Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the story idea and only some of the witty remarks. I own so little; so please don't steal.
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Coffee
Friend. It is a word associated with close companionship, or a similarity in thought process, or a lean toward collective thought. The dictionary defines the word as "a person whom one knows well and is fond of", although this technical definition cannot hardly be considered the often case. Friendship, for example, may be one-sided. Friendship can be a lie, a ruse to disguise something else. Friendship may be unnecessary or grudgingly accepted. Friendship may be the biggest obstacle between two people.
Basically, friendship is the most troublesome hurdle to overcome in any sort of platonic relationship.
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England contemplated this idea, sitting across from America in the coffee shop. The tall Styrofoam cup resting between his lax fingers held the espresso and pick-me-up. Coffee shops were always there for contemplation, he realized. The atmosphere of fragrant smells and dim lighting and chatter in the background was right to compose one's thoughts.
"What's wrong," America said, the question mark seemingly absent from the sentence. His eyes were glued onto the white Mac book in front of him, the white bitten-into apple gleaming as he typed away. His own plastic cup of coffee ice was sitting almost forgotten a few inches from his hand.
"Why would you think something was wrong?" England brought the cup up to his mouth, the hot liquid in the cup barely touching his lips. His eyes skimmed the top of the rim, meeting blue for a moment before America looked away.
"You're just not talking, that's all," he said, tapping the table a bit in effort to look busy. Silence fell over them again, although not over the shop, as the cashier was busily chatting away with a regular and the manager was tinkering with the machinery, people were having serious discussions, sugar packets were being ripped, coffee loudly sipped, and the strangest peace came from the elevator music overhead.
It was anything but quiet.
"I would think that would be something you'd prefer," England said sarcastically, the cup still balanced on his lips and his eyes searching out America's again. He had crossed his arms, one hand perched with the cup.
"I don't know what I'd prefer with you," America sighed, slurping his ice coffee before returning to his work.
The shop proclaimed fast service, brilliant coffee, and free Wi-Fi. Typical. The coffee not entering his mouth, England put the cup down again and noticed the relative ease the coffee came sitting out on the counter for its owner, sometimes ones just grabbing the drink and leaving without so much as a second thought. The coffee itself wasn't too spectacular (he was more of a tea drinker, really), and it was a bit too busy for work. Perhaps more on a humanity watch; yes, this café was more for the person to admire other's busy lives than to actually indulge in your own.
"Alright, speak. You're freaking me out."
"I have nothing to say," England replied. A pair of girls were sitting on matching leather chairs, leaning into each other and having a heart-to-heart discussion. A rather elderly couple were sharing a brownie. A group of close friends were just removing their coats and getting ready to not do homework for an hour or so. And then, of course, there were the ones who wanted to be left alone; staring at the menu or reading a book in the corner like he almost wished he was doing.
"You always have something to say." America watched him from over the top of his Mac. "Is it because I'm working? I won't get distracted. Or you don't like it here? We can always go somewhere else."
"I'm fine."
America, really, was like this coffee shop. Welcoming atmosphere, promised a ton of stuff but didn't necessarily deliver. Random and busy activity with a hint of sophistic shadow of elevator music. Dim lighting to show respect, open area to show acceptance. But fast, always fast. Hello, what's your order, here's your change, good bye.
He had locals of course, haters and fans, and he knew all of them but was never attached. In this day and age, it didn't pay to get attached.
"You've been staring at the cookie rack for at least five minutes. Do you want one?"
England turned to him again, bringing the cup up to his lips again, because he needed a sense of a shield in front of his face when America looked at him. To be caught without his look or without the presence of others made him feel strangely vulnerable. And of course he should; he was only an island nation after all – only years ago did he own much land and it was all taken away and if the oceans may rise, he could be swallowed whole.
It was a dare, and America didn't take the bait. "Listen. If there's something you've got to say, just say it."
"I've got nothing to say to you," England insisted, turning away to watch a small group of America's preteens giggle their way into the shop, as if going to a café without an adult was a big step to maturity. He remembered when America felt the same; sailing seas without him, making decisions without him. He should be happy, really, without the problem on his hands, but absence only made the questions scarier. Will he be okay? Will he make the right choice? Will he fall apart and leave me to pick up the pieces?
He did not even know what America was working on. It could be a plot to take over the world or a new cheesy novel or even minutes from the last conference. Whatever it was, America was putting much effort it in, typing away with a serious expression, breaking it only to smile tightly at him with a glance that made his insides feel hot even though he hadn't let the coffee pass his throat in the longest of times.
"Are we friends, Alfred?"
America looked up, cocking his head as if England had just said something inspirational, although his face still had the disinterested expression upon it. There was no question this was not an unsettling statement; America, who had sprawled out his legs so that they reached under England's chair, was still as composed and relaxed as they had been since they sat down. England, on the other hand, had gotten antsy and easily irritated.
"Yeah, last time I checked, we were."
"Just friends?"
America gave him the look; the look that includes an obvious nod, a certain neck movement, and a brief glance away as if looking for an exception to prove him wrong. "Yes, Arthur. Just friends." Chuckling as if it was a funny notion, he turned back to his Mac. "You're so odd, Arthur."
England let the coffee trickle down his throat and was hardly surprised when it was lukewarm. "I hate this place," he murmured disappointedly.
Owari
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Note: I haven't written USUK in the longest of times. I'm sort of falling for the unmoe characters. They're much more fun to write than IC. I recently went to Starbucks with my friend. I even make a cameo in this fic, as one of the patrons. I wanted to write the way I saw it, although I didn't have the tension as seen between these two nations. God, nothing good can come from those two.