I did this for the 2010 gift exchange on the US/UK LiveJournal community. It's my first Hetalia fanfiction if you ignore the Left 4 Dead-Hetalia crossover I've been writing since the summer. I hope you enjoy it; it was fun to write! I wrote it to a few Michael Bublé cds on iTunes.
Prompt: Gakuen Hetalia-America and England working on the same couch. America starts to get cold but England's fine because he has his tea. So America leans over and sandwiches himself between England's back and the sofa, because it's warmer there :)
The room is cold; America swears it's colder, if not just as cold as the weather outside. The sky is still overcast even after two days, and snow has been falling since lunchtime. The Weather Channel predicted it at least a week ago, so it shouldn't have come as a surprise. He didn't dislike snow, either, instead preferring a white Christmas to a green one. However, when the inside temperature of dorm matches the outside chill, the snow becomes his enemy.
The metal in America's binder is freezing. He hates physics class for requiring the use of a binder. Whenever his hand brushes against a ring while he solves a problem, he jerks and runs a dark line from his problem to the end of the page. Eventually the rings bug him so much that he gives up on solving anything, and doodles in the margins of his homework sheet. He sketches out a horse in the top right corner, and places horse shoes down the margin to a stable he draws in the bottom corner. America turns to England, sitting calmly beside him, with the intent to show off his art, but thinks better of breaking his concentration.
England is on a roll with his note-taking. Despite his quick speed, his writing is mostly legible and only slightly less curvy than usual. America wonders how he can take any notes at all with his textbook on his left knee, his notebook on his right knee, and his left hand holding a cup of hot tea. England is unaware of his peer's staring until he drops his pen in his lap and turns his notebook over. Their eyes meet over the tea he has held up to his face. Neither looks away, not even when England narrows his eyes.
"What?" he asks, suspicious of America's answer. He expects something like, 'Gosh, your eyebrows are so big!' or, 'Is all your hair on your head?' He lowers the hand holding his cup in preparation for a verbal slap across the face.
America is suddenly animated, a contrast to his previously lethargic mood (because England never misses a thing about him). His glasses slip down his nose several centimeters when he jerks toward his couch mate. "Teach me to do that!"
England's expression is part shock and part confusion. There must be something he's missing, and for America to notice it, it must be obvious. He checks his uniform for anything amiss and notices a lose thread in his sweater vest. America has many lose threads in all of his uniforms, so it can't be that. He doesn't like to drink tea, so he wouldn't want to learn how to make it. America also has a book in his lap, and he was just using a pencil.
Whatever it is that has America excited, it's not as obvious as England thought it was. "What are you talking about? Nothing is out of the ordinary."
"Duh, you didn't notice it! You've done it since forever!" America grabs his wrist, the right one, in his cool hands. England flinches at the feel of icy fingers against his skin. "How do you write so fast? I need to learn so I can finish essays in class!"
He looks so determined to learn this "technique" that England is immediately ticked off. The grip on his wrist gets tighter - America needs to remember he's stronger than most people - and shakes it off. "I can't teach you that. It's something you have to learn on your own. It's not like there's a trade school for quick writing, so don't think about looking for one!"
America falls back into his spot, facing forward on the couch again. The binder in his lap feels heavier than before, and the room's temperature is akin to a freezer's. He considers shoving his binder onto the floor, but rests it beside his school bag instead. The noise would bug England and would irritate him further. Then America would have to listen to another lecture about noise and treating school supplies well. With a huff, the taller boy slumps against the back of the couch. He can feel the chill of the fabric through his clothes, exacerbating his discontent with Winter.
"Geez, it's so cold." England either isn't listening to him or ignoring, so he leans his head a little closer. "Don't you think it's cold?" America doesn't get a response, and all he hears is England's pen scratching against paper as he writes. How impolite, he thinks, considering how far away his dorm is from this one. He should have returned to his dorm right after class instead of walking England to his; he could be sitting in bed with an Xbox controller, running gangs out of town with twelve-year-olds. Instead, he's freezing to death with an equally cold boyfriend.
Except, America notices, his boyfriend is not so cold. The tea, which he thinks must be cool by now, is the reason. Coffee sounds like an amazing idea, but England doesn't keep any in his dorm. Since he doesn't, it's all England's fault that America is as cold as he is, so he should be held responsible.
The couch creaks as America crawls closer to his boyfriend. England is still not paying attention, and is leaning forward enough for the other to shove himself between the British teenager and the furniture. For a moment, America is warm, but is exposed to the chilly air again when England shouts, stands up and leaves the room. He returns a little while later with his book, looking furious while wiping tea off of the pages.
"What is wrong with you? Do you know whose textbook this is?" England's red face is not a blush; he's furious. There is no escaping his wrath. "It's certainly not mine when I'm renting it! I doubt you care, considering how you treat your own books!"
America's kneejerk reaction is to yell right back, and he does! "I wasn't trying to do anything to your books! I was cold!"
"Try or not, you did something to them!"
"You spilled the tea on your own!"
England's voice rises. "Don't yell at me!"
America matches him. "You started it!"
They're silent but fuming, both red in the face and stiff. The first to fall is England, who deflates quickly. America relaxes instantly after, and tries to smile. England attempts his own smile, and laughs a little. "Look at us. It's the Christmas season and we're still biting each other's heads off!"
His boyfriend has a laugh, too. "Yeah, it's silly, right?" America rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "Sorry about your book. If the people won't accept it, I'll pay for it, okay? It's my mistake."
"No, that's not right. It was my responsibility." England looks down at the soggy pages with a frown. He doesn't know how much it'll cost him, but it can't be a small amount. "I should have been more careful. I knew not to drink anything around it, but I had tea anyway."
America takes the textbook from the shorter boy and drops it on the table. England doesn't say anything about the noise, and for that he is thankful. "Don't worry about it! It'll be my second Christmas gift to your or something. I'll give you one of those "I.O.U." things for later. Sound good?"
Their eyes meet again, this time without suspicion. America holds his arms out, and England walks into them, though slowly and hesitantly. He's still awkward about physical affection. America's warmth lowers his guard; he huffs a laugh against his ear.
"That sounds fine."
The loving mood is destroyed when America backs up, holds England away from him and pleads with him. "But don't buy me textbooks for Christmas, okay? Worst present idea ever! Get me some Xbox Live points or something! Stuff I like only! And let me sit between you and the couch from now on."