A/N: My first Ameripan! (Banzai! Banzai!) And, technically, my first PruCan, too (smexy stuff)...
For all of you waiting for a new chapter of 'My Friend Natalia' (AmeBelCan), I'm really sorry...my internet server keeps crashing, so it'll be a while before I can update...I'll start working on a new chapter ASAP.
But for now, enjoy this Ameripan!
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. If I did, Matt and Al would continuously exchange looks to confuse the other countries. Like they do in this fanfic.
Pancakes for Kiku
Kiku slung his bag onto one shoulder and checked his watch for the time. Five minutes to four. He turned to Arthur coming up behind him. "Kirkland-san, we must hurry. The buses will leave."
Arthur waved Kiku's worry away. "Oh, don't worry, Honda. If the buses leave, we could always take the tube. And even if the buses left, old chap," he said, taking in Kiku's worried look, "you could always ride with me. Don't get your Wellies in a twist."
At that, Kiku got even more worried. Even though he'd offered, Kiku would always decline—Arthur drove like an absolute maniac. Kirkland-san was a nice...'chap', but he didn't understand how Kiku felt. Even though Arthur was shortlisted as one of the exchange students for Kiku's university in Japan, he was yet to learn the Japanese way. He was well meaning, but even after having been in America for so many years, the British hadn't been beaten out of him. Kiku couldn't image him adjusting to the Japanese way in a matter of a few months.
As far as he was concerned, few students had adjusted to his Japanese way—nobody had truly understood it.
Nobody except him.
He shook his head quickly, pushing that thought out. He was not going to—
"Alfred Jones, you get down right now!" Arthur's shout jolted him into the present. He looked up, seeing what Arthur had seen.
And his blood ran cold.
Alfred was on the ledge of the wall, posing for his two friends standing below him, clicking pictures. At Arthur's yell, the two students turned around, panicked at the thought of having to meet their disapproving senior. Al, surprised, took a step back—into nothing.
Before he could squeak, the back of his other leg hit the rail, he toppled over—
Kiku didn't know when he reacted—he was tearing across the corridor, his bag thrown off his shoulder, and followed Alfred into the air and down six floors.
The fear in Al's blue eyes burned into his brain—a part of him said that it was a sight etched into his mind. "Remove your jacket!" Kiku yelled, but the ripping wind carried his words off. With an uncharacteristic growl, he tore off his own shirt—Al was too shocked to do anything. Remembering his diving training, he rolled himself into a ball, and rotated in the air.
Take his hand. Remove his fear. Take his hand.
The wind whistled in his ears agonizingly. Kiku quickly unrolled, and hit the water before Alfred did—he'd misjudged his own speed. But it didn't matter. Al fell into the water painfully, backfirst. Kiku swam up to him, and removed his jacket as quickly as he could. His lungs were burning; his nostrils felt like they were caving in. He rose to the surface, took a deep breath, and dove back in. He looped Al's hand around his shoulder, then pulled him onto his back. Kiku hooked one arm below Alfred's butt and his other hand held Al's arm close to the former's chest. Keeping Al in place, Kiku quickly surfaced. He didn't bother turning back—Al wasn't breathing. He couldn't feel his breath.
He moved to the edge, eyes burning, not just because of the chlorine.
You better live, anata baka. You better live.
He got off, and felt the brunt of Al's full weight—the water had reduced his weight. It wasn't the time to stagger. He heaved Al off him and put him on his back. Tears rolled down his wet cheeks, mingling with the chlorinated water. He tore apart Al's shirt, and pressed his fingers to Al's neck. His other hand snaked to Al's wrist.
Pulse, pulse, pulse—
There was a pulse. There was a pulse.
Relief burst from somewhere in Kiku's chest, but he moved quickly. Hw placed his hand on Al's forehead, two fingers on his chin, and tilted the head back. That opened the rose to his knees, and placed both his palms on Al's chest. Chest compressions. Kiku pushed rapidly, remembering the tune the school nurse had taught them during first-aid classes. Ta-dum-ta-da-dum. He heard Arthur and the two others run up to them. "Call an ambulance! One of you, get the infirmary doctor!"
Arthur quickly snapped into action—he pulled out his cellphone while barking orders at the other two. He sent one at the gate to wait for the ambulance, and the other to the infirmary doctor. He quickly dialled 911 and called for an ambulance. He snapped his cellphone shut and got onto his knees next to Kiku. "What can I do?"
"Have you...ever done this...before?"
"I've taken first aid classes." At Kiku's glare, he answered the questions. "I can be taught."
"Learn quickly. Heel of right hand on his breastbone, other hand on top. And push as quickly as I am. Can you do that?"
Arthur nodded, but Kiku wasn't even looking at him. "Yes." At Kiku's grunt, Arthur positioned himself on top of Alfred. "Ready."
Kiku got off, and Arthur began the chest compressions. Kiku leaned towards Al's open mouth. "Arthur, hold." Kiku took a deep breath, and pressed his mouth to Al's, sealing it. He quickly pushed the breath down Al's windpipe, and rose up for more, motioning Arthur to continue. He took another deep breath, held his hand up, and sealed Al's mouth again. He pushed the oxygen down Al's throat, and rose.
Come on, come on, come on—
Water rushed up Al's windpipe, and he burst into a coughing fit. He rolled onto his side and curled up, coughing and gulping air at the same time. Kiku fell back, let the tears stream down his cheeks.
Kare wa daijōbuda. He's alright. He's alright.
The university doctor reached them first. Behind him was the boy, carrying towels and blankets. Arthur quickly rose, grabbed two, and flung one at Kiku. It was only then that Kiku felt the full force of the cold wind blowing at them, and began shivering. He slowly began unpeeling the blanket with shaking fingers. Arthur unfurled the other blanket he held, and wrapped it around Al.
The infirmary doctor told the boy to drop the blankets and towels and run to the other boy, and tell them that everything had been brought under control, and they were free to waste their time if they wanted to. Knowing the mental density of the boy, Arthur rephrased that sentence and sent the lad on his way. After checking on Al, the doctor turned to Arthur, asking him to give him a blow-by-blow of the events that took place.
"K-Kiku..."
Kiku looked up, saw Al crawl over to him. "A-Al-kun, you mustn't"—
With a giddy yet somehow tired smile, Al placed a finger on Kiku's lips. "Shh." He frowned. "You're so cold, Kiku." He took the blanket from Kiku's hand, and unfurled it. Holding it in one hand, he spread his arms invitingly. "Come here," he whispered.
Without an argument, Kiku crawled into his arms, engulfed by Al's warmth, trapped between Al's strong chest and the blanket he'd wrapped around both of them. "I-I thought"—
"Arigato, Kiku."
Kiku raised his head, felt Al's clammy lips close to his. "Arigato." Al's lips were warmer than his own, and when they closed on his, Kiku felt all the cold vanish—the cold of the winter breeze, the chill upon seeing those fear-filled blue eyes—replaced by the warmth of the sun and a thought that would never go away—
Watashi wa anata o aishite.
"You really should wait. Honda. Al"—
"The Japanese don't care for long, drawn out farewells." That wasn't completely true. He'd had an emotionally charged farewell when he'd left Japan, but back there, he hadn't expected someone like Al to bid him goodbye here.
Besides, if he saw Al, he would never summon the courage within him to go back to Japan.
Arthur's face fell. "It's Al, Kiku. He'd probably bawl if you left without saying goodbye."
"I did say goodbye," Kiku said, averting his eyes at the lie. Before Arthur could pick out the lie, Kiku quickly said, "I have to go back, Kirkland-san. And Al..."
"You'd probably never leave his embrace when he'd say goodbye," Arthur said, understanding. "Sayonara, Kiku."
"Sayonara, watashi no yujin. See you in Japan."
Kiku turned around, and missed Arthur's thoughtful look by seconds. He made his way through the customs and check-ins, and finally boarded the plane bound to Japan.
Nihon, watashinoie.
If Japan was truly his home, then why was there a ton of lead in his heart?
Kiku unlatched the stay, and pushed his luggage into the upper compartment space. He then went and sat down on his seat next to the window, and thought, thought all the way back to that first day of his student exchange program...
"Everyone, this is Honda Kiku, the exchange student from Japan's W University. Honda, this is your class for the next two months."
Kiku bowed and introduced himself in the traditional Japanese way, while speaking English. His mind went on overdrive as he watched them for their reactions. It was always useful, looking at people's reactions to traditional Japanese. There were a few people who truly appreciated the customs of other countries, and it was always good to know who they were. And to those who controlled their sniggers—well, it went without saying. He would avoid them.
His eyes flew across the class—and rested on a blue-eyed blonde. He wasn't sniggering, but neither was he smiling encouragingly. He was just...looking. Kiku's stoic expression gave way to a tiny, tiny frown. He was surrounded by students trying to hide their smirks. Some were even joking into his ear. But he...just looked. He kept looking at Kiku as if a traditional Japanese introduction was something everyday for him.
His eyes were as inscrutable as Kiku's, and something lit up within Kiku.
Chōsen. A challenge.
And the Japanese loved challenges.
*x*
"Ohayo!"
Kiku turned to the sound of the accented Japanese, and heard someone else say, "Mein Gott, Feliciano! Don't ruin the word!"
He saw a burgundy-haired boy grinning at him. "Good morning, Kiku-kun!"
"And don't be so informal!"
A sad frown appeared on the boy's face. "Aw, Ludwig, I'm just being nice." He turned back, and switched on that megawatt-smile at Kiku. "You don't mind, do you?"
It was impolite in Japan to be so informal to a person, especially strangers. And he only knew that the burgundy-haired...italian's name was Feliciano, and the german's name was Ludwig. But, his mind told him, you aren't in Japan. He shook his head, and smiled. "I do not. But do introduce yourselves."
"I'm Feliciano Vargas! And this is my best friend in the whole world, Ludwig Beilschmidt. He might seem stern, but he's the sweetest person ever!"
Kiku looked at the blushing german, and chuckled. But before he could say anything, a loud, long and annoying laugh filled the classroom. Kiku turned, and saw the blue-eyed boy sitting on the teacher's table, surrounded by a swarm of people hanging onto his each word. Kiku frowned, and so did Ludwig. "Those loud americans...Ignore them, Honda. It gets us nowhere."
Kiku shrugged, but his eyes locked with bright blue ones. They stayed locked with his for just a moment, but those eyes were filled with something...Kiku felt a jolt of awareness run up his spine, sending goosebumps in their wake. Those eyes...
Those eyes contained something, a hidden secret, that they kept from everyone else. And Kiku, Kami forbid, had a feeling he could read that message.
But why him—
"Alfred Jones, get off that table now!"
Kiku had to look around Feliciano to see a blond haired, green eyed man at the door, his face infused with rage. But what disturbed Kiku more than his angry face were his thick eyebrows, and how they wriggled over his forehead. Kiku shook his head slightly.
"That's Arthur Kirkland. He's a senior prefect. He has a...peculiar relationship with the american."
Immediately, Kiku's gutter mind went to pornography. "Peculiar?"
"He's Al's...mentor. He's taken the American into his house"—
After that, Kiku heard no more—one reason was that his mangaka mind was running on overdrive, visualising panels and imagining scenes between the stiff upper-lipped, tea drinking Britisher and the Hamburger inhaling American. The second reason was the appearance of a bearded character right behind Arthur—he leaned forward and whispered something into Arthur's ear, which turned him pink as a cherry and drove him into an apoplectic rage at the long haired blonde.
While Kiku's mind tried to decide whether the red on Arthur's cheeks was due to rage or embarrassment, Feliciano yelled, "Big brother Francis!", distracting the blonde, who got socked in the face.
"Feliciano, don't go near that man!" Ludwig yelled behind a bouncing Feliciano. He followed the Italian, and curious Kiku followed Ludwig.
Francis pushed Arthur away, who fell back onto Feliciano. Feliciano let out a shriek of terror, and fled, hiding behind Ludwig, wailing his woe to the world. Arthur, off balance and unsupported, fell flat on his butt and let out a yowl.
"Will everyone just shut up!?"
Arthur stopped in mid-yowl, Francis stopped in mid-laugh—actually, a lot of people stopped in mid-laugh—and looked at the enraged German. He turned to all of them, and yelled, "Now, each of you shall mention what you're doing!"
"I-I'm scared of h-him!" Feliciano wailed, pointing at Arthur.
"Feliciano, you must be more of a man!" He turned to Arthur. "What do you want here?"
"I came to meet the exchange student from Japan, of course. I plan to go there myself," he said, dusting himself off primly.
He grunted in acknowledgement, and turned on Francis, who started shaking under the German's murderous gaze. "And you! What are you doing here?"
"I-I came to s-see Feliciano"—
"What bollocks! You just came to irritate me," Arthur said matter-of-factly.
Francis's eyes narrowed. "Why would I want to spend time with a mouton noir like you?"
The incredulity on Arthur's face had Kiku restraining the urge to chuckle. "How dare you?" And they both got down to hailing each other with blows.
Kiku looked at the general pandemonium around him, and smiled.
This was going to be fun.
*x*
Alfred pushed down the urge to laugh long and loudly—Matt wouldn't do that even if he was drunk.
And right now, he was Matt.
Right since when they were babies, it had been supremely hard to distinguish between the two of them. The only quality was Matt's single curly lock, and Al's upswept coil of hair. Their demeanour was completely different, true, but their looks made them indistinguishable.
As they grew up, their differing attitudes got them surrounded by two completely opposite kinds of people—Al was surrounded by loud, boisterous folks while Matt found deep friendship with people as quiet and as shy as himself.
Unlike the rest of the crowd, Matt knew how truly lonely his brother felt, even while being surrounded by a crowd of people that all seemed to talk at once. So, as a joke, Matt suggested they exchange roles and bring out sides of themselves they never knew existed. Both were fantastic actors—Matt was a closeted one—and except for Matt's closest friends, Diego Rodriguez and Lili Zwingli, nobody knew about it.
Al looked at the bear he held. Kumajirou. Unlike his brother, he was really good with names. It was quite awkward, bringing a bear to school, but nobody saw the bear, mostly because nobody saw Matt. And Matt, to Al's incredulity, actually preferred it that way.
Al's ears perked, like they always did, at the sound of a bouncing basketball. His friends often joked that he could hear a basketball bounce a mile away, and he'd be there in seconds. He loved basketball. The game was the game, with no frills or extras. There was a clear goal, and Al could get there as fast as he wanted, as hard as he wanted, and no one could question him. He could lose himself in the quiet slip-slap of the shoes, the rhythmic drumming of the ball and the soaring joy of getting a basket in.
Al walked to the indoor basketball court, checking the time. Nobody ever stayed so long after the noon break—the professors took the lengthier and harder subjects post-lunch, following some logic a lot of people didn't get. It was easiest to get out during that time—no one really noticed his departure then. He usually used the court at the time, but…
He looked around, saw no one, and smiled gleefully. Time to give Matt's reputation a makeover.
He found the large doors of the court open, and peeked inside.
The first thing that came to his mind was clean. Clean dribbling, clean shots and clean lay ups—there was no showiness in the play, in the movements. But there was a style, and there was a flair through the motions—there was a quiet grace in the movements, almost like dancing through a fast-paced song. Without his own knowledge, he slipped inside, watched as the ball moved fluidly from hand to hoop.
He looked at the owner of the hand, and gaped.
Hello. My name is Honda Kiku.
Sensing his presence, Kiku turned, and Al felt the lightning effect of those dark eyes on him. His eyes mesmerized him—he couldn't decide whether they were black, or chocolate brown, or both. But the soul-penetrating look in his eyes was what drew Al to him, and Al's absolute trust in those eyes kept him there.
For some reason, it was as if he'd known him forever.
Kiku smiled at him. "Hello. You are Matthew Williams, yes?"
His heart gave what sounded like a loud, wheezy cough and started again. "I-ah…"
"I have heard of your shyness. I, too, am very shy."
Well, if he was shy, why was he making the conversation? He must've heard about Matt. "I-I see."
"Do you play basketball? I have heard you play phenomenal hockey."
His 'l' syllables all sounded like 'r'…the magic he was weaving didn't last only till his eyes. It was even present in his voice. "I…yes. I play basketball."
Kiku passed the ball to him, and Al was dazed at the power behind the throw. Those spindly arms…they had such force in them. He would've never guessed.
"Well, would you like to play basketball with me?"
Al nodded. From the corner of his eye, he saw a streak of white. Kumajirou must've jumped off sometime before. Well, it just gave him more space to play with.
Let the games begin.
*x*
"Kiku, I saw you reading a comic the other day," Al commented during one of their breaks.
Kiku was flat on the floor. He rose to a sitting position, and looked at Al. "You Canadians have amazing stamina. I was reading manga other day."
Al frowned. "That sounds familiar…"
"Hai. You get lots of translated manga in America. Shall we go shopping today?"
Al blinked. "Like a date?"
Kiku blushed beet-red. "I…don't know."
Al blinked some more. Did Kiku like him?
Huh. That was funny.
Al was in love with Kiku.
*x*
"Pleasepleasepleaseplease"—
"No, Alfred!"
"Just this once!"
"Al, it's dangerous to do it outside school!"
"But I have to meet him, Matt!"
Matt, for once, stood up for himself. "Al, no. I need to go with Gilbert"—
"That lousy, annoying, loud guy?"
Matt chuckled. "Similar much?"
Al huffed. "You guys have been going out for years. This is my first date"—
"I distinctively remember an Alyssa, a Rhonda, a Julie, a Heather"—
"The first one that matters!"
Matt scrutinized Al. "Al, what do you think he'll say when he gets to know he might like the wrong guy?"
Al looked uncertain. "I-I don't know."
The bell rang. "That must be Gilbert." Al fell back into the couch while Matt ran to the door. Al heard loud chirping, "My awesome Matt!" and some really noisy kissing. The noisy kissing grew closer, until they both came into the room, Matt tugging at Gilbert's shirt, Gilbert's hands curved around Matt's ass, all mouth and tongue.
"Stop eating out of each other's faces and get a room!" Al yelled and threw a pillow at them. Gilbert, reflexes extraordinaire, caught it, parted and turned his tousled, sex-hazed face at Al and said, "Go and throw pillows"—
Matt groaned frustatedly, grabbed Gilbert's face and yanked him back, and the face-eating began. Al grabbed his keys, muttered a goodbye to whoever cared, and got out.
His brother and Gilbert…who knew? What was even more surprising—and disturbing for Al, since he'd heard about it for days afterwards—was that it was an instantaneous thing. It had happened during an argument in the showers after a game of hockey, when Matt still hadn't reined in his inner sportsman, and one thing had led to another and they made out in a cubicle.
Correction: They went all the way in a cubicle.
And ever since then, to everyone's shock, they'd started going out.
Thanks to which, Al had to go face Kiku without a disguise.
Al kicked all the poor stones and cans in his way, and found Kiku standing by the grocery store.
"Hel—Alfred-san?"
God, he wanted to remove that mask off Kiku's face, get him to stop using that goddamn neutral tone. "Matt's busy face-eating. Let's go." Still huffy, he started walking, but realized he didn't know where to go. With a sheepish grin, he turned around and asked, "Where is it again?"
Kiku smiled, and Al knew he'd done the right thing. No one could resist that megawatt smile. "This way, Alfred-san."
"You can call me Al-kun, you know," Al said as he caught up with Kiku.
"That would be inappropriate, Alfred-san"—
"It's impolite in Japanese customs to speak to someone you've known for a short while informally." When Kiku turned his curious gaze at Al, he felt sweat break out. "I-ah…Matt told me about these things."
"I see. So you know we are shopping for manga?"
Al nodded, but a loud growl had them both looking at his stomach. He grinned and looked at Kiku. "But, let's eat first, 'kay?"
Kiku sighed. "Lead the way, Al-san."
Al brightened. A compensation. He hopped, skipped and bounced to the nearest McDonalds and ordered ten Happy Meals with ten different toys—a sight smaller than his usual fare, given his inclination to inhale burgers. He carried the trays to a table, and sat down. He began opening all his Happy Meals, and placed the toys in a line on the table.
"You are toy collector, yes?"
"No. They're for you."
Kiku blinked. "For me?"
"Yeah. Take whatever you like. In fact, take it all."
Al knew Kiku's weakness for small, cute toys, and he had McDonald's to thank for more than just hamburgers. Al extended a tall Styrofoam glass of coke, a packet of fries and a hamburger at Kiku, and proceeded to gulp down the rest as Kiku nibbled on his fries. Kiku watched Al, his mangaka side taking everything in for the manga he was working on. He pushed back the hamburger at Al, and sipped on the coke as Al emptied glass after glass. By the time Kiku had finished his fries, they both had one nearly-full glass of coke left.
Kiku put all the toys into his pocket delicately, and the two of them left, coca-cola in hand. Kiku decided to ask questions, and Al gave him answers and history, which greatly surprised Kiku. He hadn't expected the loud-mouthed American to be so well-versed in the history of the small shops and corners in the market square.
"Well, here we are," Al said, throwing his glass into the dustbin next to the bookstore.
"I have not finished yet," Kiku said, and looked at his coca cola sadly. "I do not think I shall finish."
Al leaned over and drank whatever was left in Kiku's glass. Kiku could smell the clean soap smell off his neck, and the scent of apples and strawberries from his hair, and…him. There was no other way to describe it. It was his unique scent.
Doki doki.
What the…? Kiku stared at his chest—or what he could see of it—and kept staring until Al called to him from inside the shop. He quickly followed him in, while his mind spun and reeled.
What was going on?
Al was already leafing through manga, already reading intently. "It goes from right to left"—
"Yeah, I know," Al said, then quickly caught himself. "I mean, Matt told me!" and he decided to let out the ridiculous laugh to hide his embarrassment. Phew, that was close!
Kiku stared at Al intently, which made Al gulp. "What is it?" he asked as calmly as he could.
"You're really close to Matt, aren't you?"
Al frowned. "We're brothers, Kiku-san. We are very close. Long story short, there was some mix up, and he ended up with a Canadian nationality while I ended up with American. And thing was, he hasn't found the need to change it. He likes being a Canadian, I guess."
Kiku frowned thoughtfully. "You do look very similar, though. Pardon me for my rudeness. It is just…strange."
Al wanted to know more—no one ever told him anymore than that. "Strange how?"
"Your…behaviours are"—
"I'm loud and he's not?"
Kiku winced, not just at the straightforwardness of that sentence, but also the bitterness in his tone. "I didn't"—
"Have you ever wondered, Kiku-san, that behind a loud noise there could be an empty vessel?"
And that was the last thing he said in the shop, and on their way outside. His words were eating the insides of Kiku's mind as he tried to understand what it was that he was saying. But, that could wait. Right now… "Al-san…Sumimasen. I am sorry."
Al turned around and let out his laugh. "I'm a hero, Kiku-san! I don't get hurt so easily!"
But you do. "There must be something I can do to make it up to you."
The fake amusement in Al's eyes faded, and Kiku felt the electricity of having those blue eyes look at him intently. He removed his glasses, and Kiku felt those eyes consume him—when had he gotten so close?
"A-Al-san…what are you…?"
"I'm the hero, Kiku," he whispered in a voice that sent his cells zinging. "I can do anything I want." He felt his free hand cup the side of his face, and his head tilted back—on his own or Al's doing, he didn't know. Or care.
All he cared about was the velvety feeling of Al's lips on his, and the tremendous heat flaming inside him.
It was the strangest thing, the non-mushed part of Kiku's brain decided. His hand flew to Al's chest, but Al gently grabbed his hand and guided it to his nape. At the feel of Al's soft hair, Kiku sighed, and felt Al's tongue slip in. He felt…full, he decided as he kissed Al back, both his arms wrapped around Al. He had been waiting for this for so long. Al's teeth captured his tongue, rubbed abrasively. Kiku moaned, and felt Al's grip on him tighten, then loosen. The tiniest part of his brain that had managed to remain solid realized what it was that he was going to do, and he didn't like it the tiniest bit.
With a groan of protest, Kiku lowered his hands to Al's chest and jerked him closer. With a muffled yelp, Al dove right into the kiss, which suddenly flared and grew hotter. His moans intermingled with his grunts, Al's hands were all over, spreading fire, and Kiku couldn't wait to get Al out of his jacket—it would either slip off or be ripped to pieces.
"No, Kiku…Kiku, stop."
Kiku slapped the sides of Al's face. "No."
"Ow."
"Deserve it."
"We'll be fined for public indecency."
"Do you care?"
"Kiku, you care," Al said softly.
And, Kami help him, he did care. And for some reason, Al knew that. "Tomorrow."
Al nodded eagerly. "Tomorrow."
"Basketball d-d-d-date."
Al looked at the blushing Kiku, and felt a blush coming onto his own cheeks. "O-Okay."
Kiku raised his eyes to Al, and Al to his. And they didn't know who snorted in amusement first, but before they knew it, they were both laughing.
And neither could be happier.
*x*
Kiku lined up all the toys onto his workdesk, and sat down to sketch. He had so much ammo, all of which he could use.
As he drew, his mind went to the kiss—Al's hot breath, the smell of strawberries, his strong back underneath that bomber coat, his soft hair tangled in his fingers…
Kiku looked down, and gaped.
Oh no.
The stiff-upper-lipped, tea drinking Briton was no longer naked under the Hamburger inhaling American.
Instead, it was him underneath Al. Naked.
Kiku pushed his papers back, and banged his head on the desk, weeping at his woe.
Oh, but why had he fallen in love with the American?
*x*
Kiku felt incredibly guilty.
The next few days had been full of stolen kisses, fouls during basketball matches for spanking opponent's bum and hugging without permission, hiding from Al's groupies and eating out of Kiku's bento.
But that wasn't why he was feeling guilty.
No. He hadn't talked to Matt for those three weeks. He hadn't had so much time as to look at Matt before Al whisked him away on another adventure around the university. Between that, the extra English coaching classes he was taking from Arthur Kirkland and the Japanese linguistic and cultural coaching he was giving Arthur, he had found himself bereft of Matt's company.
And Matt had been his first best friend here.
He'd painstakingly made a bento just for Matt—he everyday had two make two large bentos, one for him and Al, and one for Ludwig and Feliciano, his best friends. He went to school, eagerly awaiting the lunch break. But when it did come, he couldn't see him anywhere.
He looked for Diego—Diego Rodriguez always knew where Matt was. "Rodriguez-san, do you know where Matt is?" he asked.
"That guy's gone to the little boy's room—the washroom."
Kiku nodded gratefully. He was unaccustomed to their strange foreign slang. "Thank you." He decided to take the bento along—he, of course, wouldn't give it to him in the bathroom, but he'd intercept him there and they could eat either in the library or in the Computers' room.
He heard loud voices from the bathroom. Uh oh, he thought, and turned around, but it was Al's voice that he heard. And Matt. Kiku frowned. Matt never yelled.
"Al, stop it!"
"One last time, Matt!"
"You have what you want. Gilbert doesn't like it. I don't like it."
"Matt, please"—
"Al, you aren't lonely anymore. That's why we did it. Because you were lonely, and I thought you had something great."
"Matt, Kiku likes you"—
"Maple, Al, but Kiku doesn't even know me!"
That stung. That really, really stung. The bento in his hand grew heavier by the second—
"The Matt he knows is you, Al! It's gone on for too long"—
"I agree with Matthew-san."
They both froze, and Kiku watched as Al's colour drained from his face. Good. Now he could feel as devastated, as broken as he was feeling. His heart could feel as heavy as his was, as heavy as the bento in his hand felt. Kiku looked at the bento. "I am sorry to interrupt. I came to give this to my best friend, but do I give it to Matthew-san, or to you, Al-kun? As far as I'm concerned," he said, disgust filling his voice, "you can both have it." He placed the bento on the counter when he wanted to smash it to the ground, and closed the door quietly behind him when he wanted to slam it in their faces.
And he walked away when he wanted to run.
But even his self-restrain couldn't stop the tears running down his face.
Oh, but why did he have to fall in love with the American?
*x*
"Al told me you'd be here."
"Go away."
"I came to give you this," Matt said, settling down next to Kiku, setting the two boxes between them. "I couldn't eat your bento—I'm sure it'd be delicious. But I came to give you this," he said, tapping the new box.
Kiku turned his tear-dry eyes to the box, and opened it. Inside were some pancakes, with 'I'm sorry' written in maple syrup.
Kiku choked on a laugh, and looked at Matt. His eyes weren't the exact blue as Al's…they were much more calmer, and looked more like the summer sea than the sky. Matt smiled—his smile wasn't megawatts. It had a soothing effect on people. "I couldn't obviously eat your sorry when I was the wrong one, so"—
"You made pancakes?"
"No. Al did."
Kiku looked up.
"He thought of making a hamburger, but Arthur had an absolute fit—he refused to buy lettuce after the prices rose a week ago. So he took the recipe of making pancakes from me, and made this for you." Matt chuckled. "Our kitchen smells of burnt pancakes—it took him the entire night to make these. He was so tired after that, so I decided to put on the maple syrup—it's from both of us."
"I don't forgive him Or you.."
"You don't have to. We don't have the right to ask that of you. But, Honda-san—if I may call you that—I'm sure he's told you about noise hiding an empty vessel, right?"
Kiku nodded.
"He's the empty vessel behind all that noise. And you're the...food that's filled him up. If he needed me to find you to complete him, I would've let him borrowed me as much as he wanted. I'm his brother—I can never fill him the way you did. I am grateful, and also sorry that you had to be deceived in this way. But if you can never forgive us, that's okay—just remember that Al will always love you."
"I'm leaving. Another week."
Matt nodded, and rose. "Please do eat the pancakes. They're Al's best, and the only ones he'll ever make." And he left.
Kiku tore a piece of the pancake, dipped it in maple syrup, and put it in his mouth. It was light, fluffy and…salty?
No, those were just his tears.
And through his tears, he ate the pancakes made for him.
"Did you see the new exchange students?"
"That one's hot. Totally hot."
"Kami's been good to us, sending such a hot student."
"And have you heard him speak? It's just divine!"
Yep, Kiku thought. Arthur Kirkland, hot Briton, had arrived to Japan. From Arthur's own mouth, he'd realized that wherever Arthur went, that would be the standard reaction—even when he'd joined the American branch of W University, the Fifth grade girls had spoken about him the same way.
Kiku stacked his books and laid his head on them. Homeroom was boring and pointless, and he always slept through it. Today, however, it wouldn't be quiet, since Arthur had arrived and was to be introduced.
I hope he remembers to say Ohayo Gozaimashita, Kiku thought, then smiled. He'd probably say, "Good morning, my fellow Japanese" and mention the qualities of good tea somewhere in his speech. That man had a penchant for speeches and drawn out introductions.
Kiku sighed as he heard the teacher enter the class with a student. Let the games begin.
"Good morning, class," the homeroom teacher said. "This is the new exchange student from America's W University. He shall now introduce himself."
"Kiku, do you know that guy?"
"Yes, Sakuragi, I taught him"—
"Ohayo gozaimashita."
Kiku raised his head, and gaped. I'm in love with that man.
He continued to speak in his impeccable and accented Japanese. "I'm one of the ten students representing America's W University. I love sports—especially basketball, playing video games, reading manga and hanging out with the person I love. I dislike tako in my bento—I eat everything else, though."
Kiku chuckled through his blurry vision.
"Good morning, everyone. My name is Alfred F. Jones, but the thing I love to do the most is make pancakes for Kiku Honda."
Everyone looked at them, but neither cared. Kiku looked into those familiar electric blue irises, and Al drowned in those chocolate-brown-black eyes.
"Kiku?"
"Hai?"
"Catch."
Kiku caught the flying lunch box, and opened it. "Pancakes," he choked out, trying not to laugh.
"Can you read what it says?" Al asked in English.
"No—it is all wiggly and"—
"Watashi wa anata o aishite."
Kiku looked at the American, and melted under the smile—it wasn't his megawatt smile, but the most tender smile he'd ever seen.
"I love you, Kiku Honda."
With a un-Japanese-like impulse, Kiku set the box down, climbed over the table and flung himself at the American, knowing that he'd be caught in his strong arms, never to be let go of again.
And in the season of the Sakura blossoms, the games truly did begin.
A/N: One word: Kawaii! Let me know what you think!
And this is my first fanfic not inspired by any picture! Yay!