Don't own Hetalia
So I took another challenge. I haven't written Hetalia in a long time, and I've never really written Canada, but here.
Some days, he wonders if it could be called narcissistic. He can't think of any other way to describe it. To fall in love with your own mirror image. Though, if he was a narcissist, what would that make his often noticed brother? His brother, the hero. His rebellious twin. He himself is not arrogant. He knows his flaws. He knows his weaknesses, his limits, his every little mistake. It's why he's constantly apologizing. So, is it narcissism that he has fallen for a face that resembles his own? He wakes up to the feeling of his southern brother's arms pulling him close, and he thinks that it's worth it if it is.
Some days, he wonders if they're even twins. Resemblance should be enough to prove it, but they were so… different. His brother was loud and proud and strong and happy to be that way. He was quiet, and shy and maybe he wants to be more than that, but he can't figure out how. He watches his brother scarf down hamburgers and wonders what it would be like to be that way, to be remembered. But in between Big Macs, the louder nation is patting the spot in the seat next to him and, "Come on, before the frog gets back.". And maybe there was a smile hidden behind his stack of pancakes.
Some days, he wonders when it will end. When his bro will forget him and leave him all alone. Leave him for someone like an awesome albino, or a quiet but thoughtful cat-lover, or a cute guy who loved pasta. Because one day, his brother would come to his senses and leave, and he would stand back and let it happen, because he had never been one to stand in the way of another's happiness. Thankfully, his twin wasn't the smartest, and it would take him a while to figure it out, and the unnoticed nation takes advantage of this time to be happy until he does. When the louder blond gives him a huge grin and talks about finding a place together, he wonders if he ever will.
It's not a special day, when he thinks about it. There was nothing going on, it wasn't anyone's birthday, and it wasn't the anniversary of anything.
But the day he realizes it, he wonders if he's gone insane. He must be, right? He must have something wrong with him to think this. It's not a romantic moment when the sun shines just right, and it makes his hair seem like a halo, and it lights his eyes up just right. It's not a touching night where they watch the stars together. It's not even a moderately okay moment where they're watching TV and one falls asleep on the other.
It's a moment of panic as he runs down stairs from his bedroom to find his brother in the kitchen, and said kitchen on fire. It's a moment of relief when it's put out. It's a moment of angry yelling that rarely comes from his mouth, of what the hell are you even in my house for? It's a moment of silence as the one who is usually loudest of all is sheepish and looking down at the floor. And it's a moment of guilt as he hears a reply, barely above a whisper.
"I just wanted to make you breakfast, bro."
He isn't quite sure how that translates to gently pulling his brother into a kiss, but there don't seem to be any objections.
There is love in burnt pancakes.
That's why I don't complain when my mom makes them. Some USCan for your slashy delight.