Lavender eyes glare at the trio of men. The trio kept throwing jokes and insults at one another, the volume growing louder and louder. All I want to do is read. But Denmark and his friends- The Icelander very much prefers his elder brother's friends. At least they know how to stay quiet. Emil shifts, attempting to read once more. Finally able to tune out the noise, Iceland sighs. He can handle Denmark, so what's two more? Without the Icelander's knowledge, the trio began their horse play. Contently turning a page, Emil soon finds a shoe in his lap. A wave of loud laughter thunders, crashing into the teen's nerves like a tsunami.
"D-dude," America doubles over in laughter. "Gil, it's not nice to throw shoes at people. Especially Mathias' little bro-" Before America can even finish his sentence, Emil is on his feet, blushing an angry shade of red. "I-I'm not his little brother!" America falters.
"But you're his brother….and you're younger than him."
"He's not my brother. And neither is Norway." The urge to run and hide grows larger, a lump forming in the boy's throat.
"Geez, Icy. He didn't mean anything by it."
"Oh, nah, it's cool dude. I get the feeling. You wanna grow up, but some people won't let you." Sitting back in his seat, Emil begins to mumble in grouchy Icelandic. America pouts slightly, not content with the boy ignoring him. Out of the corner of his eye, Emil catches the American stripping his feet of his socks balling them together before throwing them at the boy. Emil lifts his arm to deflect the once-white socks.
"Hvað í fjandanum?" Emil grumbles, the American laughing. Who does this guy think he is? He's a walking tornado, with a voice like a thunderstorm.
"You're excluding 100% of the cool people here." The American wines.
"Helvítis hálfviti." Denmark once more doubles over in laughter. America simply brushes it off, pulling himself to his feet and making his way towards Iceland. Is he that petty to start a fight over me speaking in my native language? Emil suddenly becomes rather anxious when the American doesn't stop his approach. Stooping down, the American reaches towards the boy's face. Emil doesn't get the chance to move before Alfred has his fingers hooked in his cheek. Prussia and Denmark double over, this time the pair ending on the ground. America tugs at his cheek, stretching the Icelander's face. Iceland shoves him away, face going red.
"Man, with stretchy cheeks like those, no wonder you can fit all those big words in there." Emil continues to lag, confused by the American's actions. Quickly, the boy puts both hands over his mouth, protecting from further violation.
"D-did you just stick your fingers in my mouth?" He finally manages. Alfred smiles proudly, letting his hands rest on his hips to create some cliche hero pose. Without hesitation, Alfred nods enthusiastically.
"Yes. Yes, I did." Emil stares, dumbfounded, at the larger nation. His face grows darker, confused and flustered by the Dane's crazy friend.
"W-why?" Alfred shrugs.
"Why not?"