I don't own hetalia.
Angus POV
I lazily locked the door on my car as I made my way up the walk into Arthur's house. Francis had some stupid meeting in France and I was bored. Supposedly the idiot American was on some type of tour of Europe or some bull shite like that.
I unlocked the door letting it swing open with a push. After the American's arrival we had put door stoppers in all the rooms. That little piece of add on went a long way in protecting the walls from flying door knobs.
"Arthur? Lad, ya here?" I called out. There was the faintest sound. As I made my way further into the living room I called for my younger brother again.
"In my study." I heard now that I was closer. I made my way up the stairs and down the hall to the designated room.
Light blinded me as I opened the cracked door to the room. Shelves of books lined the wall and over-sized desk in the corner. There was a window seat where the sunlight was beaming in. The light back lit my little brother's slight frame as he turned to look at me unseeing emerald eyes gleaming.
"I feel awful, Angus." He turned back to the sunlight. I moved slowly to him reaching out my hand and resting it on his shoulder with a firm grip.
"It'll be alright lad. We'll get through this." His shoulders shook slightly as he bobbed his head. "Does the American need to go?"
"No, he's fine. It's rather cute how protective of me he's become." He leaned into my hand letting his scrawny assed body rest against my broader frame.
"Hang in there lad. We'll get there, you'll see." I looked out the window as Arthur settled in to nap.
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