This is a short fic, somewhat dreamy and disjointed but I hope you'll all like it anyway. I first posted it on tumblr but thought I'd also post here since I've been completely ignoring this account for a while. :)
Canada sounds like rain on a roof, idle chatter as people wait in line, hockey chants, background television, static-y music from someone else's earbuds, ruffling leaves, crunching snow, and skytrain dings. It smells like coffee, donuts, rainwater, the Pacific and Atlantic and grass, and it feels like frozen nose hairs and goosebumps and clumps of snow sliding down the back of your neck.
Matthew wants to describe the places he visits and knows as accurately as possible; he writes his words out judiciously because he's not sure which ones to use—he wants this notebook to bring back sights and sounds and tastes like he's there again, so he never has to miss it.
His last stop is America and for practicality's sake it really should have been his first, but he had figured it wasn't all that different from Canada, what's there to see, really? Lots of people, lots of shopping, lots of noise.
He arrives and thinks he might have been wrong—not really like Canada and not really like it is in the movies but not too far off.
America
America sounds like…
America sounds like…
—
A man is playing guitar on the side the steps to the NY Public Library and Matthew is going to toss him a five-er until he notices there's no collection box.
The man sees him awkwardly shove the bill into his pocket and laughs.
—
France smells like cigarette smoke and baking bread and fresh berries. It sounds like bicycle trings and vinyl records and breathy vowels and loud music and traffic and brush strokes on canvas.
—
"You new? You look a little lost there."
"Oh, um, yes. I'm a tourist." He kind of wants to gesture to the very large, very obvious 'CANADA' emblazoned across the front of his hoodie but figures that would probably be rude. "What was that song you were playing? It was nice."
He gives Matthew a funny look, squinted eyes, tilted head and a clearly amused smile. "…That was the 60's Spiderman theme song."
Matthew feels prickly heat crawl up the back of his neck, and he should really just laugh at that or at least crack a smile but he knows his face is already pink and all he manages to say is, "Oh."
The man smiles, all perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth and light pink gums and wow, he should be a toothpaste model. Maybe he is a toothpaste model. "Oh man! Is it really isolated up there in Canada—" so he did notice the hoodie "—or something? You know Spidey, right?"
"Of course I do," he says quickly, hotly, and when the other raises an eyebrow he hastily continues, "It's just that I'm more of a Deadpool kind of guy."
It's almost funny how excited the guy looks after Matthew says that and he immediately sets his guitar aside and gets up, extending a hand. "Alfred F. Jones; you?"
Matthew takes the hand, "Matthew Williams."
"Well, Matt, how about I show you what there is to show you?"
—
India sounds like honking novelty horns, of motorcycle engines, street vendors, hissing oil, glass bottles fizzing and clinking, old Bollywood tunes from beat up radios, conch shell horns in the distance, temple bells. It smells like petrol and smoke and dust and incense and seawater and newspaper ink and mango trees.
England sounds like overflowing gutters and fountains and ticking clocks and heels on hardwood and singing pubs. It smells like tea and leather chairs and sugar and old, old books.
—
Matthew thinks for sure that this Alfred fellow will direct him to Times Square (he had already seen Times Square, in real life and in movies and magazines and adverts so often that he feels like he's known it his whole life, been immersed in it as deeply as he was immersed in Montreal).
But no, Alfred says he has to see the aquarium in Brooklyn and Matthew isn't quite sure what to make of that.
"There's nothing more American than a day out like this—it's sunny, everyone smells like sunscreen—and there's a 4D theatre."
Matthew makes a face. "Since when is 3D not enough?"
Alfred takes a step back, eyebrows raised high, mouth pinched. "No, you—no. See, it's an underwater experience; you can feel the ocean spray and the anemones at your feet and there's this one part where it looks like an eel is attacking you and something in your seat pokes you in the back." He pauses, looking off at a point beyond Matthew's shoulder. "It's actually kind of painful."
They pass on the 4D movie and instead go watch the penguins (Matthew loves penguins and Alfred practically forces him to buy a water bottle shaped like a penguin at the gift shop later). Alfred then makes absolute sure they're sitting in the splash zone during the dolphin show and just keeps grinning and talking and Matthew is amazed that this man is a practical stranger he just met this morning.
"So these jellyfish, the reason they sting? Nematocysts in the tentacles—wait, is it tentacles or arms? I can't remember but there's a difference. I think it's tentacles."
Matthew laughs, pressing his face closer to the glass, watching the Cnidarians swim. "Why are they swimming upside down, do you know?"
"Oh!" Alfred says, looking excited. "Yeah actually—I asked a lady that worked here once. You see how the lights shining at the bottom of the tank? They light these things up from the bottom so they look prettier—but that confuses the hell out of the jellyfish and they think that that's sunlight. And sunlight always comes from up above, right, so they swim upside down. They're just confused."
Matthew hums in understanding and presses his hand to the glass. The animals were so slow, lazy, graceful, he could stand here for ages. He glances at Alfred and almost trips over his next words when he sees the other already looking at him. "Where did you learn all this?"
Alfred makes a dismissive gesture with his hand and follows it up with a one-shouldered shrug. "I come here a lot."
Later, Alfred insists that he won't let Matthew leave until he's had a New York style hotdog—Matthew is full after the second and Alfred goes for his fourth.
—
America smells like sunscreen and tastes like Coke and hotdogs covered with every type of condiment.
—
Alfred asks for his number and says that he better rest up at whatever hotel he's staying at because he's got a lot to see tomorrow; Matthew thinks it's rather presumptuous, but also charmingly cute, so he agrees.
Alfred texts him at midnight, and Matthew doesn't mind being woken up when he sees the message.
Hey i was wrong jellyfish have arms AND tentacles they use the tentacles to capture prey and the arms to get it into the mouthpart thing idk.
Anyway see u tomorrow! MEET AT MUSEUM
—
America smells like sunscreen and tastes like hotdogs covered with every type of condiment and looks like cellphone glow in the middle of the night.
—
Matthew finds out the Alfred studies physics at NYU and is working at a Wendy's for the summer and lives in an apartment with his half-brother, described as, "stuffy and boring and can't cook, oh my god, Matt, he tries so hard with the food but it's just so bad but I don't wanna be a dick and tell him but goddamn it's nasty."
Matthew also discovers Alfred is a movie buff; they go see an action movie and Matthew makes fun of the Ant Man preview—because "Come on, Ant Man? Really? Oh, better run, here comes ANT MAN, what an intimidating name, eh?"
Alfred does not look amused and proceeds to give Matthew a noogie right there in the theatre.
They get a few dirty looks, and a few amused ones.
—
That night Matthew is the one to text Alfred at some ungodly hour.
Na na na na na na na na ANT MAN.
OMG MATT SHUT UP HES A VITAL PART OF THE AVENGERS YOU IGNORANT PLEB
—
America also feels like comfy theatre seats.
—
Alfred talks so much and Matthew is content to just listen, listen as he sends off another postcard to Francis, listens as Alfred introduces him to Lovino and Feliciano and Ludwig and so many others and Matthew writes each name into his notebook, otherwise he'd never remember it all.
America and Canada and India and France and England and Singapore and everywhere feel like people, so many different people.
—
Two weeks later they go to the Empire State Building and Matthew attempts to draw the skyline but there's just so much of it that he ends up scribbling down the event horizon as an amorphous blur, ubiquitously scattering messy rectangles to denote buildings.
Matthew stares down at it and huffs with displeasure.
But Alfred pulls a pen out of Matthew's bag and doodles Godzilla fighting Deadpool in the corner and just like that Matthew secretly decides to get it framed.
Matthew grins at him and Alfred grins back and Matthew wonders if he can just fall into Alfred and use the wind as an excuse, say that it pushed him toward him, say that he tripped—
Alfred's hand brushes against his as he returns the pen and his skin tingles at that spot and oh—this is—this is new—
—
Matthew invites Alfred to watch bad movies and eat greasy takeout food in his hotel room and—
—
—and America tastes like greasy takeout and hotdogs with every type of condiment and feels like butterfly kisses and rumpled hotel sheets and sounds like giggles and panting—
And—and—it feels like a white knuckled grip and feels like wet lips and ink-stained fingers and way-too-fast heartbeats.
—
"What're you always writing in that thing, anyway?"