Pairings: US/UK and more (listing them would spoil the plot, in a way…).
Disclaimer: How could I possibly own Hetalia? I've got neither the time nor the artistic talent.
A/N: Story of my life. :D! (That is a sarcastic smiley. Whee.)
He was not there because he wanted to be. Most certainly not.
That's what Arthur incessantly repeated to himself as he sat awkwardly on the edge of Alfred's living room couch, tentatively sipping some Earl Grey tea which the American had managed to brew. For some unknown reason, he had been invited over for the afternoon. It was suspiciously abrupt; the call from Alfred had come just yesterday, during which he had vaguely said something about "wanting some help with something", which coming from someone like him was surely nothing good. Usually Arthur would flat out refuse such a request and tell the daft American to go bother someone else, but he had been feeling uncharacteristically generous that day.
Contemplating whether or not that spurt of generosity had been a good thing, he sipped the tea again and leaned back into the faded floral couch upon which he sat. It was, astonishingly, quite delicious. He could never get over how good America managed to be at making tea; he always seemed to know exactly what to put in. But of course, England would never let on that he thought this.
"This is a terrible excuse for tea, you twat," he stated, not about to voice his true opinion on the matter and consequently contribute to the idiot's ego. All he received in response was a bright grin, that infuriating smile which tended to melt the heart of anyone who laid eyes upon it. But not his; never. England turned his head to the side, expression pointedly unamused, and after a fashion, took another sip of the tea.
As if he'd been waiting for this moment, the American across from him burst into laughter.
"What?" Arthur asked with exasperation.
"Nothing. I'm just glad you like your tea," came the chuckling reply, accompanied by two twinkling cerulean eyes. The bearer of those eyes gulped some of his coffee rather loudly and continued to smile brightly, seemingly oblivious to the scowl his guest wore.
Arthur, feeling his head begin to hurt, decided the answer to his earlier thoughts was a definite "no". Gritting his teeth, he retorted, "I don't like it! I am simply being a gentleman. A skill you could learn, you bloody git." Of course, it was a rather weak defence, but there was little else he could say––admitting that the tea was good was absolutely out of the question. At least he had thrown in an insult at the end.
There came another small laugh. "Oh, right, we've got Mr. English Gentleman here! Always so proper!" Alfred exclaimed mockingly. England felt the pain his his head increase a bit more at the sarcasm. "You know, I never knew that gentlemen used the word 'bloody' so much…"
"…sod off." That grin had returned, perhaps even brighter, and Arthur's grimace deepened in proportion to it. In an effort to find an excuse to look away, he reached out to grab a lemon biscuit––how did America know he liked those?––from the plate between them, which he proceeded to bite rather bitterly.
"What was that? I couldn't understand your British-speak. It's so outdated and totally un-awesome."
England chose to ignore the comment, his scowl deepening. "Look, why don't you just hurry up and explain to me why the blazes you decided to insist I visit 'right away'? It's not as if I enjoy coming to this bleeding excuse for a country."
America shrugged. "I just felt like hanging out with someone. That's all."
"With me?" he scoffed. "Oh, yes, and France is in a committed relationsh––"
"Actually, he's been with...ah, what's-his-name… Mattie! Yeah, yeah, he's been with Mattie for a pretty long time now."
"That's completely beside the point!" Arthur exclaimed exasperatedly, but then paused as the words registered fully. "Wait, France has managed to stay in a relationship for longer than a few nights? With 'Mattie'? ...Er, who?" The name sounded a tad familiar, but England couldn't place it. Somewhere northern, perhaps. He concentrated for a moment, finally managing to come up with, "That's––that's Cana-something. Right?"
"Canada."
"Right. Well. Anyway." He coughed. "Please explain your true reason for inviting me. If it really is that frivolous, then I might as well be off." To emphasise this statement, England made a show of beginning to rise from the couch, looking as if he were about to make for the door. He didn't actually have anything better to be doing that day, but he sorely wished he could be somewhere other than the twat's house. Or so he told himself.
A hand on his arm pushed him gently back down, and Arthur looked up in astonishment. Two blue orbs stared at him with what seemed like a hint of disappointment; to his great chagrin Arthur could feel his face go a little red. "Is hanging out with me really that bad, Artie?" Alfred whined, a pout playing across his lips. It was insufferable. And bloody adorable. England used another cookie as an excuse to look away.
"Well. Frankly, yes. It is. I must suffer through you butchering my language, your lack of manners is atrocious, you are incapable of being serious for more than a minute, your manner of dress––" at this, Arthur ran his eyes up and down the American, examining the tacky bomber jacket, T-shirt, and jeans he had thrown on probably 10 minutes before his guest's arrival, "––lacks any semblance of sophistication, and you are always eating that disgusting fast food of yours. Whatever could be enjoyable about that?"
For a moment, Alfred almost looked a bit hurt and Arthur almost––almost–– felt a bit bad about his words, but the look was quickly replaced by his trademark grin. "I improved your language! It's been perfected! Awesomely. And this," he said, motioning towards his clothes, "is better than wearing a suit practically all the time and considering a sweater-vest and tie casual. You're so stuffy." There was a pause, and Arthur shifted uncomfortably as Alfred studied his clothing with a frown. "I mean, geez, if I wanted you to dress like that I'd take you to a fancy restaurant or something," he added, sticking his tongue out childishly.
I'd rather like that… England thought dryly.
"What?"
"What?" he responded intelligently, sounding both surprised and mildly confused. Had he spoken aloud? He could feel a slight embarrassed blush spreading across his face and pushed the odd thought out of his mind, doing his best to appear miffed. "Anyway, can't you please get to the point already?" he inquired, while reaching for his teacup to avoid letting Alfred see the pink still dusting his cheeks.
"Oh… fine, okay," America sighed; it seemed that he had not noticed, to England's great relief. "So lately I've been thinking to myself…"
Well, that can't be good.
"...that I should ask someone out!"
Definitely not good, England muttered mentally, but at the same time he could have sworn his heart skipped a beat. He passed it off as nothing more than being startled that the American was capable of fancying anyone but himself.
"I mean, someone as awesome as me should be with someone, right?"
The man paused as if actually wanting an answer, and Arthur awkwardly inserted, "Er, right."
"And a hero always has someone to come back to after a long day of heroic awesomeness! Like in the movies, you know? And I've known you for a really long time––"
Arthur, spluttering, felt his face grow warm. No, no no no no. America was not trying to ask him out. We hate each other, always arguing, he never knows when to just shut up and bugger off and he laughs at me when I get angry at him and I completely do not find that adorable, never ever would, and every time he calls it's just to insult me and–– Wait. Every time? It was true that the foolish American phoned him practically every day, but he had always figured that Alfred did so simply to be a bother.
...shit.
England wondered suddenly if America had his mobile number memorised and felt the red coming back, hastily attempting to hide his face with the teacup. Of course I'll have to reject him, not that I would ever think of accepting, of course––
"And you're actually not too terrible of a friend––"
That's not exactly something you say if you want to confess to someone. But this was America he was dealing with. Could he really be attempting to––
"So I was wondering if…"
Bloody hell oh bloody hell this cannot––I don't want to––
"If you would––hey, England, are you alright?"
The old country certainly did not look 'alright'. Actually, he appeared rather sick and certainly very flustered, face reddish and hands twitching. He stared at his now-lukewarm tea as if it was the most interesting thing to ever exist and fingered the china cup nervously.
"Maybe the tea wasn't good after all…" America mused. "I could, um, make some more. If you want."
Trying not to stutter, Arthur replied, "The tea was...exemplary."
"Oh, so you admit it now!" There was that goofy, dazzling grin again, reminiscent of a child who had just won a piece of his favourite candy. The Brit just grumbled at this, while Alfred added with a small frown, "It wasn't the cookies...er...biscuits, then, was it?" He picked one up to examine it, eyes sceptical.
It was beginning to seem like a blessing that America was so dense, and England was tempted to laugh as the American tentatively took a small bite of the biscuit. Perhaps he had just misunderstood what the man was getting at. But why did that thought cause him to feel a bit sad? "No––no. The biscuits were––they were excellent, really."
"Oh, well––well that's good to hear. Um, but, are you sure you feel okay? One of your faerie friends didn't lay a curse on you, did she?" He chuckled. England couldn't bring himself to respond to the insult, opting only to glower, and this unusual behaviour prompted another sentence from his host, who raised an eyebrow quizzically. "You could always, uh, go lie down or something. Old men like you need their rest, after all, I suppose."
Once again, the insult failed to achieve its usual effect, which usually involved much yelling and swearing. Instead, England sighed out, "Why don't you just finish what you were saying?" He pretended his voice had not sounded vaguely hopeful and instead steeled himself to put the young American down nicely, because of course he would have to say no. Surely he didn't want to say yes––
"Oh, right! So, I was wondering…"
Arthur bit his lower lip sharply.
"You see, like I said, I've been thinking of asking someone out. And we've known each other for like a really long time and stuff, and I actually kind of trust you...despite that whole leaving me alone for years and then sticking random taxes on my people thing and all that, not that I exactly forgive you for it, but––"
Why must he ramble on like that? England twitched nervously, the hand holding his teacup trembling dangerously. His bright green eyes bore a hope in them which, even at this point, he furiously denied. Meanwhile, America continued to (tortuously) pause with a slightly embarrassed expression in his azure eyes, though they still had a determined, 'heores-don't-get-embarrassed!' look in them.
I can't stand it just say it already you bleeding fool don't look like that of course it's yes I mean how could you not already see that so hurry up before I explode––
But America's next words left the Brit frozen for a reason very different to the expected, and a thoroughly, terribly, absolutely unacceptable reason at that.
"But! I figure I could trust you with helping me ask Japan!"
...What?
Ohgosh. I want to know what happens next… xD
And sorry that this is rather short, but I couldn't drag the chapter out much more. And naturally cutting it anywhere else would not be right.
As a side note, if there are any odd grammatical errors, I apologise; the majority of this was written at 3:30 AM yesterday...er, this...morning. I've gone through fine-tuning so much that I should have caught them all, but running on about three hours of sleep means it's still a bit iffy...
Hope I don't get severe writer's block. My immune system seems quite weak to it.
