A/N: An AU set somewhere in some town in the middle of nowhere, and I'm pretty sure that's all you need to know. USUK-ish, for HereWeGoOnceMore.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.
Alfred Jones couldn't think of a better way to spend the day.
Alfred liked weddings—actually, he loved them. He loved the people, and the food, and the celebration. He loved the chance to get everyone together, and he loved swinging Elizabeta around in his arms and declaring that she was old now that she was married. He loved clapping Roderich on the back and professing his sincere apologies that he was going to have to spend the rest of his life with such a horrid woman, and he loved dodging Elizabeta's swipe at his head, raising his hands in defense and getting away by foisting more champagne on the two of them, who were both practically glowingwith happiness...
He couldn't help it. He really did love weddings.
It had been the kind of August day that the inhabitants of the little town in the middle of nowhere would talk about for weeks to come; gloriously hot, with cotton-ball clouds drifting in the forget-me-not-blue sky, and everyone just lazy enough not to really mind the fact that they couldn't actually do any work due to the fact that, one, it was a Sunday, and, two, they'd most likely pass out from heat stroke if they tried.
"And what better way to spend a Sunday afternoon," the people had said, "than by having a wedding?"
And a wedding there had been, all right. Complete with dancing, singing, and a beautifully blushing bridal couple. The entire town was there, of course; not that everyone had been officially invited, but that didn't matter because everyone knew anyway, and the bride and groom had just figured they'd save money by not sending out invitations and just letting word-of-mouth do the work for them. Which it had done quite happily.
Alfred hummed in contentment and leaned up against a light post, staring up at the sky. The moon was bright, the starts were brighter; a perfect follow-up to a beautiful day. He could faintly hear some of the music drifting out from the town hall—the only place large enough to accommodate the entire town, not counting the church. Alfred whistled the melody softly and kicked up some dust, watching it settle.
"Alfred? What on earth are you doing out here?"
Alfred started at the sound of the voice, but relaxed when he saw who it was. "Oh, hey, Arthur," he said. "Just getting' some air." He grinned. "What about you? Shouldn't you be drunk by now?"
"Sod off," Arthur said easily, strolling over to where Alfred was standing. "I'm not going to get smashed at Eliza's wedding; that's just bad form."
"Didn't stop you at Feli's birthday party," Alfred pointed out.
Arthur shrugged. "That's different."
"How?"
Arthur smiled wryly. "Because Gilbert started the drinking contest, not me." He looked up. "Nice night," he said, completely pointlessly, in Alfred's opinion, but that was Arthur for you.
Alfred nodded. "It is, isn't it?" He grinned. "What do you think: will Eliza let me set off some firecrackers later?"
"It isn't Elizabeta you should be worried about," Arthur said. "Didn't you hear Vash earlier? He promised anyone who caused unnecessary chaos a one-way ticket to the police house, remember?"
"Naw, he'll let me get away with it. Firecrackers make everyone happy!"
"Only you would get joy out of exploding things," Arthur said.
"Firecrackers are special," Alfred insisted. "They're the perfect way to end a party."
"I don't know," Arthur said, looking over at the town hall. "This party doesn't seem to be ending any time soon."
"They'll all come out anyway," Alfred said. "I bought these ones special. Someone told me they came all the way from China!"
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Who told you that, Antonio? You know he has no idea where anything in his shop comes from."
"He's the storekeeper, Arthur, he has to know. He orders the stuff, doesn't he?"
"He orders everything from the city. You know, the one that happens to be ten miles away? I'm fairly certain that's not China."
"They could have come from China," Alfred said. "You never know."
Arthur sighed. "Whatever makes you happy, git."
Alfred grinned and decided to take that as a victory. Tipping his head back, he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. "Mmm. It smells like August."
"What on earth does August smell like?"
"Like left-over sun and fried grass and bacon."
"Bacon?" Arthur asked.
"Bacon." Alfred confirmed.
"Huh."
"Yep."
They lapsed into silence—Alfred still breathing in the air and Arthur contemplating the apparent smell of an August night. Finally, Alfred opened his eyes and glanced over at the town hall. "D'ya think they miss us yet?"
Arthur ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, I don't know. Probably not yet."
"Then dance with me?"
"What?"
Alfred grinned at Arthur's expression, highlighted by the soft glow of the lamplight. "Come on, can't you hear it? Roderich's playing the piano."
"How do you know it's him?" Arthur asked.
Alfred rolled his eyes. "Who else do we know who plays the piano?"
"Oh," Arthur said. "Right."
Alfred held out his hand. "Come on, Artie. Dance with me." And then, instead of waiting for a response, he reached out and grabbed Arthur and spun him around in a circle. "You love this song, I know it. It reminds you of your Englishness."
"I—wha—Alfred, let go of me!" Arthur sputtered.
Alfred laughed and twirled him again, dipping them out of the light and then back in. Because he loved this part of weddings, too. He loved it when the night went quiet and he could do things like talk about the smell of summer and waltz with Arthur under the glow of a street lamp. He loved the notes from the piano drifting out toward them over the dust, and he loved the expression on Arthur's face when he slipped his arms around his waist.
Finally, Arthur stopped trying to make excuses and reached his hands up to rest on Alfred's shoulders. "You're deplorable."
"Nope. I'm adorable," Alfred corrected. "Wrong prefix, Artie."
"Do you even know what a prefix is, you hooligan?"
They twirled around slowly, dusty boots toe-to-toe, while the moon shone brightly and the night waited quietly for the promise of firecrackers in half-an-hour's time.
No way better way to end a night, Alfred thought, running his hands through Arthur's hair and laughing at his vehement protests. No better way, indeed.