Japan's memory of waking up in America's arms was disarmingly pleasant. The first thing he had noticed upon waking was the warm hand wrapped around his own, and the feeling of breath on his forehead. He wasn't usually the type to drink so much, and he tried to blame the encounter on that one factor; but that simply could not explain why in that very moment, he still longed to be so close to America again, to be pulled near, wanted. The feel of America's hands on him had seemed so gentle, loving even. He had never known him to be so gentle. He needed to clear his mind, to bring his usually ordered thoughts together. He took deep breaths, attempting to empty his mind. He had to work much harder than usual to maintain a firm calm. Ever even keeled, he wasn't used to getting so flustered. He had said things to America that he had never said to anyone before. He shouldn't have accepted such a foolish invitation, drinking like some out of control European nation. But if given the offer again, he knew he would accept it all over again. He knew what he wanted, he just didn't want to want it. He didn't understand America. What had such an odd interaction meant to him? Would he have acted that way with anyone else if they had been there? What was it exactly that they had done? It wasn't a hug, he knew it was more than that. He needed to find out how America felt about him. But he obviously couldn't just blurt out an awkward question like that.


America had confided in Tonny. After all, America was really the only one who understood him anyway. Who would he tell? Tonny gave good, if somewhat naïve of earthly ways advice. America was left with a few things to ponder, the most important being what had truly gone on between them. The second, how he felt about whatever it was. And the third (which he felt was the hardest to execute), what he wanted to do about it.

They had just been spending time together, nothing unusual. The only difference had been the alcohol. Japan had never been much of a drinker. As the night had gotten later, defenses had lowered, tongues loosened. They spoke more bluntly, honestly. It had gotten into more intimate conversation, unusually personal. Japan has seemed to sweet and open, not like he usually saw him. Maybe they had just finally become real friends again. He could have shared just as personal feelings with Greece, Italy, or Germany over the years. He wanted to doubt that, but he certainly didn't want to admit such an embarrassing jealousy, even to himself. Maybe he had drunkenly overstepped when he caressed his face, but he had responded in kind, wrapping his thin arms around his waist. America couldn't say that he didn't know why he'd reached out like that; he knew it would be a lie. He had wanted to kiss him, intended to even. His nerves had failed him, stopping frozen. Japan had rescued him from his immobility with the decision to wrap his arms around him. Then he fell asleep. He ached to know what Japan would have done if he had really kissed him, what could have happened. But if he had wanted a kiss he certainly could have got one, America had had gotten them most of the way there already.

He rubbed his temples, realizing how much energy he was putting into wondering about that. It was becoming impossible to tell himself that he didn't know what he wanted. They had known each other a long time. Long for America, that is, probably not for Japan. He had always been fond of him; at least, he had certainly started out fond of him. He remembered the days they first go to know each other.

He and England had tried to be welcoming, inclusive; but the man had always seemed to hold back, preferring his own house to traveling. It had been bothersome to him at first, Japans unwillingness to join him out in the world, but once he really had, peace only lasted so long—less than a hundred years. But they had been friends once, and were friends again, whatever had happened during that hiatus. It wasn't uncommon for countries relationships to change. Take France and England for example, one day they would be trying to kill each other, and the next France would be proposing marriage (literally). And as he pondered that he knew exactly who to ask about his dilemma: France! Was he tactful? No! But neither was America. If anyone would have advice about something like this it would be the country who had spent the grand majority of his life in a purple cape. He didn't even have to face him; a phone call would be sufficient (and significantly less embarrassing). He made his way to the phone, stealing himself for awkwardness as he dialed. Even the ring sounded awkward to America.

"'Ello?" France answered.

"Hey France. How's it hangin' man?" America began, struggling for normalcy.

"Umm, it is hanging fine. America? How are you?"

"Yah, it's me—America, I'm uh-, I'm good, pretty good…" He trailed off.

"…" He could almost hear the awkward impatience on the other end of the phone. They both sat in silence. "Is everything alright America? Silence coming from you worries me."

"Y-Yah, everything's awesome, as usual." He said much too quickly, "So, remember Japan?"

"Is that a joke America?"

"Ha-ha, yah. 'course I am, I mean it is, of course you know Japan." America was more nervous than he thought he would be.

"Well, ma petit Chou d'idiot, what is it? What about Japan?"

He no longer knew what to say.

"I think the dude came onto me." So he lied.

"Well well, then…" France reacted, sounding pleased, "I always suspected he swung that way, hehehe"

America was officially creeped out by France. He deeply regretted making the phone call.

"Did you accept his advances?"

America's voice caught in his throat, this was his chance at genuine advice (and maybe a little mockery). He wasn't sure what he was in for, but he knew it would all have been for nothing if he hung up now.

"A little—but, I mean, nothing weird happened or whatever." He felt a little nauseous.

"Did you make love?"

"Did you not just hear me? Nothing weird happened, 'kay!" He said much too harshly.

"There is nothing weird about two men entwined in the throes of passio-"

CLICK!

America decided he could handle this himself. He collapsed into an armchair, shielding his eyes with his hands; thinking things through was exhausting! And like that, he realized exactly what he needed to do: something! To take action! Who was he, England? To Hell with pondering, he was America, Damnit! And that meant throwing caution to the wind and making it his bitch.


Japan sat, quietly tending to his garden. He had finally achieved some relief from his nerves. He knew he would, America was not so anything as to keep someone as calm as him unbalanced after all.

"Ni—uh, Japan?" Or so he had thought anyway, until hearing his voice made his stomach try to climb over his lungs and lay siege his throat. He slowly turned his tense frame to see an almost angry looking America staring down at him. He rose to his feet as steadily as he could manage. Was America glaring at him? It certainly seemed as if he was. He hadn't seen that look on his face for a long time.

"Mr. America, are you—"

"Just shut it a sec, okay?" America snapped, attempting to soften his final words as he grabbed onto the shorter man's collar, lifting him ever so slightly, as if to get a better look at him.

Japan was more than a little confused. What was America's problem? What was that weird face he was making? Was he angry about what had happened between them? America looked down into his perplexed (maybe lightly frightened?) face; God, how he hoped that wasn't a look of fear. He wanted to confirm what he was pretty sure he already knew. Those few seconds seemed like an eternity of nervousness to Japan, but to America it felt like rushing. Like those few seconds in front of the subway car you're not sure is the right one. You know the doors are about to close and you've got to make a choice.

"America, if—"

It was now or never. America knew he couldn't let him say anything that would cause him one more second's deliberation. He was tired of deliberating, that's why he was there. In one smooth movement he released his collar and slid his hand back, wrapping it around the nape of his neck, his fingers feeling the small smooth ends of his hair and pressed him forward, tilting his lips up to meet his own.

Japan flinched slightly in surprise at the first moment their lips met, but quickly went slack, allowing himself to adjust to being kissed. He couldn't get his mind off the feeling of America's strong warm hand on the back of his neck, the other still resting at his side. Japan wasn't sure if encouraging the kiss was wise, but he was absolutely positive that he wanted to, wrapping an arm around America's neck, the other half involuntarily grabbing hold of the front of his shirt. America took this as permission to pull him in closer against him, allowing his tongue to begin to explore the other's mouth. Japan tasted sort of like vanilla. Why vanilla? He wondered. Why did the man have to even taste so damn good? Japan finally truly got his mind to go blank for the first time that day as he got to feel the other warm body so closely up against his own, mouths enlocked in a passionate kiss. When all of the sudden, America released him, pulling his face away. Japan felt dazed, sort of ruffled all over, America watched the pink spread across his cheeks, feeling the heat in his own and realizing he probably looked the same.

"So." He began, just trying to get his foot in the theoretical door, "that's what I was trying to do last night." Having just stuffed his tongue into the man's mouth he figured he should have the guts to muster up a little honesty.

"I-I wanted you to." Japan admitted quietly, averting his dark eyes. America felt himself smile an embarrassingly large grin. He had kissed Japan, Japan had wanted him to. He had the answers to his questions. Japan took a small step towards him, making eye contact again, having regained his usual composure.

"Would you like to come inside America? I know you don't like tea, but—"

"I could… give tea a shot…" he bit his lip. He wasn't used to acquiescing to somebody else's wishes, but he thought this might just be worth it. America thought Japan looked pleased, but he wasn't positive. Japan was always hard to read, especially for someone with the subtlety of a hurricane. Japan reached out a graceful hand towards him. America swallowed, biting the inside of his lip harder, and grabbed the outstretched hand.

"You kinda' like me, huh?" Like I said: the subtlety of a hurricane. Japan blushed, not appreciating his bluntness. He turned and led him through the doors to his house, releasing it once they crossed the thresh-hold. They walked in silence towards the kitchen.

"What kind of tea would you like" Japan turned to ask.

"Uh…" He scratched his head, "Somethin' sweet, I guess? Can you put cream in it?"

"I can." Japan smiled slightly, looking America up and down, "Although you do not usually with Japanese tea." He figured getting him to drink tea at all was a large enough victory, cream or no cream.