It was the early 1800s, and it was summertime in Canada. Two colonies, one Spanish and one English, were simply relaxing on a hillside about a mile into the woodlands that enveloped the area. It was a warm day, and both boys had discarded their jackets, hats, socks, and shoes, being unused to wearing so much clothing. It was a formal trading event, which basically meant that England and Spain would do the trading while they told their colonies to run and play. It also meant they were required to dress up, but only while their mother countries were around to see them. So for now, each was content with wearing trousers, a shirt, and suspenders.
They had been talking all afternoon, catching up in the year it had been since they last saw each other, but now they lapsed into a comfortable silence, watching the clouds and the forest around them. There was a light breeze blowing, and the trees whispered while the clouds danced above them. Birds struck up light conversation against the silence of the colonies.
Suddenly, Cuba broke the silence. "Quebec," he started, still using the old name that he'd been introduced to, "do you know what un baiser avec la langue is?"
"Human names, Carlos," Canada reminded him. This was the fifth time he'd told him that. And it would be the fifth time Cuba ignored him.
"We are in the middle of nowhere, Quebec. Who will tell on us? The birds?"
"Maybe."
Cuba waved away the worry like an errant fly. "But do you know what it is?" he asked, continuing the previous train of thought.
"It means 'a kiss with tongue' in French," Canada said.
"I know that. But I don't understand it. How do you kiss with your tongue?"
Canada thought about that for a minute. "I don't know. Maybe people touch tongues together like they touch lips together?"
"That doesn't sound romantic at all," Cuba said. "That sounds disgusting."
"Maybe it is romantic and you are just too inexperienced to know about it," Canada said, with a slightly haughty tone that implied he knew something more than he did.
"As if you know anything about romance," Cuba said, matching the tone. "You've barely been colonized. You've yet to know anything about anything!"
"I'm two hundred years old. I know plenty of things," Canada said.
"Well, I'm over three hundred years old, so I know twice as many things as you do." Cuba wasn't about to let the little colony one-up him.
"Hmm," Canada said. Some days, Canada was a very good arguer, and could go back and forth with Cuba for several minutes. Other days, he just said 'hmm' and that was the end of it.
There was silence for several more minutes, and each colony was lost in his thoughts. Canada was falling asleep. Cuba was rolling the idea of tongue-kissing over in his mind. It was just outlandish! Why would touching tongues be romantic? Lips at least were soft and pretty, so touching those together was only natural. But tongues were slimy and abnormally pink. "There's just no way! It's weird!"
"Que?" Canada asked, half-asleep and wondering if he had missed part of a conversation.
"Tongue kissing! It's unnatural! There's no way it's romantic!" Oh. He was still on that topic of conversation.
"If you're so worried about it, why don't you find a girl to try it with?"
"Surely you jest! I couldn't possibly do that, I'm too…" Inexperienced and afraid I'd be doing it incorrectly were the phrases that came to mind, though he wasn't going to say that.
"Scared?" Canada asked smugly, eyes closing again.
"Of course not," Cuba snapped. "I just don't want to make a fool of myself by trying to make something like that seem romantic." He thought a moment on top of the hill, and then got a brilliant idea. "Quebec, kiss me," he said, crawling down the hill enough so that his face was directly above Canada's.
Canada scowled and opened his eyes, only to flinch when he found Cuba directly above him, short dreadlocks almost brushing against his cheeks. "No," he said.
"Don't tell me you aren't curious as well! I know you are!" Now Cuba was the one with the smug look. "Besides, you're the one who keeps saying it's romantic. If you think it's so romantic, then prove that it is."
"You're too immature for romance," Canada said, trying not to squirm from how close his friend was.
"Says the colony a hundred years younger than me," Cuba said. "If I'm too immature for it, you don't even know what it is."
"I do so," Canada said, lacking a better comeback.
"No you don't," Cuba said, with a teasing musicality to his tone.
Canada stuck his tongue out in a bout of childish immaturity. Cuba took the chance and quickly touched tongues with him. Canada squealed and pushed him away, yelling in his native French and spitting and spluttering. Cuba fell onto the ground beside him, just laughing.
"That was disgusting!" Cuba said, between peals of laughter. "We should not do that again!"
Canada muttered something in French that Cuba assumed was rude, and he responded likewise in Spanish. "I was right though," he said, after a beat.
"Eh?" Canada asked.
"Tongue kissing isn't romantic at all. It's just weird."
This time, Canada was the one that started laughing, and Cuba joined in. They laughed until they ran out of breath, and then they just lay on the hill with stupid grins on their faces. Soon, their mother countries called out for them, and they hurried to put their jackets and socks and shoes back on.
"We're never speaking about this," Canada said, flopping his cap onto his head with one hand while trying to put a shoe on with the other.
"Agreed," Cuba said, still trying to put his socks on.
Once Cuba had most of his extra clothes on, Canada yelled that he was going to leave him in the forest for being so slow and took off. Cuba hopped after him, trying to put his other shoe on. They ran past a moment soon forgotten, being simple children for just an afternoon. Soon they would have their own responsibilities and their own nations, but for now, they were two young colonies just trying to figure out the world.