Update: Because of all the lovely reviews I've been getting, I have decided to extend this. ^^ I'm aiming to make it three chapters long in total (because twoshots bug me, for some reason...), and I'll be updating once a week (so on Sundays). Thanks for the awesome feedback!
A/N Hey guys! So this idea hit me a few days ago and I've been struggling to write it down for the past three days or so. The title is actually supposed to be '(Un)fortunate Circumstances', with the 'un' in brackets, because honestly, how unfortunate could sharing a hotel room with Alfred really be? ;3
This is my first Hetalia fanfic, so I'm not sure how well I've adapted the universe into my writing. But I enjoyed writing it! USUK is just such a great pairing; they make me all warm and fuzzy inside. ^^ I had a lot of fun writing both of their dialogues, too. x3;; Hopfully the British terms I threw in don't sound too unnatural.
Anywhats, I rated it K+ to be safe, because of the (possible) intensity of the British swearing. xD;; *doesn't know* This isn't a lemon or anything either (not that I don't enjoy lemons) just fluff. But enough of my rambling! Enjoy. :3
"I beg your pardon?" Arthur stared at the young woman behind the check-in desk in surprise.
"I-I'm sorry, sir, but I can't seem to find you in the system anywhere…" The receptionist trailed off and began to type frantically. "What was your name again?"
"Arthur Kirkland," he repeated testily, folding his arms and scowling. The girl, who seemed to be rather wet behind the ears, quailed under his scrutinizing gaze, fumbling with the mouse as she scanned the monitor of her computer and chewed on her bottom lip in discomfort. "I reserved the room weeks ago," Arthur said exasperatedly after a few moments, leaning forward to grip the edge of the desk in his irritation. "Are you absolutely certain my name isn't there?" The girl gave up after a moment longer and looked up apologetically, shaking her head.
Arthur sighed in exasperation, stepping away from the desk and kneading his forehead with the hand that wasn't gripping the handle of his suitcase. The hotel lobby was hot despite the air conditioning – the temperature was uncannily and infuriatingly high for spring in New York – crowded with people, and very loud. Voices, footsteps, and the sound of luggage being transported to and fro echoed off the tiled floors and high ceiling, and the din was giving him the beginnings of a headache. Bright sunlight shone the through windows and glinted glaringly off the floor in a way that was decidedly non-conducive to staving off said headache, reinforcing Arthur's desire to find a dark, quiet room to lock himself in and curl up under a pile of blankets – a desire that was looking increasingly like it was going to be impossible indulge, given the unfortunate turn of events.
Suddenly a lanky, acne-prone teen wearing a set of Spock ears bumped into Arthur, nearly knocking him over. He cursed whoever it was that scheduled the world meetings for booking the thing in a hotel that was hosting a Star Trek convention on the same weekend as he tried to regain his balance. A smell that was a potent mixture of sweat, silicon, cheap hair gel and stale cheese puffs wafted over the Briton as the boy passed by and Arthur shuddered, wrinkling his nose in distaste.
He glanced around the lobby, trying to catch sight of any of the other nations and briefly entertaining the notion of asking if he could room with one of them. He could see Elizaveta and Gilbert arguing over by the entrance, being watched by an exasperated and clearly uncomfortable Roderich. Feliciano was happily dragging a blushing Ludwig toward the hotel restaurant, and Arthur spied Francis lounging in the sitting area, nonchalantly chatting up several tittering young women. Deciding those were all conversations he could skip, Arthur turned resignedly back to the reception desk, resuming the massaging of his forehead.
"I suppose I'll have to book another room, then," he conceded finally, inching a little farther out of the stream of foot traffic to avoid anymore wayward Trekkies and quelling his annoyance at the terrible – American, he reminded himself with a touch of vindictive smugness – customer service in the interest of getting to a room as quickly as possible. He'd been hoping to have at least a few minutes to relax after his long flight before the start of the conference. The silence he received in response to this statement unnerved him greatly, and he lifted his gaze apprehensively to look at the flustered receptionist.
"I'm really very sorry," she said, avoiding Arthur's gaze, "but we're booked to capacity."
Arthur gaped. "Pardon me?"
"It's b-because of the convention," the girl stuttered in explanation. She observed the face of the slight man opposite her turning red at an alarming rate, and wondered vaguely if he might explode. "Um… If you're here for the conference, might I suggest sharing a co-worker's room?" Arthur was about to reply that no, he wanted his own room, the one he was positive he'd booked weeks prior to the conference, when a dreadfully familiar voice rang out behind him.
"Dude, you can totally share my room!" Arthur stiffened as an arm was slung around his shoulders, turning his head slowly to gaze up at the person who had spoken. He felt the blood drain from his face as he locked eyes with a brilliantly grinning Alfred F. Jones. Arthur stared for a moment, wondering at his former colony's ability to appear out of nowhere at the worst times. Arthur then felt the blood returning to his face with a vengeance as the thought of sleeping in the same room with him fully registered in his frazzled mind.
"G-git!" Arthur exclaimed indignantly, shoving Alfred's arm away and blushing furiously. "Why would I want to share a room with you?"
"Aw Iggy, don't be like that," Alfred said, still beaming, stepping back and adjusting the strap of the duffel bag on his shoulder. "What else are you gonna do? All the hotels in the area are booked up 'cuz of the Star Trek convention." He gestured to the thronging crowd occupying the lobby.
Arthur cast about for some sort of retort, but managed only a few splutters and a flustered 'don't call me Iggy'. Eventually he settled for grabbing stubbornly onto the handle of his suitcase, which Alfred's hand had been twitching towards, and drawing himself up to his full height. "I-I'll find somewhere to stay," he managed to say in a somewhat dignified manner. He made to move out of the line to the check-in desk, which he had just noticed had become rather long.
"Nah, any place you'd find would be too far from the conference. You're totally rooming with me," Alfred replied flippantly, tugging Arthur's suitcase out of his grasp and hefting it over his shoulder in one swift motion. "C'mon, it'll be fun!" He turned away from the desk, towing both his luggage and Arthur's with ease. "Hey, thanks for your time," he called to the receptionist over his shoulder as an afterthought, flashing her a winning smile.
"Y-you're welcome!" The girl replied breathily, and blushed. Arthur stood rooted to the spot, stunned, trying to form a coherent sentence so as to demand Alfred return his luggage to him immediately. Realizing he was not being followed, Alfred turned around, loping back to where Arthur was standing.
"Come on, Iggy. I'm not going to let you go without a room for a three-day conference," he said, running a hand through his blond hair in exasperation. Arthur took another glance around the lobby and found that, taking into consideration the fact that most of the nations present at the conference were either in a relationship – Arthur didn't particularly fancy the idea of being a third wheel – or hated him – he cast a nervous glance at Ivan, who was standing eerily still against the wall by the emergency exit, smiling benignly – sharing a room with Alfred really was his only feasible option if he didn't want to spend two nights sleeping on a park bench. He glanced at his suitcase, which he felt certain Alfred would not relinquish without a fight. Remembering that his wallet and his emergency supply of tea bags – he would not stand for drinking any of the rubbish Americans had the audacity to call by the same name – were in it, he grudgingly admitted defeat.
"Ugh, fine, you bloody git," he conceded, face heating up again, pointedly avoiding looking Alfred in the eye. "I-I suppose I don't have a choice –"
"Yeah, slumber party!" Alfred shouted, pumping his fist in the air. "This is gonna be so awesome, you'll see." He grabbed Arthur's hand excitedly, pulling the flustered Briton away from the check-in desk and toward the elevators.
"Bloody Trekkies," Arthur cursed under his breath, glaring daggers at an overweight Klingon as he passed by. And as he stumbled along behind Alfred, trying to keep up with the larger nation's long strides, Arthur couldn't help but wonder what he'd gotten himself into.
oOo
"Just so we're clear, it's entirely your fault if I die due to food poisoning," Arthur grumbled, clutching at his stomach.
"You're the one who wanted to 'get something to bloody eat as quickly as possible'," Alfred countered with a grin, finishing the last part of his sentence in a bad imitation of Arthur's accent. "S'not my fault McDonald's was the closest available restaurant." He put his hands behind his head, looking smug. Arthur scowled and silently urged his feet to move faster; he hadn't had time for a nap before the start of the conference and had long since begun to feel the effects of the five hour time difference. The hotel was only a block away, but the trek seemed to be taking forever.
The two nations were heading back to the hotel after a very late dinner. The first meeting had gone on much longer than planned – namely due to the fact that no one had been able to agree as to which topic they should discuss first – which was unfortunate but not unexpected, and by the time it had let out the hotel restaurant had closed for the night. Having spent most of his energy during the meeting arguing with Francis and Antonio, avoiding Ivan and trying to prevent Alfred from boasting about how he and Arthur were going back to his room together after the meeting – Kiku and Elizaveta had both had a field day with that, to Arthur's intense chagrin – he was in no mood to argue when Alfred had eagerly suggested they get dinner together.
"In any case," Arthur continued, trying to massage a knot out of his shoulder and walk in a straight line at the same time, "I'm absolutely exhausted. So no movies or television when we get back to the room." He abstained vehemently from using the term 'our room' and averted his gaze to his feet, hoping he wasn't blushing again but knowing he probably was.
"Aw, but what's the point of having a slumber party if we're not gonna have fun?" Alfred pouted. Arthur made very sure not to look at him, knowing he'd be wearing his kicked puppy look and not wanting to deal with having to resist it.
"Why do you think it's called a slumber party, git?" he replied testily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "But it's not a slumber party," he added as an afterthought. "We're not adolescent girls, you know."
Alfred huffed childishly and frowned, but ended up chuckling at the scowl on Arthur's face. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to make faces or else you'll freeze that way?" he laughed, poking the side of Arthur's face. "Although knowing you that might actually have already happened," Alfred continued, still chuckling to himself. They had reached the hotel by now; Arthur grumbled a half-hearted 'bugger off' and swatted Alfred's hand away as he pushed the door open, too preoccupied with the prospect of finally getting some sleep to retort with any real rancour. The hotel lobby was cooler now, fresh and soothing after the muggy air of the city street. Arthur crossed the lobby sluggishly, not bothering trying to keep up with Alfred this time. He nearly fell asleep in the elevator on the way to the floor Alfred's room was on, which they fortunately reached just as Arthur was on the verge of keeling over. He started to alertness as the doors dinged open, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm.
"Wow, you must be really tired," Alfred observed, watching with a touch of concern as Arthur stumbled his way out of the elevator.
"I'm fine," Arthur retorted, making to wave his hand in Alfred's general direction but ending up using it to stifle a massive yawn. "Although I don't think I've ever been in a lift that moved so slowly." He cast an irritated sidelong glance at Alfred as though it was his fault. "Just let me go to sleep when we get to the room and there won't be a problem," he added, attempting to sound menacing but failing completely.
Alfred took what felt like forever to locate the key card in his wallet – honestly, how many credit cards did one man need? – and open the door with it once they reached the room. Arthur marched past him once the door was open, wasting no time in grabbing his toiletries and pyjamas and locking himself in the bathroom. He ran through his night time routine quickly, eager to be asleep. He brushed his teeth in a daze, pausing to take an aspirin for the headache that had finally caught up with him. He exited the bathroom to find Alfred staring quizzically at the neatly folded pile of blankets and extra pillows that was resting on his bed.
"Whassis?" Alfred asked bluntly, pointing.
"Extra bedding," Arthur replied tiredly, moving over to the bed and gathering the blankets and pillow into his arms. "I called room service and asked them to bring it up before we left for the meeting."
"Well yeah, but what's it for?" Alfred continued, rubbing the back of his head in confusion.
"To sleep on, of course," Arthur replied, looking at Alfred in surprise. "For me, on the floor…?" he added when Alfred continued to look lost. "This room doesn't have a sofa, and there's only one bed, so obviously I'll have to sleep on the floor –"
"Wait, what?" Alfred said loudly, suddenly understanding. "What are you talking about?"
"Well I'll admit it's a tad undignified," Arthur conceded, "but it's better than sleeping outside. Where else would I sleep?"
"On the bed, duh!" Alfred declared, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"W-with you?" Arthur spluttered, inwardly cursing his pale complexion for making the violent blush that now graced his cheeks even more apparent.
"Well yeah," Alfred replied, as though that was obvious, too. "What's wrong with that? We slept in the same bed all the time when I was younger."
"Y-yes," Arthur said, looking anywhere but at Alfred, "but that was ages ago. It's not the same thing."
"Sure it is," Alfred replied cheerily, leaning over to ruffle Arthur's hair. "I'm gonna go put on my PJ's now," he declared, turning towards the bathroom before Arthur could say anything. "But I'm definitely not gonna let you sleep on the floor," he added, as though that settled things. Arthur scowled at Alfred's back as he disappeared into the bathroom and patted his hair self-consciously, cheeks still flaming red.
He waited until he heard the click of the lock and running water coming from within the bathroom before turning to resume the making of his bed. The only available space was, unfortunately, right next to the bed, but Arthur was damned if he was going to give in to Alfred's will. Wanker, he thought angrily, hurriedly jerking the blankets and pillow into place and laying down. I'll bloody well sleep wherever I want to. Reasoning that Alfred wouldn't have the nerve to physically move him from the floor if he was sleeping, Arthur tried his best to drift off before the other was finished in the bathroom. No matter how many times he changed his position or fluffed his pillow, however, Arthur found that he could not fall asleep. Dammit! he thought, scowling furiously and trying to find a comfortable position. He began to panic when he heard the click of the lock and the door swinging open, scrunching his eyes shut and going still beneath the fluffy comforter. Maybe if I just pretend to be asleep he'll let it alo –
"I know you're awake, Arthur," Alfred said, and Arthur heard his companion's feet brush to a stop on the carpet somewhere near his head. Arthur was a bit surprised that Alfred had used his proper name, and took it grudgingly as a sign of the other nation's seriousness. Alfred sighed dramatically when Arthur refused to acknowledge him, and nudged his side with his foot. "Seriously, Iggy. You're never gonna get a good night's sleep on the floor like that. It has to be super uncomfortable."
Arthur growled in irritation and pulled the comforter over his head, unwilling to admit that Alfred was right. He heard Alfred stepping over him, followed by the creaking of bedsprings, and thought for a moment that Alfred had decided to drop the issue. He looked up in surprise, peeking out from under the comforter to stare at the edge of the bed. A moment later Alfred's face appeared, startling him. His hands gripped the edge of the mattress as he peered at Arthur in frustration.
"C'mon, be reasonable," he goaded, tone decidedly whiny. "What kind of a hero would I be if I let you sleep down there all alone?" Arthur spluttered, ducking back under the covers to hide his blush.
"T-the bed's too small for the both of us," he muttered lamely, voice muffled by the comforter. "And it's your room, so you should be the one to sleep in it."
"There's plenty of room," Alfred countered loudly. "Plus I want to share," he added, leaning further over the edge of the bed and trying to catch Arthur's gaze, which Arthur was doing his best to prevent. "I can see how tired you are, and you're going to be even grumpier than usual all weekend if you don't get some sleep."
Silence fell for a moment, Alfred leaning over the side of the bed earnestly and Arthur blushing under his pile of blankets, the latter trying to decide which was the lesser of two evils: staying where he was and suffering through the remainder of the conference in a state of near exhaustion, or swallowing his pride and climbing into bed with Alfred, of all people. His face flushed yet again at the thought, his heartbeat quickening traitorously. Stupid, he chided himself, resisting the urge to smack himself on the forehead and biting back another yawn. Finding that air under the comforter was growing stale, Arthur poked his head out into the open. He glanced over at Alfred, resolve wavering, and was greeted by a full-force kicked puppy look. Arthur froze, green eyes locking with Alfred's blue ones. Damn it all, he thought, trying to look away and failing stupendously. The silence deepened as the two nations stared at each other, and Arthur felt his eyes beginning to water with the sustained effort of resisting Alfred's pleading expression.
"Fine!" Arthur finally cried, throwing the blankets off and sitting up. "If it will get you to stop staring at me, then fine, I'll sleep in the bloody bed." He stood up, blushing spectacularly, and crossed his arms, glaring at Alfred expectantly. "Well, budge up, will you?"
Alfred blinked in surprise for a few moments before bursting into raucous laughter. He moved over obligingly, however, patting the empty space beside him. Arthur heard him trying to choke out something about his expression being hilarious between giggles and chose to ignore him, climbing into the bed and arranging the sheets around himself awkwardly. He hugged his knees to his chest and glared at Alfred, who was wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "Must you sleep without a shirt on?" he hissed, realizing for the first time that Alfred was wearing only a pair of red and blue pyjama bottoms.
"Yep," Alfred replied merrily, still chuckling a bit. "S'more comfortable this way." He winked at Arthur before removing his glasses, placing them carefully on his nightstand and turning off the table lamp that also rested there. "Speaking of which, this is much better than the cold floor, amirite?" Arthur grunted in reply and, feeling a wave of exhaustion roll over him, laid back against his pillow in defeat.
"Just go put a shirt on, you bloody git. Don't try to change the subject. But yes, fine, the bed is very comfortable," he muttered. Alfred sighed, grumbling something about Arthur's inability to 'loosen up', but rolled out of bed anyway to go find a shirt. Arthur closed his eyes and tried to relax as Alfred pulled the shirt on and returned to bed; he was painfully aware of the mattress moving as Alfred lay down. "I'm going to sleep now, if you don't mind," Arthur said once Alfred was settled. He inched over so he was as close to the far edge of the bed as he could be without falling off. He glanced over at Alfred as he reached to turn off his bedside lamp, startled to see that the American was lying on his side and gazing at him, head propped up on his hand. "I thought I told you to stop staring at me," Arthur sputtered, laying back down and thanking the now-darkness of the room for hiding what felt like his hundredth blush in the past few minutes.
"Mnyeah," came Alfred's lazy reply, and although Arthur could not see his face, he knew the other man was grinning. "But I've gotta make sure you don't try sneaking back onto the floor. So I'm gonna watch you like this 'til you fall asleep."
Arthur huffed, intensely irritated at both Alfred's persistence and that he was actually enjoying the fact that the younger nation was apparently so concerned for his wellbeing. Or maybe the git just really likes seeing me in a huff, he thought moodily, rolling over so he was facing away from Alfred. Despite his irritation and the fact that his cheeks were still burning with embarrassment, Arthur found himself drifting off almost immediately. He rolled lazily onto his back after a few minutes, finding that position more comfortable than the hunched up one he had been occupying. Damned American, he thought drowsily, turning his head and sighing into his pillow. Of course he had to be right about something like this.
He wasn't angry anymore, however, not really. The sound of Alfred's slow breathing and the odd scent – a mixture of coffee, McDonald's food, mint toothpaste and soap – that emanated from him were proving to be strangely soothing. And as he finally slipped into blessed unconsciousness, Arthur realized with a vague twinge of dismay that the comfort he was experiencing now didn't have quite so much to do with the mattress beneath him as it did with the man lying next to him.
oOo
Alfred knew Arthur was asleep by the way his breathing evened out and the seemingly perpetual scowl left his face for a look of serene contentment. It had taken only a few minutes for him to drift off, but Alfred continued to gaze at him rather than lying down and going to sleep himself, even though he was certain Arthur wouldn't be waking up in the middle of the night and trying to return to the floor – he had been much too tired for that. Although he'd been lying tensely at the very edge of the bed a few minutes ago, Arthur had relaxed in his sleep and was now sprawled on his back closer to the centre of the mattress. Alfred smiled to himself as the smaller man snored delicately, biting back a chuckle.
He would never admit it to him, but Alfred had always loved watching Arthur sleep. Not that he'd had much of an opportunity in recent years, but the softness of Arthur's features, the way he laid half curled up and clutching at the sheets, relaxed, unguarded and vulnerable, made Alfred's chest swell with an inexplicable happiness. He could just barely see in the dimness without his glasses, but he treasured the moment, a soft smile gracing his lips, and continued to study Arthur's features, ignoring his own tiredness.
Despite his desire to watch Arthur sleep for a bit longer – which was totally not creepy, he assured himself – Alfred found that his eyelids were drooping. He was just about to give in to his drowsiness and lie down when a soft noise from the man laying beside him made him pause.
"Al...fred…"
Alfred leaned closer to Arthur in the darkness, straining his ears and wondering if he'd heard correctly. "Iggy?" he whispered at length, wondering if the other was actually awake.
"Alfred…" Arthur mumbled again, sighing. Alfred was marvelling at this new development, wondering what to make of it, when Arthur suddenly moved, rolling over and throwing his arms around Alfred's waist. Alfred froze, completely taken aback. He could hear his heart beating in his ears and felt his cheeks heat up at the sudden contact. His face soon softened into a small smile, however. He was sure now that Arthur was asleep; he would never make such an open display of affection while he was conscious, Alfred noted wistfully.
Alfred felt a strong desire to return this display of affection, no matter how unconscious it was. Shifting into a slightly more comfortable position he wrapped his arms around Arthur's slight form, cradling the smaller man to his chest. He tucked Arthur's head under his chin, snorting as scruffy blond hair tickled his face. Arthur mumbled something vague in response to the noise, snuggling his face into Alfred's chest and sighing again. Alfred smiled at this, imagining what Arthur's reaction would be if he were to tell him about it in the morning. He'd probably blow a fuse or explode or something, Alfred thought to himself, chuckling quietly.
He closed his eyes when he was sure that Arthur wasn't on the verge of waking up, the busyness of the day weighing down on him. He breathed slowly through his nose, relaxed and feeling utterly at peace, and let sleep slowly catch up with him. There'd be hell to pay in the morning when Arthur woke up and found himself in this position, Alfred knew, but it was worth it. He could feel Arthur's heart beating in time with his own, Arthur's warm breath fluttering across his chest, Arthur's legs tangled with his, Arthur's hands on his back clutching his shirt.
As his consciousness waned Alfred marvelled at the sensation of simply being this close, and knew that despite all their bickering and awkwardness, he and Arthur fit best together like this.
Yeah yeah, so the ending was insanely clichéd and sappy and oh god the fluff. OTL I just couldn't help it with these two. xD;; I don't have much experience writing fluff (well, none, really ^^;), but I found this to be really enjoyable. I hope everyone was in character. Keeping in mind that this is my first time writing for this fandom, reviews and constructive criticism are especially appreciated (and letting me know if you see any spelling mistakes or grammatical errors would be cool too!). :3
Oh, and for anyone who's interested, here's my stance on the whole 'Iggy' versus 'Artie' thing: I know some people are of the opinion that Alfred shouldn't call Arthur 'Iggy' because the name is derived from the Japanese name for Britain (Igirisu). Alfred is American and speaks English, and would therefore naturally base Arthur's nickname from his own language. So it makes sense for Alfred not to call him that in fics set during the WWII time period (especially because the Allies were fighting Japan at that time), or any earlier time period for that matter. But I think 'Iggy' is a really cute nickname. x3;; So for fics set in modern times, my reasoning is that since Alfred and Kiku are friends in modern times, Alfred could have picked up the name 'Igirisu' from him, and then liked it and shortened it to 'Iggy' for the purpose of bugging the heck out of Arthur. :D
So that's my spiel on that. Thanks for listening to me ramble. x3
~Gypsy