Hi, guys. It's obviously been a while since I last updated. This fic has kind of been on an unofficial hiatus since December, and I'm bringing you this chapter kind of as a promise that I'm going to start working on it again.
So, first and foremost, to my return readers, I'd like to thank you for coming back, even after all this time. I've been dealing with a lot recently that has prevented me from writing, so thank you very much for bearing with me. I've already started writing the next chapter, so hopefully it will definitely be posted by next week. Thank you once again for being so patient.
Second, I worked hard on this chapter, and I think it went relatively well. Hopefully, you'll think so, too. Enjoy~
Disclaimer: Axis Powers Hetalia is owned by Himaruya Hidekaz. I own nothing.
He had the sensation of something delightfully warm in his arms. That was his first thought, anyway, once the sun had filtered in through the living room window, just enough to shine right through his eyelids and push him into the realm of consciousness: that whatever was in his arms was wonderful, and soft, and warm, and smelled like just the perfect mix of cologne and tea… Wait. What?
With a quiet groan, the American forced himself to peek an eye open, just a crack as he blinked blearily in the face of the bright morning light that had decided to take the place of his alarm clock. Once his vision had adjusted enough to see the room around him, the first thing he noticed was the tuft of blonde hair poking itself right into his line of vision. That wasn't right… A few more seconds of observation found a much more awake America realizing, with a sudden explosion of emotion, that Britain—the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland—was sleeping (was sound asleep, and oh-so-cute!) in his arms.
He wasn't sure what to feel first as he was bombarded with intense excitement, then panic, then wonder, then excitement again, until it all combined into this overwhelming flurry of feelings that decided to roost in his stomach, making it twist and turn upside down, fluttering like a flock of rabid butterflies had just decided to hold a riot in his gut.
Deciding that he had better calm down, or else risk waking up the precious… er, eternally grumpy British man in his arms, the American allowed himself a few deep breaths, once again taking in Britain's scent as he did so, unable to resist snuggling into him ever so slightly, a blush coloring his cheeks as he felt the smaller man shift in response to his movements, settling closer to him as he did so.
He shut his eyes, relatively comfortable at the moment as he tried to remember the events that had lead up to this situation in the first place. He recalled putting in the Dark Knight… It hadn't been too long into the movie that the Briton had started to nod off. It had started with just his head nodding slightly as he leaned against the arm of the couch. Then at some point, Britain must have gotten uncomfortable, because he gave up on the arm and settled for America's shoulder instead. Beyond that, the American could only guess that he had gotten tired, too, and repositioned them so that they could both sleep on the couch. That seemed reasonable.
That also returned the younger nation's thoughts to their current predicament. Much as he would absolutely love to just continue laying there with the British gentleman for the rest of the day, he knew at some point, the British nation would wake up, and all hell would break loose. How was he supposed to explain this?
The more he got to lie there, though, the less important Britain's eventual reaction seemed to him. After all, wasn't this what he had been craving? This contact with the older nation was what he had been seeking for decades now. He had always wondered what the shorter nation would feel like, wrapped up warm and tight in his arms, what their skin would feel like pressed together, what the Briton's breath would feel like against his flesh, coming in even, warm puffs of air that served as a constant reminder of their proximity. Sure, it would have been nice if Britain had purposefully curled up this close to him, but even so, just having him close like this was more than he could ever have hoped for. He wished that this moment could last forever.
For a moment, it seemed to America that a relationship between the two of them might have actually been something feasible. But then, as the younger nation allowed himself to imagine confessing to the Briton, he was faced with that look of absolute disgust and hate, the possibility of never being able to spend time with the older nation again, that made his blood run cold. Even now, when everything seemed so right, when it seemed like his dreams might actually be something that could become a reality, he couldn't bring himself to even consider confessing his feelings. There was no way the older nation would ever accept them. He needed Britain too much to ever risk losing him in such a way.
While the younger nation allowed himself to be distracted by his inner turmoil, he managed not to notice, at first, a slight squirming from the slim man in his arms. He blinked, upon hearing a quiet groan from the smaller man as he shifted once again, finally, begrudgingly cracking and eye open. America could tell by the lack of explosion that Britain was not yet aware of where he was. He yawned, looking around slowly. It was only when the blonde gentleman moved to stretch that he noticed the arms wrapped around his shoulders.
He blinked once.
Twice.
And then looked behind himself, green eyes widening as they found themselves mere centimeters away from America's clear blue ones. It was less than a second later that, as predicted, all hell broke loose.
America had just enough time to catch a glimpse of the deep red blush that blossomed thick over the British man's face before he had to dodge the elbow that came up to meet the side of his head as the smaller nation immediately began struggling, trying to extricate himself from his younger companion. For about ten seconds, they struggled with each other, attempting to untangle twisted limbs, couch cushions slipping to the ground before Britain soon followed, landing with a soft thud on the floor, breathing heavily, blush still highly evident as his face even as he immediately started shouting.
"What the bloody hell was that?" he demanded, rubbing his bum, but never taking his eyes off of the American who was still sitting, flustered on the couch. "What in God's name do you think you were doing?"
America blinked slowly, coming to the realization that somehow, this was his fault. Well… It was, to an extent, but Britain hardly needed to know that.
"How am I supposed to know?" he questioned, feeling his own cheeks grow slightly warm as his mind returned to the truth of the matter. "You're the one who fell asleep on me!"
"I-I very well did not!" the Briton insisted, his face coloring a little more, if that was even possible at this point.
"You did," the American insisted, nodding. "We put the movie in, and it wasn't even halfway over before you were snoring and drooling all over me."
"I do not drool."
"Fine! But you totally fell asleep!"
"O-Oh. Well then…" America could see Britain's mind working furiously. The older nation couldn't just keep arguing that he hadn't fallen asleep on him. After all, he had said himself multiple times the night before that he was tired and didn't want to stay up for a movie. It was highly likely that he had fallen asleep… And besides, to keep arguing with the facts would just be silly, and as a gentleman, Britain avoided silly at all costs, unless it was a special occasion. "W-Well, then, I apologize, I suppose. It's not like I meant to fall asleep on you or anything. You're hardly a suitable pillow."
America chuckled a little, even as the British man shifted uncomfortably before getting to his feet, avoiding the American's eyes. This caught the American's attention. Was Britain... embarrassed? Why? Sure, the British nation always attempted to remain aloof and distant, so falling asleep and snuggling up against him like he had was definitely out of character for him. That was definitely it. For a split second, he had let himself think that maybe it was because Britain had been snuggled against him, but that couldn't be it. It was just because the shorter nation hated to let himself appear so vulnerable.
"It's no big deal," he murmured, trying not to appear as disappointed as he was currently feeling. "I mean, it was annoying, having to deal with your snoring and stuff, but it's not like it really bothered me or anything! Ahahahaha!"
"I-I do not snore, you git!" Britain exploded. His face, which had previously gone back to its usual color, was once again flooded with red as he turned away from the American, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Whatever," America responded, still chuckling as he climbed off of the couch. "Anyway, it's breakfast time. You want something to eat? I have waffles and cereal, but I don't think you'd like any of the cereal. It's all either fruity or chocolaty. Nothing for old men," he continued in that same joking tone, still compensating for his disappointment.
"A couple of waffles will be fine," Britain responded, clearing his throat into his fist with a small cough, obviously a little irritated, if the twitch of his overly thick eyebrows was supposed to be any kind of hint. "And I am not that old, you're just too silly to know the difference."
"Kay, waffles, comin' right up. You want regular, blueberry, or chocolate chip?" the American questioned, bustling into the kitchen after taking a moment to straighten his slightly wrinkled shirt, hoping to avoid another lecture about how he should start dressing more professionally or whatever.
"Regular, of course," Britain responded, rolling his eyes as he followed the younger nation into the kitchen. "Is there anything I can help with?" he questioned, keeping his distance from the younger nation, arms crossed behind his back as he watched the taller man dig in the freezer, searching for the waffles.
"Nah, I got it," the American responded, glancing over at him and earning another embarrassed look from the British country before he quickly looked away, avoiding the American's gaze, earning a slightly confused look from the younger nation "You want jelly or syrup or anything like that?
"If you have any strawberry jam, that would be lovely," Britain responded, looking pointedly at the refrigerator door instead of at the cheery American across the room from him. "Otherwise, just plain will do."
"Alright, lemme check," America answered with a smile after popping a couple of waffles into the toaster, letting the contraption do its job as he began searching the fridge.
It wasn't until almost his entire torso had disappeared inside the thing that he finally emerged, a triumphant grin planted on his face, half-empty jar of strawberry jelly in hand. "Found it!" he declared, just as Britain's waffles popped cheerfully out of the toaster. "Good timing, too!" he added, setting the jelly down on the table before grabbing the waffles and setting them out for the shorter nation to start eating.
"Thanks," Britain murmured, sliding into his seat as America turned back to the toaster to get his own breakfast of two chocolate chip waffles cooking.
"No problem," he answered, turning around to face the table, leaning his elbows back on the counter. "Want anything to drink? Milk? OJ?"
"Orange juice, please," the Briton responded with a nod, still avoiding America's gaze.
America frowned slightly, but did as he was asked, pulling the orange juice out of the fridge and pouring his guest a glass. When he received a 'thank you,' once again without a single glance from the shorter nation, he knew that something had to be wrong.
"Is everything okay?" he finally questioned, not wanting their visit to end on a bad note after he had done everything he could to salvage it last night. "You seem a little off this morning."
"Oh, n-no, not at all. I'm fine," Britain responded, eyes widening slightly as his face colored again for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning. "I just have a lot on my mind. I'm going to be a day behind at work at this point, and I need to get to the airport before I miss my flight. You know. Always busy. Work to do."
"Ah… That's all that's bothering you?" America asked, raising an eyebrow, seeming unsure.
"Of course. What else would be bothering me?"
"I dunno… I thought you were still upset about last night or something," the younger nation admitted, glancing up to look Britain in the eyes only to find that the other was still avoiding him.
"As if I'd let something silly like that bother me for this long," Britain responded, maybe a little too quickly. "I already apologized for falling asleep on you like that, so why worry about it?"
"And you're not upset by that thing I said last night anymore?" the American pushed, though he was hesitant to bring it up. The last thing he wanted to do was remind Britain of that stupid slip of the tongue he had made and risk making him angry all over again, but to his surprise, the older nation seemed prepared to just brush that off, too.
"What? No, no, of course not. I'd say we're even. Everything's fine, obviously. Stop imagining things—it's annoying."
"If you say so…" America finally gave in, though he still sounded unsure of himself.
"I do say so, obviously," Britain responded, fading into silence after that so that he could concentrate on eating. America joined him at the table a few minutes later with his own breakfast, and even then, the quiet refused to be broken, settling instead into an awkward cloud that stubbornly floated over their heads.
America couldn't help but be frustrated at this point. Despite Britain's insistence that nothing was wrong, the older nation refused to look him in the eyes, and whenever he did make the mistake of looking up so that his green met America's blue, his cheeks would quickly stain a light pink, and he would spend the next five minutes staring down at his nearly empty plate, muttering to himself under his breath.
The second he was done eating, Britain got up from the table and shot toward the door, mumbling something about getting his suitcase from upstairs and brushing his teeth before he left. Once he was out of the room, America groaned out loud. This was turning into an exact repeat of the night before. Things were weird again, and Britain was just going to leave and catch his flight and he wouldn't have time to fix anything because he couldn't even figure out what was wrong in the first place.
He sighed deeply, leaning forward and letting his forehead collide with the table a couple of times before regaining his composure, getting up and tossing his plate into the sink. He started rinsing everything off and loading it into the dishwasher, attempting to think of a way to salvage the morning before Britain left. This time around, though, nothing came to mind. There just wasn't any time.
By the time he was done, Britain had made his way down the stairs with a series of thumps, dragging his heavy suitcase behind him. America met him in the hall and found him huffing and puffing, looking slightly ruffled after all of that.
"You want any help?" The American asked, earning a quick shake of the head from the smaller nation.
"No, I'm just fine. Get the door if you would, though."
"You're leaving already?"
"Have to," Britain responded with a not. "I just caught sight of the clock, and if I want to catch my flight, I need to get to the airport as soon as I can."
"Ah…" America moved forward, opening the door with a gust of cold air. The snow had let up significantly from the night before. Britain's flight would probably have no issues today, he realized, forcing himself to hold back a sigh.
"In any case, thank you for letting me stay. It was very kind of you."
"Anytime, dude. You should come over more often," the American responded enthusiastically, hoping that Britain might actually take him up on the offer.
"Well, we'll see," Britain responded. "Anyway, thanks again. Goodbye, America."
"See you…"
And with that, the Briton proceeded to shoot out the door as if the devil were at his heels. Or at least, he ran away as fast as his heavy suitcase would allow him to.
America watched him, frown etched deeply onto his face, until the older nation had loaded his suitcase and driven his rental car out of sight before slowly shutting the door.
"What the hell was that all about…?" he questioned to himself, making his way to the family room and plopping down on the couch, holding his head in his hands. "What did I do wrong?"
That morning, he had been sure that things were going well. Heck, it had almost seemed as though it might not be so crazy for him to confess to Britain, but now, he was even more certain than ever that, should he ever actually voice his feelings, he would ruin his chances with the British nation permanently. He couldn't risk that. He wouldn't risk that.
At this point, America had no idea if things would ever really work out between the two of them. The only thing he was really sure of at the moment was that he missed that stubborn Brit already.
Thanks so much for reading. Please review; it helps me so, so much to know how I'm doing, and constructive criticism is always welcome.
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