The meaning of a word
World meetings were quite possibly the most boring and yet interesting things that America took part in. He secretly enjoyed watching how the other nations interacted with each other. How Germany always pretended to be annoyed by Italy but could always be found in a little back hallway locked a kiss to the death with the littler nation. How Russia's creepy smile took on a faint genuine touch when Seychelles entered the room. And how Romano secretly held Spain's hand beneath the table while the conquistador drew little patterns over the back of his hand with his thumb. Most pinned him for an unobservant idiot, but he noticed a lot of things.
Today however there wasn't anything interesting or particularly new about the other nations going ons. So he settled for resting his arm on the table, and using it for a pillow. His free hand was currently doodling a tiny Superman on the corner of his note page.
"In other news parliament has come to conclusion on..." The one thing that he absolutely hated about these meetings, was England. His used to be big brother was always on his case about something. Be it his so called 'abuse' of the English language, or how many hamburgers he would eat in one sitting. Often times it was his short attention span that really annoyed the Brit.
"America are you even listening!?" England suddenly stopped his rant on parliament's plan to reinforce old infrastructure to scold him, again. His thick eye brows creased in anger as a tick mark appeared at his temple. Emerald eyes gleamed with a light of annoyance as they trained solely on him.
"You were unheroically ranting about old buildings." The USA sighed broadly.
"It's not unheroic or what ever you want to call it, now pay attention, ya bloody wanker, its important." England chided harshly. America sighed and made no effort to sit or show he was paying any more attention than before. England huffed with a glare in his direction, but went back to his rant. Another thing the America disliked about England was that he tended to use the same insults over and over again. Yank, Frog, Git, and Wanker, that was his favorite it seemed. And he didn't even know what it meant! Wait...
America discretely slid his free hand from the table and into his jacket pocket where his phone was. The new Iphone 5, there were perks that came with being a nation. He sat up slowly and leaned as far back as his swivel office chair would allow him to so that he still looked disinterested and bored. Quickly he pulled up an Internet search bar and typed in the British insult.
The first result was on Urban Dictionary. Com. Never doubt thing someone in his awesome and heroic United States could give him a wrong answer, he lightly tapped the link. England was still ranting about old pipe lines so he was safe. Using his thumb to scroll down the page he focused on the small print.
Wanker: A british term for "one who masturbates". Commonly used as an insult. (This was taken straight from the page third listing for the term)
America looked up at England sharply for a moment, and then back at the dictionary page, then back at the Brit. England happened to catch his strange look with his brows drawn together and pulled up.
"Whot are you doing now America?" He asked in exasperated tone of voice. America started to turn vaguely pink while his shoulders shook in silent laughter.
"Dude, you just said I masturbate!" America finally bust out with rolling tenor laugh. The entirety of the worlds nations turned to look at him with multiple strange looks. England looked at him incredulously.
"Whot are you blabbering about now ya bloody wanker?" He bit harshly. America's laughter only grew in volume and force until he was doubled over his chair red and near tears in laughter.
"Y-you did it a- again!" He gasped out through his laughing.
"He did vhat again? Speak clearly America!" Germany said in his sharp military bass. With a gasping breaths America calmed himself enough to push his phone across the table to the other blond nation. Germany snatched up the device and scanned over the still open page before turning red himself.
"Vee~ Let a me see Germany!" North Italy then proceeded to swipe the phone from his taller lover's hands. The littler nation cocked his head to the side as he read the definition too. "Wanker: A British term for 'one who masturbates'. Commonly used as an insult." He read shamelessly aloud to all present.
"And you are raughing about this because aru...?" China asked from where he sat next to Japan and Hong Kong. America continued with fits of git shaking giggles still spilling from his throat.
"How would he know if I masturbate or not?" He asked. For once the American had a point. But then it was also something most men and boys his age, or physical age of 19, did anyway. So it could just be a very well educated guess, and it was an insult any way, it wasn't meant to be necessarily literal. All eyes turned to where England had been at the front of the room, but found the Brit gone, a mess of note papers left scattered across the floor space where he had been standing. Some where still settling into place so he obviously hadn't been gone long.
America's laughter suddenly stopped all together, short and cut off. He couldn't remember ever having seen the man move so fast, except maybe when France was involved.
"England?" He called into the empty room, knowing he wouldn't get an answer. Worried he may have really upset him, America stood from his chair and bolted after the Brit. He may not like it when he ranted at meetings or reprimanded him for something he didn't think was wrong, but he still cared about him.
The halls were surprisingly quiet, but in the distance, the distinctive fast click of running army boots echoed faintly. Fallowing the sound America took off down the right hallway, which lead toward the guest rooms of the World Conference Building. Each Nation, with exception to Hungary who could simply return home as they were in her country, was staying in their own suite of rooms. England's happened to be the only other one on the ground floor other than America's own.
The door was at the very end of the hall, and on the left, number 1, while America's was on the right, number 3 (they only used odd numbers for some reason). The golden number attached glimmer beneath a removable nameplate that read his county name in bold all caps, and his human name in smaller curvier yet not quite cursive writing. And as Alfred had thought, the door was closed but not locked, he had juggled the knob to be sure.
"Hey England?" He called gently taping his knuckles against the door. If he had triggered someway hint with the Brit he didn't want to make it worse by intruding. Yet, no answer came to the door, nor did the sound of his light footfalls on the carpet hard wood hall.
"Arthur?" He called again, hoping his actual name might catch his attention. Still no answer reached his highly trained hearing. So he slowly turned the brass knob and pushed the door open into an empty hall.
All the suites were set up the same, and nearly reflected across the hall like a mirror. Hardwood floor hall way, with a small living area to the immediate left, and a kitchen with a table and four chairs to the right. Straight ahead he would find a bathroom at the end of the hall. The door on the right would lead to a carpeted bedroom, and the left would lead to a simple study/ office space. If Arthur had to put his money on it, England was in his study surrounded by his books and his little electric tea kettle that he always kept in a study.
"Arthur?" He called again, louder this time. He closed the door behind him and locked it to keep other curious nations out. There were no lights on in the kitchen or living room, and none shined from beneath the door frame to the bedroom. He had been right, the older nation was in his study. As if doubly confirming it the hard slap thump of pages slamming closed as a hard cover book hit the ground sounded.
Arthur's soft voice whispered some incoherent curse as Alfred approached the door. A light tap to the door knob found this one also unlocked. With in the soft clink of a tea cup chimed with the rustle of turning book pages.
"England, its America, I'm coming in."
England looked up from his place under his desk where he was currently curled up hiding with a tea cup held to his chest and a book in his lap. America never announced his arrivals, he never had the decency or the manners to. He usually just barged in and began babbling a million miles a minute about much of a 'Hero' he was.
He listened quietly as the door creaked open softly on somewhat squeaky hinges. Heavy boots thudded against the hard oak flooring as his once upon a time colony entered slowly.
"England? Come on Arthur come on out, I know you're in here." He called into the seemingly empty room. He curled up tighter and tried to focus more on the book balanced on his knees. More low ringing steps, and he watched from the corner of his eye as the rolling office chair was pulled away. Shiny combat boots replaced black squeaky wheels. And then a pair of glasses over blue eyes appeared along with a mop top due of golden blond hair. America crouched on the floor next to him, Texas threatening to fall off the edge of his nose, with his hands and arms braced against the edge of the desk.
"Arthur?" He asked turning his head slightly to the left. England didn't look up from his book.
"Alfred." He replied curtly. A sad smile touched America's face.
"Did I go too far again?" He asked simply. Guilt peppered his words lightly, all g with a pinch of concern, and a dash or nervous amusement. England's cheeks were still pink from before.
"It's only an insult, you're not supposed to take it literally." He bit out in an annoyed manner. America ducked his head in silent guilty apology.
"I kinda just figured that out." He admitted. Arthur still didn't look at him, but took sip from his tea cup. Alfred bit his lip for a moment and looked up at him again.
"Sorry?" He offered quietly. The look in his sky blue eyes was one of a boy who had seen a puppy kicked. England sighed and turned his head to look at him. Emerald lay open the emotion of silent acceptance and flustered embarrassment.
"Oh bugger all, fine! Apology accepted Alfred." The Brit mumbled rolling his eyes. His blush had returned to a darker pink hue. America's classic grin adorned his face once more. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Arthur's cheek gently in a quick kiss.
"Thanks Iggy!" And then he was backing away, cheeky smile in place before he hauled himself up and turned to leave the study. The thump of a door clicking shut rang as Arthur continued to sit there with his tea cup halfway back to his lips, frozen stiff. He was at the very least glad that Alfred wasn't there to see his blush intensify further. Slowly with a shaky hand he set his tea cup down and lifted himself enough to peak over the top of the mahogany desk.
America had indeed left. He lowered himself back to being underneath the desk, and pressed his hand to the spot where Alfred had kissed him. A small smile twitched and pulled the corners of his mouth up softly. He looked down at his lap and realized the book was upside down for the first rime since he had pulled it down. A huff escaped him, and he righted the thing before leaning back and letting his hand continue to rest on his cheek. Even with the book now in a readable position, he wasn't focusing on it much anymore.