Fic Collection Intro:
Welcome to my collection of shorts, all following (in some manner) the theme of celebrating imperfections in the ones you love. I love to glorify characters as much as the next fic writer, but it's also fun to embrace a flawed version of them as well. Multiple characters will pop up though I'm going to guess you'll see America lots, knowing me. Some shorts might be AU. Umm... oh right, and it's not always 'romantic' love I'm referring to. Ya know, you can love your family, friends, etc.
Anyhow, hope you can enjoy my brain droppings here. Don't expect frequent updates, this is mostly done on a whim whenever ideas hit.
Smile for the Mirror
(America, Canada)
He knows America spends a lot of time in front of a mirror.
For as sloppy and disheveled as some critique his brother's appearance, for as messy and unpressed as they complain his suits to be, Canada knows America is very careful about the way he looks. No, not so much about how he dresses, obviously. His brother is peculiar about that. America would live in that aging jacket of his. It means a lot to him, the Canadian knows this. It's like wrapping yourself up in something familiar, being surrounded by better times. Well... maybe not better, but Nations did like their history.
But the jacket wasn't what Canada was thinking about as he ghosted through America's house, waiting for his brother to get ready. The two had been spending the week together, a bit of brotherly bonding that they both looked forward to and dreaded. Canada loved his brother... really... but sometimes he loved him just a bit more when he wasn't actually around him.
They were going to go see a baseball game this afternoon, not really Canada's cup of tea but still an enjoyable outing. When their bonding week was in America, they did rather American things, of course. America had been up rather early, taking care of some official business to ensure the whole of the afternoon was free. When he'd gotten home he'd told Canada he'd just be a minute, wanted to grab a shower. The shower itself wasn't what America was really wanting, Canada knew, but he didn't argue this.
America didn't spend a lot of time in front of a mirror because he was necessarily vain, though there was a wicked narcissistic streak to the Nation for sure. He didn't spend a lot of time in front of a mirror because he was trying to hide blemishes and such either, wasn't fretting over the complexion of his skin. If he was that worried about having clear skin, he'd certainly have to lay off the burgers. But America was rather devoted to doing one thing in front of the mirror, everyday, before he'd ever go out in public. Canada wasn't sure if the idea had originally been his brother's or if he'd been coached to do this by the men and women involved in running the government.
Every day, before ever going out where people could see him, America would smile at the mirror.
It was a trick Canada knew they suggested in magazines for aspiring models. In order to make certain you had a 'winning' grin, you had to make sure you knew how it felt. You had to become familiar with it. You couldn't trust your face to instinctively hit that front page smile. It took training and devotion to always get that Hollywood look... and Alfred religiously practiced. Sure, Canada thought the grin was a bit much sometimes, knew it was fake more often than not, but he accepted this about his brother.
America played the smiling poster boy, the golden child his government wanted him to be. The grinning hero of the world.
It made his brother really ugly to him sometimes, that smile of his. America could be petty and nasty and cruel sometimes, but he'd gotten so good at that smile that he would just cover it all up. It was disgusting... but it was what Nations did, after all, wasn't it? Still... it made the smile hollow and bland, no matter how perfect it was tailored. The smile was empty more often than not.
Stepping up to the bathroom door, left open a crack to let the steam out so the mirror wouldn't fog, Canada peered in. There, dressed in just a towel so far was his brother, working that smile onto his face over and over. Smile... let it drop... smile... let it drop. Push-ups of the facial variety.
The Canadian didn't pay attention to that though. Instead he looked at the slight bit of pudge around America's middle, the telltale sign of a poor diet. Oh sure, under was muscle, but his brother lacked that toned A-list actor's body. He stared at his brother's poor posture, slouched without the public eye upon him. He looked at the face between smiles, exasperated and a bit bored. And he watched as America finally noticed him, sending him a lopsided asymmetrical grin, self deprecating and wry. Canada liked that smile better.