Author's Note: I'm sorry for not updating my larger stories, but I've been running into a large writer's block lately and I really need to get away from it for a little bit. I get really nervous and insecure about my writing so the big stories intimidate me sometimes, even though I enjoy writing them. I hope you can forgive me! I'm just writing a short one-shot based on a prompt I got from an Anonymous on Tumblr. "America likes arguing with England at the world meetings because it gives them something to talk about."
Hetalia belongs to Himapapa, I could only dream of creating such marvelous foolishness such as this.
Empty Words
Alfred tapped his foot impatiently.
He hated world meetings. And he sure as hell knew just about everyone else sitting in the stuffy conference room with him felt just the same.
At the moment, Kiku was speaking from his seat in the long wooden table, dark brown eyes serious and hands placed on the wooden surface in a business-like manner. Despite his stoic appearance, Alfred could see that he too, lacked full enthusiasm for the topic at hand. (This was: the current state of the economy as well as currency value, inflation, and blah blah blah…)
The American nation looked down at the papers sitting in front of him with general disinterest. Thinking of ways to distract himself, he grabbed the water bottle placed on his right, taking a swig. Next he gazed at his warped reflection in the shiny name card, printed with the words: United States of America. A little Star-Spangled Banner was placed next to it on a little black pole. Soon after he began tapping his pen around, tracing imaginary pictures over the dark little words on the paper.
Half an hour passed and he was still bored.
He wanted to talk to Arthur.
He always did, but today the urge came even stronger than usual, making him bolder. Before he could stop himself, he looked up in the direction of the Englishman, and his mouth opened.
And that's how it all started.
"No I do not sing in the shower, America. What kind of ridiculous question is that?"
It had been two weeks since the blond American started talking endlessly to Arthur during world meetings – arguing, actually. He would conjure up topics out of nowhere and poke and prod the English nation with endless things to provoke him.
He had tried his hardest to resist him every time (After all, a gentleman is not easily provoked), but in the end, the two of them always managed to break into a fight.
Now they were at yet another conference, and the other nations watched as what was sure to be another argument began between the two English-speaking countries, some in annoyance, others in amusement, and some in weary resignation. Many chose to ignore it as best they could.
Heracles snored as a cat peered out from underneath his suit.
"It's not a ridiculous question! I just figured if ya like to embroider and act like a little ol' lady all the time, you're not very manly at all. So that means you probably sing in the shower like a girl too." Alfred grinned, blue eyes shining behind his glasses.
"I am manly in every sense of the word! You shouldn't bring up personal things during meetings anyway, and for the last time I do not sing in the bloody shower."
The both of them were standing now.
Arthur crossed his arms, brows furrowed.
"…Besides, I'm not the one who breaks out into random Broadway numbers during meetings."
And that set Alfred off. His chair moved back and he stood up, looming over the Briton. A few nations looked up warily.
"Hey! That's not fair! You can't just say things like that in public!"
"It's not a secret Alfred; we've all heard you sing before." Arthur deadpanned.
Which was true. All of the nations seated could testify to that. And Alfred knew it.
"Sh-Shut up! You and your stupid eyebrows – "
Said eyebrow twitched.
" – your cooking is godawful and you talk to the air – "
Arthur's chair moved back as well. He made his way around the table and marched to Alfred grabbing him by the collar.
"I'm sorry Mister Look-At-My-Freedom-Even-Though-I-Don't-Have-Free-H ealth-Care! Maybe you should learn to shut that insolent trap of yours and – "
"Well you're a small-ass shortie who drinks nothing but tea all day!"
Alfred (and Francis) watched with glee as Arthur's face turned a furious shade of red. His hold on Alfred's collar tightened.
"Bollocks! You're a fat-ass who eats nothing but Big Macs all day long and whose arse I could beat to hell and back!"
"You couldn't beat thirteen states – let alone fifty!"
The two of them argued all the way to the end of the meeting. They were still there when the other countries shuffled slowly out of the room, leaving the rather entertaining spectacle behind them. (Ludwig originally wanted to stay back and break the fight, but was led out of the room by an extremely animated Feliciano) Francis stayed behind the open door listening with uncontainable joy, a worried Matthew next to him. Out of kindness, Kiku stayed behind as well.
The three exchanged glances, it had already been forty minutes and neither side had stopped.
All gentlemanly reserves cast aside; Arthur spoke in an unnaturally high, but mocking voice.
"Ooh look at me! I'm Alfred the fuckin' hero and I'm a stupid idiot who snores like a hippo in his sleep!"
"And I'm Arthur the drunk-as-hell alcoholic loner who pretends to be a gentleman!"
Alfred's face was flushed, as was Arthur's. But the American looked much more amused the than Englishman. He was grinning from ear to ear, sneering. Arthur made no effort to hide his rage. His knuckles gripped Alfred's collar so tightly they turned white.
"You damn—"
His other hand balled into a fist and met with Alfred's nose.
Colorful American curse words sounded from the back of the car.
"Oh do be quiet." Arthur muttered, "Don't start blubbering over a few scratches."
Alfred scowled.
His nose was broken, and his stomach was in pain. He also forgot the Briton could kick like a bitch. Alfred rubbed his shin, his scowl deepening.
Arthur hadn't gotten away with a scratch either. A bandage covered his right cheek, which had been bruised as the result of a nice haymaker. His sandy-blonde hair stood up in strange angles from being pulled. The only good thing was that his nosebleed had finally stopped. And they were going back to their hotel.
Their fight had started to get quite violent before even Francis agreed that it was getting out of hand and helped Matthew and Kiku subdue the two blabbering nations.
After they were properly patched up and their injuries checked, the Frenchman volunteered to drive them all to the hotel all the nations were staying at. Kiku politely declined the invitation, and let the four blondes take up the car, choosing instead to make use of local transportation. Matthew sat next to Alfred, shooting him glances of disapproval. Arthur and Francis was side by side, Francis driving the car.
"I'm sure we're all just tired, a nice rest in the hotel will make it better." said Matthew gently.
"That's right," Francis added, glancing at Canada and winking, "you and I can have a nice rest in my room can't we, mon cher?"
Arthur rolled his eyes as Matthew blushed madly.
"I've had enough of one idiot for today, Frog. Try not to make it any worse for me."
Francis merely laughed and drove on.
They pulled into the parking lot and the four got out of the car, walking into the hotel and wordlessly entering their rooms. Alfred noticed Francis escorting his twin none-too subtly to his own room, a delighted twinkle in his indigo eyes.
And so the afternoon ended.
The fights continued. Week after week, month after month. Ludwig nearly lost his voice shouting at the pair to stop, much to the despair of Feliciano.
Alfred didn't mind. He liked his fights with Arthur. They saved him from the dreary meetings, but more importantly, they gave him and Arthur something to talk about. He liked fighting – talking, to Arthur very much. They never talked this much (or received so many injuries from each other during a time free of war) before he started picking fights. The arguments kept his mind and tongue sharp. He lay in bed at night afterwards, grinning as he recalled their banter, and Arthur's funny face that he made when he was infuriated.
Arthur did mind. He was yelling himself hoarse and was close to suffering the same fate as his German counterpart. He never understood why the American was always deliberately going out of his way to pick fights with him recently. He wondered if he had done something to anger him.
But Alfred never seemed angry; in fact Arthur would catch him grinning suspiciously to himself as they broke away. Just what was that lad up to?
A month later he still couldn't figure it out. Arthur stumbled into his hotel room with a black eye this time, collapsing onto the white sheets. He reached over and took a swig from a water bottle, trying to bring his dying voice back to life.
It didn't stop. Alfred was pushing Arthur to the edge. He could see it himself. But he didn't stop. He wanted to keep on talking to Arthur. He loved talking to Arthur (although the Englishman's voice was as dry and raspy as sandpaper, his accent grating on his words). Nobody bothered to stop them anymore. All they received were concerned looks now.
The fights were always particularly satisfying when he would come up with a burning hot comeback that showed visibly in Arthur's expression. Ha. Stinky old man.
Shit.
Alfred frowned, confused, and a little concerned .
The end of another fight, or so he thought. Arthur looked fed up. He had cornered him in his hotel room, heedless of the fact that it was well past eleven.
Emerald eyes narrowed at him. A voice wispy and faded, but it still carried fury.
"Can we please stop this already? We're both acting foolish."
He smirked.
"Oh? Are you backing down now?"
Arthur gave him a quelling look. He decided now was not the time for petty bickering anymore. The verbal jabs and punches without a reasonable basis. The blows delivered with empty words.
"Why are you fighting with me?"
Trust Arthur to go straight to the point. When Alfred didn't reply, Arthur continued.
"Is it something that I'm doing?" He looked away, "Personally I thought we were on pretty good terms recently, all things considered. But I guess not."
He waited for an answer.
When he didn't get one, he glanced at Alfred with a strange expression, and turned towards the door.
"Wait."
The Briton turned.
Alfred walked closer, glancing at Arthur, and then directed his gaze towards the wall.
"I've been fighting with you because, well..."
He gave a sheepish smile and finished his sentence.
"...it gives us something to talk about. And I like talking with you, Artie."
Arthur's expression changed to that of disbelief.
"Really?"
"Yeah." Alfred laughed. Now that the words finally came out of his mouth, it sounded almost silly. He didn't notice Arthur standing in front of him again.
"You damn moron."
"Huh?"
He looked up. If he was expecting anything, it definitely wasn't that.
"You heard me. You're a damn moron. The most stupid one I've ever met."
The corners of Arthur's mouth turned up into a beautiful smile, and Alfred didn't know whether he was supposed to feel extremely offended or pleasantly surprised.
"If you wanted to talk with me then you could've just said so. I wouldn't have minded..." The last sentence was spoken more softly than the first one. "...even though I know there's absolutely nothing in here." He ended that statement with a little tap on Alfred's skull.
Alfred's mind finally registered that he was supposed to feel offended, although deep inside he was sure it was quite the opposite.
"You're such a meanie, Artie." His smile was just as soft.
Arthur gave a soft, raspy chuckle.
"I mean it though. As much as I enjoy talking to you, I would prefer if we refrain from shouting out conversations all the time. We're capable of civilized conversation, are we not?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"Well if that's clear, I need to get going now. It's almost midnight. Good night, Alfred."
"Wait."
"What is it now?"
Alfred took Arthur's pale hand and pulled him close, giving him a light peck on the lips. The Englishman almost jumped out if his skin in shock and his glittering green eyes were wide.
"Well good night!" Alfred pushed the stunned sand-blonde towards the door, through the hallway, and into his own room, closing the door gently behind him.
He made his way back to his own room in the dark. And as he lay in bed later that night, the grin on his face wider than ever, and was not there because of a fine day of arguing, but of the possibilities that lay ahead. For him and Arthur.
Author's Note: The End! I hope the ending was okay, I'm not very used to write short stories like these, so sorry if this sucks. I know my writing really isn't that great. ^^ But please R&R! I would really appreciate it if you do. And if anyone wants to, I can post an omake, and a bloopers chapter. (and if no one reviews, I'll still post them, albeit with a lot less enthusiasm) Once again it would mean a lot if you typed, just one review. Thanks for reading!
- aquamarinetiger98