Rain drummed incessantly against the house, streaming down the giant glass windowpane. The house was warm, but the storm outside gave the illusion of a chill.

Arthur needed tea. He stood up from the couch and turned to Alfred, who was listening to music with his eyes closed. Arthur made to ask him if he would like any tea, but he was so engrossed in his music that Arthur didn't want to bother him. He reminded himself that Alfred didn't like tea anyway, and went off to the kitchen.

Arthur found the steady routine of preparing tea to be extremely relaxing. The slow bubble of heating water mixed with the already dull atmosphere created by the storm put him completely at ease. He leaned against the counter and closed his eyes, fingering the chamomile tea bag he had selected. Arthur did so love tea. It was a calming, easy drink, even with the complicated process of making it perfectly. It was refined and cultured, teaching appreciation for every nuance in flavor. Not like that terrible coffee crap that Alfred drank. There was no depth to it, with its strong, flat, black taste. It served no purpose other than to stain your teeth and ranken your breath.

At the whistle of the kettle, Arthur filled a mug and set his tea bag to steep. Realizing that he had some extra water, he poured another mug and ripped open a pouch of Alfred's "Insta-Brew" coffee mix. A foul, dark stench made him wrinkle his nose. He would never understand why Alfred actually enjoyed the stuff. But then again, he never quite got the appeal of greasy cow meat in a bun, either. He poked his head out of the kitchen to inform Alfred that he was making him a drink (and perhaps reprimand him on the fact that he should be enjoying a morecultured one), and saw him still enveloped in his music, now silently bobbing his head to the rhythm. Arthur vaguely realized that the American had been almost silent for the past five minutes. Whatever he was listening to must have been extremely intriguing. Arthur shook his head. Knowing Alfred, it would probably be that ridiculous pop music, most likely that annoying Kesha girl he seemed to love. Or the Laughing My Fucking Ass Off fellows, with their ridiculous name.

Arthur mixed some milk and honey wit his tea, leaving Alfred's coffee black, the way he liked it. He brought the mugs back out to the living room. He set Alfred's in front of him, making sure to "accidentally" brush his leg to get his attention.

Alfred opened one eye lazily, perking up when he saw the coffee. "That for me?" he asked brightly, grinning when Arthur nodded his affirmation. "Dude, awesome." He took a long drink and smiled. "You remembered I like it black!" he said happily.

Arthur nodded. "Heaven only knows why," he commented dryly. "Its flavor reminds me of tree bark."

Alfred breathed in the heavy scent. "I think it tastes like South America," he said thoughtfully. "It feels like you can taste their culture, strong and independent, bitter yet sweet."

Arthur hadn't expected such a deep reply. Maybe a laugh and a snide comment at his knowledge of the taste of tree bark, but never this.

Alfred caught his stare and cocked an eyebrow. "You okay, buddy?" he asked, then snickered. "Your age finally catching up to you, old man?"

Arthur shook himself out of his thoughts in time to shoot a glare at Alfred. "I'm twenty-six, you git. I'm not old. I was simply caught up in thought, which is something I wouldn't expect you to understand."

Alfred laughed and held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, okay. Whatever you say, Iggy." He set down his mug and stood up. "Be right back, I gotta go to the bathroom." He walked away, chuckling at Arthur's annoyed mutter of, "Don't call me Iggy."

Arthur leaned back into the couch, letting out a long sigh. His eyes latched onto Alfred's coffee mug, sitting next to the coaster. Arthur rolled his eyes. Honestly, did he do these things on purpose? He leaned over to fix the cup when a flash of orange caught his eye. Alfred had left his iPod on. Arthur picked it up curiously, not recognizing the album cover. He squinted to read the title. Le Quattro Stagioni…Four Seasons?

By this time, Alfred had come out of the bathroom and was regarding Arthur curiously. "What are you doing with my iPod?" he asked.

"You listen to Vivaldi?" Arthur yelped.

Alfred tilted his head, confused. "Uhm…yeah. And Elgar, Bach, Mozart, Pachelbel…what?" He trailed off at Arthur's expression.

"Y-you know who they are?" Arthur was taken aback.

"Well, sure! What good violin player doesn't?"

"Since when do you play violin?"

"Since…ever? You taught me how, remember?" Alfred was grinning, utterly lost.

"I…I remember teaching you, but that was years ago! I had no idea you still played." Arthur was amazed.

Alfred laughed. "I stopped for a while, but picked it up again after the Revolutionary War. I remember when I was little, after our lessons you would sometimes play pieces. I always wanted to be able to play that good someday. After the war, I thought about the times when things between us didn't suck so much. I sorta missed having you around, and playing the violin reminded me of you and I wasn't so sad anymore."

Arthur was so touched that he didn't point out any of the grammatical mistakes Alfred had just made. Feeling a blush rising to his cheeks, he asked quietly, "D-do you still play?"

Alfred's face brightened. "Yeah, I do! I could show you if you want!"

Arthur smiled at his enthusiasm. "I suppose."

"Rock!" Alfred yelled, pumping his fist. "Lemme just go get my violin!" He raced off upstairs and Arthur shook his head, smiling. Alfred may have grown, but he was still such a child at heart. He remembered a time when a much younger Alfred had run off excitedly to show him something new that had captured his attention. Arthur thought wistfully of the time America was just a little colony and Alfred a small boy, but he was very proud of the nation-turned-superpower and even more so of the endearingly eager young man that had become of his charge.

Alfred came thundering back down the stairs, clutching a violin case and an overstuffed folder containing what Arthur assumed to be sheet music. "Okay, so," Alfred declared, "I have a shit ton of music, and I have no idea what to play that will show off my mad skills the best." His brow furrowed in frustration and he squinted through his glasses, looking for a suitable title. His face lit up. "Nevermind, dude, I've got the perfect song!" He unlocked his case and readied his violin.

"No music?" Arthur asked, bemused.

Alfred shook his head and winked. "I know this one by heart," he smiled. Licking his lips and taking a quick breath to ready himself, he began to play.

Arthur froze. It was the most beautiful rendition of "We Three Kings" he had ever heard. It had the same tune he had always known, with something else added to it, making it somehow more incredible than it already was. Arthur felt tears coming to his eyes. He looked up at Alfred, whose face was solemn with concentration as he played on.

In a way, Arthur supposed, the song described their relationship. It had the comfortable familiarity that came from having known Alfred for the entirety of the latter's life. There was the bittersweet tune of their happy history, darkened by the memory of the war that had torn them apart. The beautiful new twists signified their mending relationship, along with a hopeful tone that suggested there could maybe be something…more?

As the last note faded into silence, Arthur closed his eyes to keep the tears from spilling over. "Alfred, th-that was-,"

"-the first song you ever taught me, I know." Arthur could hear the slight smile in his voice. "I added stuff to it. It was great before, you know, but it just felt kinda…I dunno, incomplete. You get me?"

Arthur nodded, keeping his eyes shut. "You perfected it, love. You took something wonderful and made it even better. Not many can do that."

He could practically feel Alfred beaming. "Thanks, Iggy. That means a lot." He was quiet for a moment, then, "That song actually kinda reminds me of you."

Arthur opened an eye. "Me?"

Alfred shrugged, blushing slightly. "I guess. I mean, you taught it to me."

"Oh." Arthur closed his eye again.

There was another moment of silence, then Arthur heard Alfred's voice, much closer than before. "And the song…just makes me think of you. It's strong, beautiful, and inspirational. It means a lot to me."

Arthur raised his eyebrows, but kept his eyes closed, afraid of worsening the growing blush that was creeping into his cheeks.

"It's one of my favorite memories," Alfred continued. "I'm glad that I got to share it with you."

Arthur felt warm, soft lips press against his. He responded gently, and after a moment, they pulled away. Arthur opened his eyes and beheld Alfred wearing a happy grin.

"That too," was all he said.

Arthur smiled. "You will never cease to amaze me, love."

A/N: This story is dedicated to CelestialPirate, because she got me into Hetalia in the first place and has since become a very good friend of mine. I love you sweetie! :D

Sorry about the awkward ending here, I wasn't exactly sure how to conclude this well...whatever.

Hope you enjoyed!