Bath time
Disclaimer: I do not in any way own Hetalia or its characters. But they'd be awesome.
The origin of this story is in my Spanish class my teacher was talking about how America was more focused on their hygiene than any other country.
And with Spain, well she said in Spain that when people greet each other, they kiss each other's cheeks.
Alfred wasn't like that. It was a common misconception, really. But he just wasn't. He couldn't help the unearthly desire to be clean, constantly.
In the morning he'd take a thirty minute shower, consisting of shampooing, rinsing, conditioning, and repeating. He'd grab his favorite wash cloth (which had an American flag printed onto it.) And grab the Pikachu soap Kiku gave him for Christmas, and wash his body. Twice. If he felt extra grimy, he'd take out his Peach & oats facial moisturizer and scrub that on his face heartily. After that, he'd brush his teeth vigorously, floss, and suffer through the burning of his mouthwash. (All while listening to his favorite show tunes.)
Alfred had to resist temptation. He'd resist the urge to offer Feliks hand sanitizer. Or wipe the drool off of Heracles' chin as he slept. (I mean honestly, do youknow how many germs are in the mouth?) His jaw dropped when Antonio who; regardless of who they were, would kiss people on the cheek with a cheerful hello. (Who knows what that cheek has touched?!)
Francis would purposely not wash his hands in front of Alfred. In fact, he'd try to put his hands all over him just to freak him out. It would work. Ivan would hide the soap in the conference bathrooms, and would only return them if Alfred 'became one with Russia.' Alfred started to bring soap from there on out.
There was one exception. This one exception was Arthur Kirkland.
Alfred would never whine about Arthur's occasional greasy hair. Or how sometimes, his eyebrows were bushy and wilder than usual. He wouldn't remind Arthur to use soap while washing his hands, or that he wasn't using enough toothpaste. Even when Arthur would come back to Alfred's house. Tired and worn, and slip into bed right next to Alfred; boots, clothes, and all. He wouldn't speak a peep.
It wasn't that Alfred was afraid of Arthur snapping at him, or that he'd have to sleep on the uncomfortable futon in the guest bedroom. (This really didn't make sense; considering the two were at his house. But any tired and angry Arthur really wasn't to be messed with.
No, Alfred would not, and did not complain. Because, in the end, all that mattered was their Wednesday and Saturday's bubble bath night together.
