AN: …So many views already… you people are crazy.
It's okay, though. I love you, my viewers. ; ; And thanks to those of you who are sending me so many encouraging messages.
"Oh, hell. You got frosting on my coat collar, you bloody twat!"
"Considering how little of an athletic one you are, mon ami [my friend] I had expected that piece of cake to hit you square on your ugly little face." Francis mumbled an insult under his breath as he brought his glass up to his lips.
Arthur promptly socked the French on the shoulder, causing some of the champagne to spill over onto the said twat's sleeve.
"Leaving such a mess on poor South Korea's wall. Are you positively DAFT?"
"Worry not, Angleterre~. [England]" Francis lazily waved the venting Englishman away, now a bit more concerned with his suit rather than common courtesy. "It will not STAIN his wall, or the like."
Alfred smacked his head upon the wooden surface of the bar table for the umpteenth time tonight. He couldn't even hear himself think.
"Fuuuuuuck, do you guys ever shut up?"
England almost spat out his brandy in pure disgust. "ALFRED! Watch your mouth!" He grimaced at the bespectacled nation. "Have you absolutely no shame?"
"Always griping and bickering about some off-shit. How stupid!" America sat up and tapped the counter top twice to catch a uniformed man's attention. "Tender! Fill me up again, bro!"
"Well, you're one to talk."
"What're you talking about, Arty?"
"Seeing as you've left your hideous bomber jacket at South Korea's house, I—"
America almost knocked himself out of his stool. "OH, SHIT! MY JACKET! I'LL CATCH YOU TWO LATER." The nation waved in haste at the other two and sprinted out of the dark-lit bar, out into the crowded, dazzling city.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
"I think I might have dropped Alfred on his head while he was growing up." The Englishman chuckled faintly at America's ridiculous-looking silhouette in the distance. "He can be so idiotic, I swear upon it…"
Francis laughed as well, but for a different reason entirely. "No, no, Arthur. I think Amérique [America] isn't quite as idiotic as you say he is."
"What?"
France twirled his glass with a skilled wrist, not bothering to return contact with his fellow nation's confused eyes.
"He left us with the bill."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
"끝. [Done]"
The South Korean sloppily folded the dirtied towel in his hands and tossed it into the laundry hamper located by his bedroom's door.
It had taken a few hours in order to fully clean his home, but his efforts had definitely paid off, in his eyes.
Ah, but Alfred left his jacket in his room during their epic game of Call of Duty. He would have to return that sometime during the next world conference…
The entire house was far cleaner than how it was this morning. The scent of Rose of Sharon flowers (1) lingered faintly in the air, for he had always found this smell to be his personal stress reliever.
Yong Soo took a look at his 한복 (2), realizing exactly how dirty his sleeves and 저고리 (3) had become during his mad little cleaning spree. Without a second thought, he swiftly stripped himself of his 저고리 and robe as he made his way into the bathroom.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Steam from the shower rolled out the door in large, rolling flows as Yong Soo stepped out in his makeshift sleeping wear and towel draped over one of his shoulders. He dried out the excess water from his hair quite roughly, grumbling little comments of a tiring day as he made his way into the kitchen.
Today's celebration had been the same for as long as he could remember.
He needed a drink.
South Korea sat down in front of his living room table, letting his legs fold lazily on the floor. The glass of both the soju bottle and the shot cup made unceremonious clacks against the wooden, intricately decorated surface, and Yong Soo slid over the leatherback photo album he looked through on every occasion.
Being all too familiar with this action, Yong Soo snapped the alcohol cap off and poured himself a shot. His free hand leafed through the laminated sheets of his photo album.
"All right. Let's see."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
"Ah, fuck. My jacket! How can I be so careless of my damned jacket?"
No, no. That's not what a hero is supposed to think. A hero is supposed to calculate every move and understand every motive or event… Keep it calm Jones.
But damn it all, sometimes, even HEROES screw up every once in a while!
"Hope you're not busy, dude!" Alfred shouted in the direction of Yong Soo's home, sprinting even faster than what even he thought was possible.
…Ah, then he would have to go and catch up with the pervert and his old man later at the bar. Shit. How is he going to pay for the bi—
AH. THE BILL.
"…Maybe it's a good thing that I forgot my 'hideous' jacket." Jones smirked a bit, noticing the Korean's home coming into view.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
There was a small buzz and consistent drone of voices that Yong Soo heard in his head. The voices of his nation conversed with one another and whomever else with both the tones of joy, or remorse. Much of them, actually, had not necessarily cared very much at all.
Something about North Korea and his damned torpedo…
Something about some odd, new game to have popped up on the internet…
Something else about odd news or gossip chatted over by elder women…
Oh… and it seems that one of his favorite modern groups came out with a new song.
He grew a bit concerned, but perhaps concerned was not the correct definition. Many in his nation did not really care very much for any of North's antics and 'warnings,' since his threats grew more common than anything else from him anymore. But Yong Soo knows that there is a definite, dangerous potential. How will everyone else react when one day, something might... happen?
Now, hold on a second.
Given, Yong Soo himself did not show any of his solemn and melancholic nature to anyone. Anything else from a smile on his face would throw off the majority of the others. He couldn't risk it. That was definite.
If he didn't laugh, shout, or make loud statements, then Yong Soo's image would be thrown off.
The South Korean lifted his eyes off of a picture taken in 1951 and picked up his green, glass bottle. They absent-mindedly swirled the alcohol beverage along the insides of the container. Yong Soo continued to listen to the voices of the ones who actually did discuss national issues.
"If we do not to anything soon, the demise of Korea is imminent..."
DING DONG.
"Then what of th-"
DIIIIIIING DOOOOONG.
"Strategies aside, they ma-"
D-D-D-DIIIIIIIING DONG.
"That would be catastrophic!"
DIIIII—
"ALL RIGHT, ALL RIGHT!" Yong Soo almost slammed his bottle of soju on the table and scrambled to get up and answer his door.
For other guests, he would usually ask them to hold on while he cleaned up and grabbed some fruit or something to cover up the stench of alcohol, but he already knew that this was—
"Alfred-niim~."
The Asian nation didn't bother to even look at his guest ID camera screen, unlocking and opening his front door.
Only one person would ring his doorbell that anxiously...
The smell of soju on Yong Soo's breath had almost thrown off Alfred, but the American knew better than to drop his grin around the other today. He stepped inside, being well aware of and accustomed to seeing the Asian in this sort of state.
…Man, Yong Soo…
"Hey, there, dude. I, uh…"
The Korean snapped his fingers and tapped his index finger against his temple, shutting the door with his foot. "Yeah, man. You left your bomber jacket. Let me go get it. Hold up for a minute."
Alfred took a seat on Yong Soo's couch and somewhat sprawled lazily, making himself comfortable like he always had before. "Thanks."
Yong Soo nodded lightly and turned on his heels towards the hall, shuffling along the floor to his room.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
The first thing Alfred settled his eyes upon was the bottle of alcohol and shot cup that was placed neatly next to it. The bottle was a little under the half-line, he noticed.
He made no mental comment just yet.
He'd have a little talk with Yong Soo tonight. It wasn't like Alfred had anywhere else to be, anywa-.
"OOF."
Yong Soo entered his living room and portrayed a simple thumbs-up. "There you are, da-ze~. Sorry I took long. Somehow it ended up being tied to my ceiling fan."
Alfred lifted the neatly-folded leather coat off of his face, raking through his hair to fix its positioning. "Ceiling fan? Who the hell would tie my jacket to a ceiling fan?"
Yong Soo took in a breath and parted his lips to answer, but Jones chucked one of the cushions at his head before he uttered a letter.
"Don't answer that, kimchi boy."
Yong Soo caught the flying projectile and walked over to take a seat next to the smirking American.
"Well, excuse me for not catching the rhetorical."
Alfred just ignored the statement and pointed at Yong Soo's bottle of soju on the table in front of them.
"Yong Soo, what the hell are you doing drinking? You're too young, dude."
The Im confusedly inquired the American, raising an eyebrow. "I'm older than you are, man. What are you talking about?"
Playing smart, are we?
Jones flicked the nation's forehead. "Wrong. Your memory is thousands of years old."
"From birth, I'm sixty years old." South Korea rebutted.
"Now, what is your BODY'S age?" Alfred frowned.
"What, 16? 17? What's your point?"
"Big brother Alfred's told you this before, kimchi boy. No drinking. Understood?"
Yong Soo shrugged, scoffing.
"You gotta take care of yourself, man."
"Same to you."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
There was a silence that settled between the two, but it was respectably patient and comfortable.
The language barrier and lack of trust between Alfred and Yong Soo back then was much worse than now…
"Oh, hey. You got that piece of cake off of your wall."
"Dude, that took forever to clean off!" Yong Soo pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. "Do you know who did that?"
Alfred suppressed the guffaw developing deep in his gut. He could already imagine Yong Soo tae-kwon-do kicking France's head in.
"…Ah, man. Unfortunately, I don't."
"Who the hell throws food anymore?" South Korea bent over in his seat and poured a glass from his soju bottle.
Jones shook his head in light amusement and clapped his hands together, rubbing to accumulate some heat through his fingers.
Maybe… they needed to talk beyond just the little things tonight.
"Yong Soo. Mind if we chat a little?"
Light, chocolate irises met sapphire-blue ones. The Korean stopped midway from drinking his glass.
"…Yeah," they replied, downing the clear liquor, "of course."
AN:
1. Rose of Sharon flowers: National flower of South Korea
2. The hanbok. It's his clothes in its entirety. Hetalia's style is incorrect, though. LOL. I looked at a few men's hanboks. They look nice~! Their sleeves are NOT that long. LOL.
3. It's like jeo-goh-ri. It's the shirt/vest part of the men's hanbok.
Okay, so I said that this would be where kimchiburger would be happening.
...Yeah. It hasn't happened yet.
Next chapter. For sure. But I don't know how deep I should go with the looooove.
What do you guys want? Leave a review and tell me, please. XD