so that you could say it as some epic soap opera break-up to your future boyfriend?”
England's smile immediately falls at this as he feels his cheeks colour bright red. He scowls darkly at America and tries to wriggle free from his grasp once more, all the while smacking his shoulder harshly with his free hand. Of course the idiot can't last five minutes without blurting out something completely stupid and inappropriate!
“You-you bloody fool! Let. Go. Of. Me!! I am not a girl, you blasted, ignorant-”
But America’s smile suddenly softens as he does let go of the Brit’s wrist. However, he then leans forward and laces his arms around England’s smaller frame. Alfred nestles his face into the shorter nation’s hair, and as much as Arthur tries to push him away, Alfred only holds him closer.
“I’m sorry,” America murmurs, which quickly silences England’s protests and insults, “I was actually really happy to see you here, y’know… But I was just really surprised at first, ‘cause yeaaah, even though my boss did inform me of you coming here, I kinda sorta forgot? Heh heh… I mean! I got all excited when he told me that you were coming yesterday, but then it completely slipped my mind ‘cause Kiku just came then ‘cause there was this awesome new video game that came out, and-“
“Oh, shush,” Arthur interrupts as he rolls his eyes, though his voice lacks irritation. He heaves a deep breath and pulls slightly away from the American. “I-I’m sorry snapping at you like that, I suppose. I was just having a horrid day... A-and you acted like you would rather not have me around, s-so…” He averts his eyes, feeling a blush creep upon his cheeks. He normally doesn’t like to openly confess his true feelings out loud, especially to Alfred, but he feels that if America apologised, then he should as well, along with an explanation. They owe each other at least that much.
“You actually thought I didn’t want you around?!” Alfred exclaims as he pulls the Brit back into his arms and smiles into his hair. “You smell nice, by the way.”
England snorts in response, but he’s glad that America can’t see his flushed cheeks.
“I do want you around, Artie,” Alfred continues. He then adds sheepishly, “I-I was just embarrassed ‘cause… well… I was dancing and singing… in underwear…” A pause. “Err, you’re not going to tell Mattie… are you?”
England snickers. “I’m not keeping any promises.”
“What?” America whines.
England chuckles, and soon, America joins him as well, before a comfortable silence settles upon the two nations like a blanket wrapping them in solace.
America breaks the silence though, as he softly says, “I missed you, Artie. A lot.”
England rolls his eyes, but smiles nonetheless. “I suppose I missed you too.”
“Not surprised. Who wouldn’t miss me?”
“I only missed you a little bit, git, and I’m probably the only one who missed you anyways!”
Alfred laughs at that, and after a few more moments of just standing their with their bodies so close together, he then offers to lend him some clean clothes for him to change into, and Arthur wholeheartedly agrees. As they pull away from each other though, they both realise that a lot of the mud from Arthur’s clothes rubbed off on Alfred’s as well, which results in them laughing some more. Alfred remarks on how they really do match now and entwines their hands, their fingers interlacing over each others’ as they fit perfectly between the spaces. The two nations begin climbing back up the large, winding staircase and back down the hallway as they trace their steps back to America’s bedroom.
Upon arriving at the room, America strides over to his wardrobe and looks for something for them both to change into. England lingers back in front of the stereo where Elvis is still singing, now to “Can’t Help Falling in Love with You.”
America suddenly stops and glances back at the Brit who’s looking through some of his CD’s. He then drops the clean clothes and instead strolls back over to him, and takes his hand back into his. England’s eyes tear away from the CD’s as he looks questioningly at the younger nation.
“Hey,” America says, as a small smile stretches across his face, “let’s dance.”
England raises an eyebrow, before he lets out a small chuckle. “You’re ridiculous! In this attire? We should at least change first-”
“No, we look perfect right now!” Alfred grins and pulls the Brit closer to him, as he hums along to the tune and takes him across the floor. Arthur continuously protests, but after a while, he finally obliges as he slow dances willingly along with Alfred. The American even begins to sing along with the song, having memorised all the lyrics. At times, his voice cracks at some of the higher notes, and he goes a little off tune, at which England is quick to laugh at, but neither of them really mind as they dance across the entire floor of America’s bedroom.
Take my hand
Take my whole life too
‘Cause I can’t help falling in love with you
Neither of them reminds the other of the paperwork they need to discuss over, and they instead hope that the moment lasts forever without them having to worry about the burden of carrying a nation over their shoulders. Even for single moment that slips away quickly, the two nations continue to hold onto that sense of humanity and childishness, having to have grown up too quickly. Because Arthur knows that, with Alfred, he can be completely himself without having to put up a façade to mask his actual personality. He knows that with Alfred, he can freely be a kid, and yell, and want, and love again like a real person. He can forget for a moment about all the stress and the burden that comes along with being a nation.
And even if it’s just a silly slow dance like they’re two high school kids and not grown, worn nations, it’s enough to turn England’s day right-side up and allow him to realise that today’s definitely been worth it, and maybe the fates aren’t against him tonight. And it’s all thanks to Alfred. Like it always is.
There are many things Arthur would never like to admit aloud, but perhaps, only to Alfred, he’d like to admit that he just may be the best thing that’s ever happened to him-to make him feel like a real human being with so, so many emotions.
And honestly, that’s why Arthur really can’t help falling in love with Alfred.
AUTHOR: cyanclouds
RECIPIENT: flyingfortress
GENRE: General/Humour/Romance
RATING: K+
WARNING(S): Immaturity, and so much sap it could burn your eyes.
SUMMARY: After a simply horrible day, Arthur trudges himself to Alfred’s home for business matters. Though, what he finds isn’t exactly what he expected…
NOTES: MANY thanks to yaoishadow66613 for betareading! Also, flyingfortress, I maaaay have another prompt ready for you derp. And the title is a verse from the song, "Hard Day's Night" by The Beatles.
Brilliant… Just brilliant…
England silently curses as his eyes drop down to his now soaked and muddy clothes clinging to his body like a second skin. He attempts to brush some of the fresh mud off, but the effort is in vain as he realises that he has nowhere to wipe his hands off from. Closing his eyes, he ignores the snickers and the stares surrounding him and decides that he’s definitely woken up on the wrong side of life that morning. It doesn’t really do anything to help his sour mood though. It doesn’t even make the mud disappear.
Everything just seems to have gone downhill from the moment he woke up. About a thousand and three things have gone wrong that day, and right when he thinks that he’s finally hit rock bottom, life seems to prove him otherwise by throwing some new problem his way. Clearly the fates are mocking him today. To top it all off, his clothes are now completely caked with mud as a car just flew by and splashed mud from yesterday’s rain all over him.
And he thought that only happened in movies.
Of course, if he were in London, this problem would be a cinch, as he’d merely rush straight back home for a change of clothes. But of course, as luck has definitely turned its back to him today, he just has to be in D.C. instead, delivering some documents to America to discuss over with him. On another day, though he’d never admit it aloud, Arthur would’ve rather looked forward to meeting Alfred, even if it’s for business matters. Despite that the two had been together for about two years now, they’ve both become increasingly busy with their own work, and as a result, neither of them found much time to contact the other. This could’ve served as a perfect excuse for them to catch up with each other, and well, perhaps do a little more than just boring ol’ business talk.
But at the moment, Arthur finds that he’d much rather be curled up in his bed with a book and an Earl Gray tea. He could deal with not seeing Alfred another day… especially since knowing the American, he would probably waste ten minutes immaturely laughing his bloody arse off at the sight of the Briton all irritated and caked in mud.
He sighs at that thought. Yes, he most certainly can live another day without seeing Alfred.
Arthur finally reaches the doorway to Alfred’s household, but before ringing the doorbell, he hesitates for a moment and jams his hands into his muddy pockets. All he finds is some extra change though, and no napkins or handkerchiefs, even though he usually does carry around some in his pockets. He curses the fates as he finally gives up, rings the doorbell, and braces himself.
England waits for the American to get off his lazy arse and answer the door, but after what seems like decades, it never happens. He rolls his eyes and slightly pushes against the door, and sure enough, it swings wide open for anyone to just come bounding in. He frowns disapprovingly as he remembers he’s lectured America about five billion times about locking the door, and yet he still leaves the door unlocked. That sodding git, he never learns.
England’s immediately greeted with an upbeat tune flooding from upstairs. The song sounds familiar, but with the lyrics slightly muffled as he’s far away from it, he can’t exactly put his finger on which song it is. Scanning the living room, he finds no American sight, so his best guess is to follow the music. He sighs as he closes the door behind him and locks it before climbing up the large, winding staircase.
“Alfred?” he calls as he ascends, finally reaching the top of the stairs. He notes that the music is now much clearer, but still a little distant.
Upon receiving no response, he rolls his eyes and continues to follow the music, wondering what the idiot is up to now.
As he draws closer and closer to the source of the music, he begins to also hear America’s voice singing along to the song, and at an obnoxiously loud volume too. Bewildered, he quickens his pace and fights back an incredulous, highly amused smile when he hears the younger nation’s voice crack at some of the higher notes.
He finally reaches America’s bedroom, where music is playing full blast, and opens his mouth to reprimand the younger nation for having the music up so loud, but he quickly freezes at the doorway. England’s eyes positively bug out, seeing Alfred singing at the top of his lungs and dancing across the room in a mere white button-up shirt, socks, and boxers-boxers decorated with little hamburgers. With his back to Arthur, Alfred continues to obliviously dance and sing his heart out along with the song, occasionally wildly strumming his air guitar, accompanied with sound effects.
Upon listening more closely to the song, England finally recognises it as one of Elvis’ hit songs-“Jailhouse Rock.”
“Let’s rock, everybody, let’s rock
Everybody in the whole cell block
Was dancing to the jailhouse rock!”
America then turns, mid-singing and dancing, but quickly freezes when he sees the Briton staring back at him incredulously.
A pregnant pause immediately fills in between the two nations gawking at each other, and it would’ve been awkwardly quiet if it wasn’t for Elvis’ continuous singing. The silence between the two doesn’t last long though, and they suddenly simultaneously burst into loud, boisterous laughter.
England leans against the doorway, holding his stomach as he laughs immensely. He honestly can’t remember the last time he laughed this much, nor can he remember the last time he’s seen America do something so silly, even though the idiot does frequently do some ridiculous things oftentimes. At that thought, Arthur continues to laugh, more so because he hasn’t laughed in so long, and it feels good to finally loosen up. At the back of his mind though, he does wonder why Alfred is laughing so much.
After a few more moments of more laughing, Arthur finally calms down, but he continues to smile rather confusedly at the American’s direction.
“Why-why are you laughing, git?!” He finally frowns. “And would you please turn down that music!”
“Your-your clothes!” America can make out, before he goes into yet another fit of laughter.
England’s eyes drop down to his own clothes, and he realises that America means the mud caked all over them. He had completely forgotten about it when stepping into the house, but of course, as he predicted, America was laughing his arse off as if he was watching some hilarious sitcom.
“Oh, grow up! This is only funny when you’re five.” He rolls his eyes to mask his embarrassment, but his cheeks give way as they flush crimson.
After a few more painful moments, Alfred finally calms down as well, and even turns down the volume of the music a little bit. He grins rather goofily towards the Briton’s direction and responds matter-of-factly, “Well this isn’t that funny either!” He frowns as well and puffs his cheeks while folding his arms across his chest. At this, England has to stifle back another laugh at the American’s childishness. It’s times like these he wonders why he’s even dating the idiot.
England gives America’s clothes a once-over, starting from his loose button-up shirt that’s splattered with what seems like ketchup, to his boxers decorated with tiny hamburgers depicted with faces, and finally to his mismatched socks that reach halfway to his shins.
The Brit finally snorts. “Oh, yes it is! It’s ten times more hilarious than the sight of me! Honestly, do you always sing and dance around your room, dressed like that? You really have way too much spare time on your hands!” He snickers.
The tips of America’s ears turn bright red, as he opens his mouth to speak, but closes it, and finally opens it again. He then scowls back indignantly, looking like he finally made up his mind about what to say. “Like you don’t sing and dance in your spare time! I bet you sing and dance around your room butt naked to… The Beatles or some other pansy British band!” He smirks, as if he’s just stated the nastiest, wittiest comeback ever.
England’s eyes widen for a second, before he quickly grits his teeth and glares at the American. How dare he pull The Beatles into this! “First of all, I wouldn’t even dream of dancing and singing around in my underwear! I have more of a life than that, mind you. And second of all, you did not just insult The Beatles! They’re a legend, you bloody wanker! Don’t you dare call them pansy or whatever just because they don’t sing ear-bleeding rock songs like your Elvis!”
The younger nation’s jaw drops. “Oh no you didn’t! Elvis is the king of rock and roll! If there’s anyone who’s a legend, it’s him…” He then pauses, before flashing his trademark smile. “And well, me too, of course.”
England scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Legend, my arse,” he mutters, but he has to fight back a smile as well.
A pregnant pause then follows, filling in the spaces between the two nations, as they both look at each other expectantly, waiting for the other to make the next move. The only sound filling in the awkward silence between the two nations is Elvis’ voice now singing to “Hound Dog.”
Unsurprisingly, Alfred’s the first to break the silence as he raises his eyebrow in confusion towards the Briton’s way. “Wait a minute… why are you even here anyways? And, how the hell did you get inside?! You’re not stalking me or anything… are you?”
At first, Arthur stares back at him incredulously, thinking that he’s kidding, but seeing Alfred’s rather serious expression, he realises that he’s actually genuinely curious. At this, Arthur quickly grits his teeth and glares darkly at the younger nation, a thousand questions and curses racing through his mind. He honestly feels like America is regarding him like a piece of trash that no one wants, and no one wants to even take the liberty to pick up and put it back in its rightful place. He thought that Alfred would’ve missed him at least to some extent, but then again, he would’ve at least called and asked for a quick date once in a while, wouldn’t he? It’s clear to England that America is fending off rather well by himself.
And he has been ever since the War for American Independence, England thinks bitterly, but he quickly shoos it away, not wanting to drag the war into every thought he had about America like he used to years ago.
England swallows the lump in his throat as he stiffly opens his briefcase and takes out the documents he’s supposed to discuss over with America.
In a surprisingly calm and composed manner, he begins, “Hasn’t your boss told you that I was coming over to discuss…” But he pauses and shakes his head bitterly, as he strolls over to him and pushes the documents into America's hands. “You know what, never mind. I’ll just leave this here for you to read over yourself, and I’ll be going now since you seem to rather not care about our supposed ‘relationship’ anymore. It makes me wonder if we even were together for a while, but if we were, then I guess this is the supposed ‘end’ of it. I hope you have a nice life, America.”
Arthur then sniffs, turns his heel and leaves the room, muttering incoherent curses along the way. As he reaches halfway down the hall though, he wonders in the back of his mind if he’s being irrational and over-sensitive though. The thought troubles him, but he quickly rationalises to himself that if he is, then he sure as hell has the right to be, with the horrible day he’s having, and anyway, his supposed ‘significant other’ acted like he rather didn’t want him here. Shortly, he feels the tears welling up in his eyes, and he quickly wipes them away with the sleeve of his shirt, only to have forgotten once more that his clothes are soaked with mud. Realising that he now has mud all over his cheeks from the sleeve of his shirt, he sighs in frustration and stops in his tracks.
“Oh, now isn’t that just fantastic!” England yells, as he seriously wonders what he’s done to anger the fates. No doubt he looks absolutely ridiculous right now, red-eyed from crying, with clothes soaked in mud, and now with mud even on his cheeks as if he just literally rolled around in it.
“Arthur! Arthur, wait!”
Hearing footsteps advancing towards him from behind, England picks up his pace and rushes down the rest of the hallway and down a few steps of the vast, winding staircase. He suddenly feels a hand grasp his wrist however, making him halt. Cursing under his breath, he turns and glares sharply at the American looking desperately back at him.
“Let go of me, you bloody wan-“
But then England stops mid-sentence as he sees America’s bright blue eyes suddenly widen and gleam. A large, goofy smile stretches across his face, and he quickly clamps his free hand across his mouth, obviously trying to stifle back a laugh.
The Briton’s face turns bright red as he realises that he’s laughing at the fresh mud spread across his cheeks, and he glares darkly at the American. He hastily tries to wriggle free from his grasp, but even while laughing, America is still stronger and has an iron grip on him, although he’d never admit that aloud. Irritated, England then wipes some of the mud off his face and rubs it on the younger nation’s forehead and the tip of his nose as revenge. Alfred immediately ceases laughing as he instinctively touches his forehead, bewildered. Seeing the look on his face, a small laugh escapes Arthur’s lips before he can stop himself.
Alfred catches the laugh all right though, and at that, he quickly grins too and leans forward. For a second, Arthur freezes, thinking that he’s going to kiss him, but instead, he lightly rubs his nose against his, and Arthur immediately feels something wet on his nose-no doubt, some of the mud from Alfred’s nose.
America then steps back and grins goofily at the other. “We match now! And I think we look more stunning than we did last Christmas to Francis’ formal.”
England cracks a smile too and chuckles a little as he realises that he’s right. They both probably look ridiculous right now, standing halfway down the stairs with America in mere underwear and mismatched socks, and England soaked in mud. He knows that if he saw any other couple in this kind of attire, he’d definitely ponder sending them to an asylum.
“And you know...” America then says, still smiling goofily, “you are such a girl, Arthur! Did you write that down somewhere in your diary, then memorise it by heart so that you could say it as some epic soap opera break-up to your future boyfriend?”
England's smile immediately falls at this as he feels his cheeks colour bright red. He scowls darkly at America and tries to wriggle free from his grasp once more, all the while smacking his shoulder harshly with his free hand. Of course the idiot can't last five minutes without blurting out something completely stupid and inappropriate!
“You-you bloody fool! Let. Go. Of. Me!! I am not a girl, you blasted, ignorant-”
But America’s smile suddenly softens as he does let go of the Brit’s wrist. However, he then leans forward and laces his arms around England’s smaller frame. Alfred nestles his face into the shorter nation’s hair, and as much as Arthur tries to push him away, Alfred only holds him closer.
“I’m sorry,” America murmurs, which quickly silences England’s protests and insults, “I was actually really happy to see you here, y’know… But I was just really surprised at first, ‘cause yeaaah, even though my boss did inform me of you coming here, I kinda sorta forgot? Heh heh… I mean! I got all excited when he told me that you were coming yesterday, but then it completely slipped my mind ‘cause Kiku just came then ‘cause there was this awesome new video game that came out, and-“
“Oh, shush,” Arthur interrupts as he rolls his eyes, though his voice lacks irritation. He heaves a deep breath and pulls slightly away from the American. “I-I’m sorry snapping at you like that, I suppose. I was just having a horrid day... A-and you acted like you would rather not have me around, s-so…” He averts his eyes, feeling a blush creep upon his cheeks. He normally doesn’t like to openly confess his true feelings out loud, especially to Alfred, but he feels that if America apologised, then he should as well, along with an explanation. They owe each other at least that much.
“You actually thought I didn’t want you around?!” Alfred exclaims as he pulls the Brit back into his arms and smiles into his hair. “You smell nice, by the way.”
England snorts in response, but he’s glad that America can’t see his flushed cheeks.
“I do want you around, Artie,” Alfred continues. He then adds sheepishly, “I-I was just embarrassed ‘cause… well… I was dancing and singing… in underwear…” A pause. “Err, you’re not going to tell Mattie… are you?”
England snickers. “I’m not keeping any promises.”
“What?” America whines.
England chuckles, and soon, America joins him as well, before a comfortable silence settles upon the two nations like a blanket wrapping them in solace.
America breaks the silence though, as he softly says, “I missed you, Artie. A lot.”
England rolls his eyes, but smiles nonetheless. “I suppose I missed you too.”
“Not surprised. Who wouldn’t miss me?”
“I only missed you a little bit, git, and I’m probably the only one who missed you anyways!”
Alfred laughs at that, and after a few more moments of just standing their with their bodies so close together, he then offers to lend him some clean clothes for him to change into, and Arthur wholeheartedly agrees. As they pull away from each other though, they both realise that a lot of the mud from Arthur’s clothes rubbed off on Alfred’s as well, which results in them laughing some more. Alfred remarks on how they really do match now and entwines their hands, their fingers interlacing over each others’ as they fit perfectly between the spaces. The two nations begin climbing back up the large, winding staircase and back down the hallway as they trace their steps back to America’s bedroom.
Upon arriving at the room, America strides over to his wardrobe and looks for something for them both to change into. England lingers back in front of the stereo where Elvis is still singing, now to “Can’t Help Falling in Love with You.”
America suddenly stops and glances back at the Brit who’s looking through some of his CD’s. He then drops the clean clothes and instead strolls back over to him, and takes his hand back into his. England’s eyes tear away from the CD’s as he looks questioningly at the younger nation.
“Hey,” America says, as a small smile stretches across his face, “let’s dance.”
England raises an eyebrow, before he lets out a small chuckle. “You’re ridiculous! In this attire? We should at least change first-”
“No, we look perfect right now!” Alfred grins and pulls the Brit closer to him, as he hums along to the tune and takes him across the floor. Arthur continuously protests, but after a while, he finally obliges as he slow dances willingly along with Alfred. The American even begins to sing along with the song, having memorised all the lyrics. At times, his voice cracks at some of the higher notes, and he goes a little off tune, at which England is quick to laugh at, but neither of them really mind as they dance across the entire floor of America’s bedroom.
Take my hand
Take my whole life too
‘Cause I can’t help falling in love with you
Neither of them reminds the other of the paperwork they need to discuss over, and they instead hope that the moment lasts forever without them having to worry about the burden of carrying a nation over their shoulders. Even for single moment that slips away quickly, the two nations continue to hold onto that sense of humanity and childishness, having to have grown up too quickly. Because Arthur knows that, with Alfred, he can be completely himself without having to put up a façade to mask his actual personality. He knows that with Alfred, he can freely be a kid, and yell, and want, and love again like a real person. He can forget for a moment about all the stress and the burden that comes along with being a nation.
And even if it’s just a silly slow dance like they’re two high school kids and not grown, worn nations, it’s enough to turn England’s day right-side up and allow him to realise that today’s definitely been worth it, and maybe the fates aren’t against him tonight. And it’s all thanks to Alfred. Like it always is.
There are many things Arthur would never like to admit aloud, but perhaps, only to Alfred, he’d like to admit that he just may be the best thing that’s ever happened to him-to make him feel like a real human being with so, so many emotions.
And honestly, that’s why Arthur really can’t help falling in love with Alfred.