Chapter 1
Swirling flurries of snow settled on the frozen ground, a not so odd occurrence for Washington DC in December. The last world meeting scheduled for the year was finally wrapping up and all the nations present were either eagerly discussing their plans or desperately trying to blank those who were. Street-lights could be seen reflecting a washed out orange light onto the white ground from the window of the large room used in this week's presentations, as groups of people chatted merrily, invitations being handed out amongst themselves and arrangements made.
France managed to corner America immediately after the super power had managed to shake off Russia. Although he'd been a lot better and a lot less super-creepy-communist-be-one-with-Russia in recent years, Alfred had a feeling he'd never really like the imposing, cold nation. Pity him, yes, but he couldn't get over the Cold War even now, and Ivan's creepy grins were like nails on a chalkboard to the younger nation. Anyway, after hastily handing over a bottle of vodka purchased by some unknown intern at the White house to be given as a gift solely for diplomatic reasons, Alfred had shook off the monster of a nation only to be promptly picked up by France, who had come over to discuss his own festive plans. Which basically consisted of stalking Alfred's little brother, cooking a lot of food and hoping to get Canada drunk enough for him to get lucky.
"I honestly didn't need to know all of that, dude."
"Hmmm, are you jealous, mon Amérique?"
"Absolutely not. I'm so far from jealous I think I might be approaching it from the other side. I don't think I'll ever shake the mental images you've conjured up."
"Honhonhon. So have you got plans with Angleterre, then?"
"I dunno. I was gonna harass him into coming over to my house for Christmas. He's such a miserable grinch around this time of the year. Last year he didn't even have a Christmas tree! How can someone even do that?! But he's not here, is he? Makes that plan kinda hard to act on." France simply hmmed.
"It is not often that Arthur is unwell enough to completely miss a world meeting. Even when 'e is sick 'e usually tries his best to come anyways. I believe he is under the impression that nobody can takes notes that are as good as 'is." He grinned dryly at this statement. "I do not know, are you intending on checking in on 'im? He's been refusing to answer the phone to me, although, 'e keeps telling me to 'piss off' when I text him, so he can't be feeling all that bad..." Alfred scoffed.
"Course I'm gonna visit him. I'm the hero, right? If he's feeling sick, and at Christmas time too, then it's my job to make sure he gets better quickly!" He heroically punched the air. France rolled his eyes.
"Any chance of you getting even close to admitting your feelings to him, or am I going to have to do what I've been threatening for a good 60 years now and get you so drunk you have no choice other than to confess? It would certainly save me from 'aving to buy Arthur a present if he's wrapped up with you."
"Ha-fricken-ha, Francis." Alfred scowled at the smirking Frenchman, but both knew that he knew what he was talking about.
"Anyway, I'm back off to my lovely country. It may not have as much snow, but it definitely has a lot more amour, hmm?" He winked and flounced off in the direction of Canada, wrapping an arm around the meek nation who had taken up residence by the door, waiting for Francis to appear. Alfred made a gagging motion, but it was half-hearted at best. Haphazardly grabbing all of his stuff and casually ignoring the fact that half of his notes went flying in the direction of the floor, he began planning his impromptu trip to England.
~SR~
There wasn't any snow in England, a fact that became apparent rather immediately after Alfred had gotten off his flight at Heathrow. It was far too cold for snow, with frost layering the pavements and roads, and icy patterns adorning trees, benches and vehicles that hadn't been used recently enough to have melted off their icy coat. Arthur's house was a fair distance away from the airport and Alfred couldn't be bothered to walk, even though he'd had the foresight to wrap up warm, even remembering his scarf and gloves. Instead, he chose a random taxi idling outside the airport, hopped into the back and gave the necessary directions.
As the taxi pulled out into the road, he grinned to himself victoriously. He was going to swoop in and save his crush from his illness, and then Arthur would realise just how amazing he was, and then maybe they'd be able to snuggle up in bed or on the sofa because it was so cold and everyone knew that was the best way to stay warm~
Yup, this was going to rock.
~SR~
When he got to Arthur's house, his greeting wasn't quite as warm as he'd anticipated. Opening the door merely a fraction of an inch, Arthur had scowled through the tiny space available whilst quite bluntly refusing to open it any further.
"Artie ~"
"Piss off and die." The door was slammed abruptly into the smiling American's face. His grin was replaced by a childish pout.
"Aww, come on... it's Christmas! Even a grinch like you has to be happier than usual. Christmas spirit and decorations and presents and all that stuff. Come on~!"
"No." His voice was muffled by three inches of solid oak door, but he didn't sound particularly sniffly or unwell. More annoyed, than anything. Said door would have looked rather spiffy with a festive wreath, but when Alfred voiced this thought he was met with a sullen silence.
"You still there, dude?"
"... no. Go away." Well, this clearly wasn't working the way Alfred had planned.
"No chance! Let me in before I knock your door down. Or freeze to death... it's like the fricken Arctic out here. Is that why you're always so miserable? You have an icy heart."
He was only met with more silence.
"Well, then..." Taking a few steps back he grinned, rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles in preparation. Just as he was about to launch himself heroically at the offending mass of varnished oak, it creaked open a fraction. Warm light flowed out into the cold evening air. Through the crack he spied a single, emerald eye peeping out wearily.
"Break my door and die, America. This is original to the house, dammit."
"You know I wasn't really gonna do it, right?"
"'Going to', and after the last seventy one times that you've broken either a door or windows in my house, I've started to take your threats of property damage seriously."
"Those were accidents!"
"Sure. I can only assume it's because you forget exactly how much you weigh." Alfred ignored the standard jab at his weight. He knew that Arthur never meant it with malice.
"... I can't believe you actually kept count."
The green eye was unimpressed.
"Anyway, can I come in yet?"
"No. When I told you to go away I meant it."
Deciding that Arthur had stalled enough, Alfred ignored this last statement and pushed his way through the partially-open door and into the softly illuminated hallway, ignoring the loud protests that met his actions and completely disregarding the small, flailing Brit. Turning around to look at his ex-big brother with a Colgate-grin he...
Stopped. And froze. And his mouth maybe hung open a little bit from shock.
Messy blonde hair, dark eyebrows (not thick like people liked to say, just vividly darker than the rest of his hair), shocking absinthe eyes and a scowling face met the astonished American. These were all very much normal.
No... it was the cat ears that weren't normal.
AN: Whelp, I'm bored and this is the result. Keep tuned for the next chapter and please read and review! It makes me so happy if people actually say they like my stuff :)