These are the facts.
1. You are nursing a flask of vodka.
2. America and Japan are roaring drunk.
3. Japan is a very affectionate drunk.
4. You need more vodka.
It is America's Apocalypse Party. Because it is America and it is a very America thing to do. The young Nation has fervent interest in the 'End Times'. He is almost enamored with the prospect. It baffles you, really. But then, it is America and you leave it at that.
So, here you are, at the Apocalypse Party. All around you are your fellow nations. The excuses your kind will fabricate just to get drunk together, it never ceases to amaze. You are not drunk yourself. You are currently attempting to correct this grievous error. Because if you see Japan palm America's butt one more time…
Well, you won't do anything. Or rather, you really can't. Japan and America are 'bros'. You know this. A physical engagement, even the slightest menacing overture, would surely result in America's disapproval. Also, bloodstains. Your coat is dry clean only. That is one conversation you never intend to have with your dry cleaner, again. It's really best not to confront.
Japan squeezes America's cheeks and decidedly not the ones on his face.
You down the rest of your vodka in one sharp swig. Oh, bother. You didn't even get buzzed. You tuck your flask back in your coat pocket and turn on your heel. Slinking out the room, you find yourself a balcony. It is a pleasant night, at least. A bit cold for most people but then you are not most people. Winter greets you like an old friend which you suppose you are. You drink in the chilled, fresh air.
"Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice." You recite aloud. "From what I've tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire."
Perhaps then, you would finally feel warm.
"But if I had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate to say that for destruction ice…"
You jump, not quite out of your skin but not for lack of trying. You turn around and find America leaning on the door frame. You cannot tell if he means to appear nonchalant or he can no longer stand on his own two feet. From the flush of his face, you do believe it is the latter. America never boasted a high alcohol tolerance. He is not as awful as England, no one is as awful as England, but a lone bottle of vodka would inebriate him sufficiently. Just the one.
"… is also great and would suffice." You murmur, a wry smile tugging at your lips. You know this all too well.
"One of yours?" Americ asks, staggering towards him. The alcohol is hot and wet on his breath. He reeks of its stench.
"You really are drunk, aren't you?" You chuckle. "He is yours."
"Oh man, right. Robert Frodt - Frost. God, yeah. I need to stop drinking." He hiccups. "What's this all about then? Just out for a late night poetry recital?"
"You can say that. I needed, as you say, a breather. I'm afraid I'm not too fond of parties."
"But you still came." He points out.
"But I still came." You nod.
"Why's that?" He prods.
And why, you think, why indeed. There are numerous reasons. But your mind is a most untimely thing, conjuring images of sun-kissed smiles and arms wide open as the sky. It plays back firecracker laughter and the whisper of bedsheets. It remembers warmth. His fingers woven with yours. His lips against your pulse. Your head on his lap. There are numerous reasons. But the chief reason, you cannot deny, the chief reason stands before you.
I wanted to see you. "I had nothing better to do." You shrug.
Your mouth knows better. You and him have done this old song and dance. You are nothing but footnotes in each other's story. Still, the unspoken words lie heavy on your tongue. Because they are important. Because they are true.
He grins and claps you on the shoulder. "Glad you can make it, whatever your reason."
You hum in mute agreement. "Should you not be returning to your party? It is bad form for a host to abandon his guests."
America waves him off. "Nah, they can handle themselves for five minutes. And Japan abandoned me for the karaoke machine."
Ah. You almost thought, but then it was a foolish thought. You had believed he was here for you. He is resigned to your presence. He did not seek your company.
"Good thing too. The guy was getting handsy, you know? I mean, I know. Like all the time I had him over for video game sleepovers. We'd get so smashed. Then he'd get all touchy feely. Like, woah bro, calm thy tits." America continues.
You blink. "You did not welcome his advances?"
America adopts a puzzled expression. "Well, no. Me and Japan - !"
"Japan and I."
"- aren't like that. We have an epic bromance, totally platonic." He nods.
You have to ask. "Why then are you here?"
He grins like he has a secret. "It's five minutes till midnight."
Five minutes till the end of the world. "All the more reason to stay with your guests."
"I wanted to stay with you."
Your breath catches in your throat. Oh, you think, oh. America only grins wider and drapes himself across the railing. Your sides press against each other. He is dreadfully warm.
The stars spill across the skies, tiny breaths of light. It makes for a stunning sight. There is silence. If the world was to end, then this wouldn't be so bad. America leans a little closer. No, not bad at all.
I love you still. "You reek of alcohol." You say and you don't say.
"I know." America answers simply.
And you think, he does. He really does.