*A/N Welcome to the next chapter! I'm glad I could get this out now, because I only have two weeks until midterms, and I'm extremely stressed out. I'm actually taking a break from studying to write this, so I hope you enjoy it!*
America shut the door with a bang, not bothering to turn the lights on. Tears still rolled down his cheeks despite his best efforts. Why did England have to say that? He thought they were finally getting along; that maybe, just maybe, England was starting to tolerate him. He wanted to use this party as an excuse to get closer to him, but it seemed it was doing just the opposite. He was just being a nuisance again.
America slumped against the wall, wiping the stubborn tears from his cheeks. Damn, he couldn't do anything right. Even compliments were out of the question. All he wanted was a friend. No, that wasn't true. He wanted more, but he knew that was impossible. His wished he could be a hero. One who could swoop in, save the day and get the girl, or in this case, guy. But life wasn't like that. He couldn't always be the hero, no matter how much he wanted to.
He would just have to suck it up and deal with it. Maybe if he stopped trying so hard, things would get easier. Yeah, that's it. He would go downstairs and act like it never happened. England could go back to his same old prissy self, and he could be the hero, like he wanted to be.
.oOo.
Bloody hell. Why did I say that? Well, he was being a stupid defensive git, but he looked so upset. Did I really hurt him that much?
England sat on the couch, surrounded by streamers. He did his best to decorate the way America would have wanted; thus, the whole room was covered in neon streamers and huge signs. England checked his watch: 2:00. America had been in his room for thirty minutes already. He needed to toughen up and get his ass back downstairs. There was only another four hours until the party started. Didn't he need to "cook" or something?
He heard a crash from overhead. That's it, he was going up. The soles of his shoes clicked against the floor with every step. Clink clunk clink clunk. Why were these boots so bloody loud?! Well, at least America could hear him coming. It wasn't like he was trying to sneak up on him or anything.
Reaching the top of the stairs, England stopped. Which way was his room again? He scratched his head, peeking around the corner. Ah, of course. It would have to be the one with the door painted red, white and blue. England continued onwards.
Was knocking appropriate in this situation? Probably, but he didn't really care. Just as he was about to turn the knob, the door shot open and he was bulldozed by what felt like a brick wall. England stumbled, falling backwards and hitting his head on the floor. The wall fell on top of him. No, wait, that was America.
The taller nation looked dazed, but when he felt England struggling beneath him, he clambered off quickly. His face ignited, and he looked away pointedly.
"S-Sorry Iggy, I didn't hear you coming." America mumbled. How did he manage to screw everything up so fast?! It hadn't even been a minute before he ruined everything.
"Didn't hear me?!" England spluttered incredulously, not bothering to correct him on the nickname. What?! Did he need hearing aids or something? You could hear these shoes from a kilometer away; or "0.62 miles". Bloody America. Get with the times.
"I was just coming downstairs anyway. Did you put the decorations up?" He asked. It was like nothing ever happened. England caught himself scowling and took a deep breath. He could do this.
"No." America looked crestfallen. He opened his mouth to say something, but England cut him off.
"Stupid git. Of course I did. You asked me to, didn't you?" England crossed his arms, his eyebrows furrowed. That didn't come out right. He was supposed to apologize. That didn't really sound like an apology.
America's spirit lifted at England's words. He smiled weakly. "Thanks. I'll go downst-" America pushed past England and headed for the stairs but was prevented by an iron grip. He turned, revealing England's hand clutching his wrist.
"America." England started. America cocked his head in confusion. He looked like a little puppy; with his bright blue eyes and the tilt of his head. England felt his face heat up, instantly letting go of the taller nation.
"What is it dude?" America replied, scratching the top of his head.
"I-I wanted to apologize for how I spoke to you earlier. You did nothing to warrant those words." England stuttered, struggling to keep eye contact with the bubbly American. His stomach twisted unpleasantly when America grinned at him, wrapping an arm around England's shoulders.
"Don't worry about it man. You were just speaking your mind." England pushed America's arm away, gaping at him.
"That doesn't make it okay! It's not like I really believed it either. I was just being a prick." England yelled. Something flashed through the American's eyes. Surprise? Relief? …Glee?
England shook his head. He had too many things to deal with right now. He didn't need to dwell on it. America clapped him on the back, his booming laughter shattering the tension in the air. England's heart skipped a beat. He cleared his throat, composing himself.
Bloody hell. What is wrong with me? I feel like a nervous wreck around him for absolutely no reason.
Suddenly, he was jerked out of his thoughts, literally. America was pulling him down the stairs while yelling about party preparations.
"Ahh! America! I'm going to break my neck! Or yours!" He screamed, as America dragged him into the kitchen, still laughing heartily. After a few more seconds, America let him go. England straightened his shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles. He raised an eyebrow at the other man, who was now furiously chucking things onto the counter.
"America, what the bloody hell are you doing?" He said exasperatedly. The American glanced back at him, grinning.
"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm cooking, see?" America held up a recipe that appeared out of nowhere. England rubbed his temples. This was going to be a long night.
.oOo.
"Ahh, Iggy! Don't put that in there!" America cried desperately, barely stopping England from pouring an entire container of salt into the pork. England looked at him in confusion. He just wanted to add some extra flavor; and more spices means more flavor. Right?
"Why not? It looked like it needed more spice." England reasoned, trying to shake some salt into the pot. America caught his wrist before he could do any more damage.
"How are you supposed to know that if you don't taste it first?!" America gaped at him in horror. He was going to ruin perfectly good food!
"Taste it? Then it wouldn't be a surprise at the end!" America smacked a hand to his forehead closing his eyes. This was useless. There was no changing Iggy. As suddenly as his eyes closed, they opened again.
"Wait, did you just say spices?" He asked. There was no way he heard that right.
England looked confused. He held up the container of salt. "Yes. Spices. You know, salt?" America had to fight the urge to give England a good smack upside the head.
"Dude! Salt isn't a spice. Not a real one at least." England stared at him in utter horror.
"What do you mean it isn't a spice?! I use it all the time! It's literally the only bloody spice I have!" England argued, waving the salt in the air. America shook his head in disgust. So that's why his food was so bad. It was the salt. That, and the fact that he had the wonderous talent of setting cereal on fire with only a bowl and some milk.
America grabbed the container out of his hand, effectively ending his rant. England scowled, crossing his arms defiantly. America sighed. This was going to be a long day.
.oOo.
Buzz buzz buzz. Prussia looked down at the table where his phone was ringing. The macarena blared loudly from the device. Spain. Prussia grinned, snatching up the phone.
"Hey, hey, hey! The awesome Prussia is here!" He announced to the man on the other end.
"Mi amigo! How are you?" Spain asked cheerfully. It sounded like he was walking on a busy street. Prussia replied boisterously.
"I'm awesome! What did you think?!" He laughed, Spain joining in as well.
"So, are you and Francis at the cafe yet?" Spain inquired.
"Nein, I'm waiting here for you guys. Don't leave me alone for too long! Kesesesese." Prussia laughed again. Spain rolled his eyes from the other side.
"I'll be there in a minute, I'm walking down the street." There was a crash on Spain's end, along with a few muffled curses, a "sorry" and an "are you okay".
Prussia raised an eyebrow, trying to contain his laughter. "You run someone over there buddy?" He yelled, making the other customers in the cafe turn and stare at the strange man sitting alone in a booth.
"Yeah, but everything's fine, it was just Romano. I was happy just to see mi tomate! He must be coming to the party too. Anyway, I'm on my way." Spain hung up the phone, cutting off Prussia's goodbye. The albino shook his head. Spain was always going on and on about his "little tomato". It was a bit obnoxious. They should just get together already!
Suddenly, the door burst open. A glamourous man strutted through the entryway.
"Hon hon hon! Je suis ici! Nous pouvons commencer la fête!" He laughed, his blond hair blowing fabulously in the gust of wind that happened to come along at exactly the right moment.
Prussia groaned lightheartedly. "Francis, you know I didn't understand a word you just said." France stopped, then began to laugh again.
"Je suis desolée, mon ami. I guess you are just too plain for the language of love!" France grinned at him mischievously. Prussia frowned.
"No way! I'm totally more awesome than you!" He argued forcefully, nearly knocking over a chair in his efforts.
"Oh really? Prove it-" France was cut off by the slam of the door. They turned around. There was Spain, hunched over and breathing heavily. He looked up when the room went silent. Seeing his friends, he gave a weak smile.
"H-Hey guys, I'm here." Both Prussia and France gaped at him.
"What the hell happened man?" Prussia asked. It was unusual to see him this winded. Spain gave a weak laugh.
"Well, I kind of tried to bring Lovino along, but he got pissy and chased me down the street, saying he was going to kick my ass back to Spain." Prussia rolled his eyes and France raised an eyebrow. Spain shrank back from the accusing stares.
"Heh, sorry. He just looked so cute, and I wanted to bring him along!" Spain mumbled, running his fingers through his hair.
France sighed, sending Prussia a knowing glance. He grabbed Spain by the arm, dragging him over to their booth. Prussia followed behind them shaking his head incredulously.
That man would never learn.
*A/N So sorry for the wait, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway! Midterms have been stressing me out so much, so I haven't had as much time to write as I wanted. Anyway, this is the first time writing the BTT, so tell me how I did! The next chapter will hopefully be up anytime from Friday to Sunday. Please be on the lookout! Here are the translations for the chapter. It looks like French class has gotten me somewhere!
Je suis ici: I'm here
Nous pouvons commencer la fête: We can start the party
Je suis desolée, mon ami: I'm sorry, my friend
Thanks for reading!*