Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.
"Mattie. Hey, Mattie." America leaned over the back of the couch and gently nudged his sleeping brother's shoulder, trying to rouse him from the couch so he and Romano could sit down. "C'mon, it's reveille. Time to wake up."
Canada stirred and sighed, eyes cracking open to fix unfocusedly on his brother. "Hm?" He asked blearily.
"'Mano and me are going to watch some tv." America said, leaning on his elbows on the back of the couch. "Why don't you go sleep in one of the bedrooms."
Canada looked to where Romano stood next to his brother, holding a large bowl of popcorn and wearing a frown, and back to America. "How long was I asleep?"
"Not long," America answered. "Couple hours, maybe? Come on," he reached down to rest his fingers on his brother's shoulder, urging him up. Canada sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Why don't you go sleep in one of the bedrooms, you'll be more comfortable." America suggested.
"No," Canada shook his head, stifling a yawn, and gathered up the blanket America'd covered him with, "No, I'll stay up and watch tv with you guys." He scooted over to make room for them on the couch, and pulled the blanket into his lap.
"Okay, cool." America agreed easily, and stepped over the back of the couch to flop down in the center. He tilted his head to looked back over his shoulder to where Romano still stood. "C'mon, 'Mano, get comfortable." He patted the cushion next to him in invitation. Romano walked around the other end, settling down next to America, who lifted the bowl of popcorn from his hands and set it on the coffeetable in front of them, smiling at him as he did so.
"What have you guys been up to?" Canada asked, brushing his hair out of his face, running his fingers through the sleep-tangled strands to straighten them (having France's silky hair was nice, but it had its downsides. That it tangled easily was one of them.)
"I was showing Romano the wine cellar," America said, twisting and turning to dig around in the cushions for the remote. "He says it's no good, though."
"No I didn't, bastard." Romano contradicted, "I didn't say it's no good, I said most of it's too old to drink. The cellar itself isn't bad." He reached for the popcorn as he continued. "And you've even got some decent wine that's worth drinking. You could have more Italian down there, but it's not bad for an American wine cellar."
"Well I had an Italian down there, but he couldn't handle the cold." America teased, finally locating and unearthing the remote from behind the cushion he was on.
"Well maybe he could have if he'd had a better sweater." Romano shot back, smirking.
"Ooh," America grinned, leaning closer and snapping his teeth. "Somebody wants to get bitten."
Romano leveled a look at him, arching a brow. "Do I look like a chew toy to you?" He asked dryly, gesturing to himself.
America's eyes flicked deliberately up and down his form, and he arched a brow right back. "Is that a trick question?"
The side of Romano's mouth quirked up in challenge, his hand reaching for the throw pillow that lay on the couch next to him.
"So, South Italy, did America show you the Canadian wine?" Canada interjected, causing them to remember he was there. They turned to look at him; America settling back against the couch, Romano's hand abandoning the throw pillow as he nodded.
"Yeah, he did. It's some of the first stuff he showed me, since it's near the door."
"It's fairly new." Canada admitted, smiling self-effacingly. "Most of the wine production at my place only really picked up in the last twenty years or so, eh?" He tucked his hair behind his ear, leaning to bump his shoulder against America's. "So I only really started bringing it to America in the last few years."
"Which is kind of funny," America told Romano, leaning forward to grab a handful of popcorn from the bowl, "cause he's always been more into wine than me. And it's legal for him to drink in his place."
"Well, I was raised by France for a while," Canada reminded him. "And there are a lot of French-Canadians, so that probably has something to do with it, eh?"
Hearing that, Romano's brows met, eyes widening in surprise, and he regarded Canada warily. "You were raised by France?" He knew there was something wrong with the bastard! He was contaminated by French-ness!
"He was for a while, before England got him." America confirmed, flicking a kernel of popcorn up and catching it in his mouth before he continued, "And a lot of his colonists were French, too. Don't worry though," he reassured Romano, who was looking a little spooked, "he's not like France." Canada leaned back a little to meet Romano's eyes behind his brother's back, and gave him a slow smile. Romano suppressed a shudder, ducking out of his line of sight and scooting a little closer to America, who (oblivious to the exchange) hesitated, adding conscientiously, "Except sometimes he is, a little. But he's my brother, and you're my best friend, so you have nothing to worry about."
"Mhm~." Canada tilted his head, smiling brightly. "L'a—" He was cut off as America sat bolt upright in alarm, clapping a hand over his brother's mouth.
"Mattie." He said sharply, urgently. "No French. And don't try that 'I wasn't speaking French' bullshit," he said flatly, pointing a warning finger when Canada gave him an innocent look over the hand obstructing his mouth. "Nothing in English starts with L'—anything. No French. You promised."
Canada's gaze turned wide and apologetic, and he nodded slightly. America watched him for a moment, and then, satisfied that his brother understood, removed his hand, wiping it on his jeans.
"I'm sorry, Al." Canada said quietly, looking down and hugging the blanket in his lap to him like he would Kumajiro if he was present. "I forgot. I didn't mean to. Really."
America's expression softened. "I know," he said understandingly, laying his hand on his brother's shoulder. "But you have to be careful, Mattie. You could have seriously hurt Romano. When it's just you and me you can speak French to your heart's content." He reached over to settle his other hand protectively on Romano's leg. "But when Romano's around, no French. Of any kind. It's just not safe. So let's be careful. Okay?" He held his brother's eyes seriously.
"Okay." Canada nodded, looking chastened. "I'll be careful, America. I didn't mean any harm. It's just habit, eh? I'm really sorry for forgetting." He bit his lip, looking tentatively at his brother and hugging the blanket in his arms. "We good?"
"Yeah, Mattie, we're good." America smiled, patting his brother's shoulder, and Canada smiled happily back.
Satisfied now that that potential danger had been sorted, America focused his attention on Romano, looking him over with concern. "Are you okay, Romano?" He asked, scanning his best friend for any sign of discomfort or injury. Romano looked a little tense and worried, but not physically harmed. At least on the surface.
"Mmh," Romano made a noise of sort-of confirmation, brows furrowed and lips pursed in a preoccupied frown. America's own brows furrowed in response, and he cupped the side of Romano's face.
"Are you sure?" He lowered his face closer to Romano's, speaking softly and rubbing his thumb soothingly over Romano's cheek, watching him closely for any indication that he wasn't okay. "You aren't hurt or anything, are you?"
"No," Romano muttered, reflexively grasping the front of America's shirt loosely for protection from Canada, still a little unnerved over the recent revelation. "I'm okay."
"Good." America smiled in relief, eyes searching his face. "I want to make sure you're safe. I'm going to do my best to make sure nothing hurts you, Romano."
"I can take care of myself, bastard." Romano told him, frowning half-heartedly, his face heating a little. And he could, of course, but he was touched (and relieved) that America was trying so hard to keep him safe; even protecting him from his own brother— who was scary as fuck, and Romano knew for sure now the bastard had it out for him. For whatever reason, who knew. Probably his French instincts, or something. But America would keep him safe, so it was okay. "And anyway, I'm okay." He reassured America, looking back up to meet his eyes.
"That's good." America smiled warmly, caressing his cheek. "I'm glad you're okay."
Romano gazed back into his eyes, and licked his lips.
This is ridiculous, Canada rolled his eyes and cleared his throat, shifting actively on the cushions in an effort to get more comfortable. "So what are we going to watch?"
"Hm?" America straightened, his hand dropping to Romano's shoulder as he pulled away to look at his brother. Romano blinked at the unexpected loss, fingers suddenly clutching nothing as the fabric of America's shirt slipped from his fingers with the movement.
"On tv, what're we going to watch?" Canada asked, folding his hands in his lap.
"I don't know," America admitted, glancing at the television which was still powered off, and the remote which sat next to his leg, before turning back to Romano, removing his hand from his shoulder as he settled back into his seat. "Anything you want to watch, 'Mano?"
"I don't know," Romano frowned, sitting back as well. "How am I supposed to know what's on in your country?"
"Good point." America grinned, picking up the remote. "I can always pull up the guide."
"We could watch a movie." Canada suggested.
"Works for me." America glanced over at Romano for his opinion, and Romano shrugged, waving a hand in an 'eh, why not' gesture.
"Yeah, sure."
"Okay." America smiled at him.
Canada's lips thinned, a little vexation rising as he noticed how much of his brother's attention was focused solely on South Italy.
"How about a horror movie?" He suggested innocently, scooting a little nearer to America (that was a good idea: once the movie got started, then South Italy would see who was really closer to America. America would cling to him when things got scary, 'cause he barely knew South Italy, really. 'Best friends' or not).
"Nah, it's too early for horror." America dismissed. "They're better when it's dark. What do you want to watch, Romano?"
"I don't know," Romano shrugged again, noncommittally. "What do you have?"
America grinned a little proudly. "Everything." He got up, walking over to one of the cabinets next to the TV and opening it to peruse the hundreds of movies it contained. "Anything you could want, really. I'm kind of in the mood for a romantic comedy." He mused, crouching and running his finger across the titles of some of his favorites.
Canada groaned. "No chick flicks."
America clicked his tongue in disapproval. "You just don't know how to appreciate a good romance." He chided, standing and resuming browsing titles. "How about a blockbuster, then?"
"Why don't we watch a series?" Canada suggested, pulling his legs up on the couch and folding them. "Like a trilogy or something. It's a Saturday, we don't have to work tomorrow, so we could stay up and watch them all together."
"Oooh, a marathon?" America approved. "Good idea. It's been a long time since we've had one. That cool with you, Romano?" He asked, looking over his shoulder at his best friend, who nodded a little.
"Sure."
"'Kay." America grinned, waving him over. "Come help me choose, then. Since you're the guest, you get to pick what we watch." America waited 'til Romano reached his side, then he started pulling out movies in sets and trilogies, moving quickly as he pulled each set out about an inch or so on the shelf so Romano could read them more easily and would know what the options were. Romano scanned the films, which spanned just about every genre ever conceived; some he recognized, most he didn't. There were already dozens to choose from, and America was still pulling out more.
When America reached the Godfather trilogy he automatically started to pull them out, and then paused, glancing at Romano out of the corner of his eye, remembering how he'd reacted to the mention of the movies back in the diner, and surreptitiously pushed them back in. Romano noticed, and cast a grateful glance his way.
Resuming his perusal, Romano pursed his lips as he searched for something he'd like to see. There were a lot of good movies here (and a lot of not so good ones, as well) among of the ones he recognised, and not a few he wouldn't mind seeing again sometime, but that he wasn't particularly interested in watching right now. He lingered over the Dollars trilogy (he had a special fondness for Trilogia del dollaro, especially The Good, the Bad and the Ugly); eventually, though, he decided on Star Wars, which he'd seen in the theaters decades before. He'd enjoyed the series then, and wouldn't mind seeing them again.
America thoroughly approved of his choice, and even Canada didn't have any passive aggressive complaints, and soon the trio of best friends and brother were lounging in relative darkness (America insisted on drawing the curtains and turning off all the lights to 'enhance the experience'), and enjoying the film.
"He used to remind me of you;" Romano remarked as Luke Skywalker went charging off to save the captive princess, dressed as a Storm Trooper.
"Yeah?" America looked over and smiled, feeling a happy little flutter inside at the thought that Romano had been thinking of him even before they were best friends. "Because he's the hero?"
"Because he's an idiot," Romano corrected, digging in the popcorn."He's young and stupid and has no idea what's going on; and he's always charging in half-cocked to save everyone when he's got no idea what he's doing, without listening to what anyone else has to say."
Canada snorted with laughter on the far side of America.
"That's not true,'" America protested. "I mean yeah he's young, but he's not stupid. He's just inexperienced. And it's not like anyone else knows what's going on, either; he's just the only one who's doing something about it. And it works out, too. He's the hero."
"He's still an idiot." Romano asserted, gesturing to the blond who'd just broken into the princess' prison cell and was now staring at her in dumbstruck silence.
"Well, he's new to it all." America said reasonably. "He gets better later. He matures a lot later on. And he's still the hero." He shrugged a shoulder, grabbing a handful of popcorn. "Besides, you can't really blame him. She's hot."
"True." Romano nodded, because it was.
"You're more like Leia." America said thoughtfully after a moment.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Romano narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms. "I'm not a girl, bastard."
"I know that, but Leia's the only one in the series who ever knows what's going on most of the time. And she's smart and snarky and badass and she always looks great, no matter what's going on. I mean look at her; they just jumped into a garbage compressor and she still looks great. And she kicks ass in all three movies. She's awesome."
"Hm. Alright then." Romano said grudgingly. He was a little flattered by the comparison in that light, but he wasn't willing to admit it aloud.
"Who am I?" Canada asked.
"You're an ewok." America teased; poking his brother's cheek. "Cute, but annoying."
"I don't want to be an ewok." Canada protested; batting his brother's hand away. "Choose something else. And not a wookie." He added as America opened his mouth.
America grinned. "How about a Wampa? Like the yeti dude. You like snow, right?"
"No," Canada pouted, squeezing his blanket. "Choose someone good, America."
"Lando." America decided. "He's pretty cool. He's super-polite, and has his fancy private city up on the clouds, all peaceful utopia and whiteness everywhere. That's like Canada right?" America grinned, nudging his brother with his elbow. "Plus he's sneaky as hell."
"I guess that's okay." Canada accepted, subsiding into the couch.
"And England's Threepio." America added, and Canada smiled, stifling a laugh.
"I don't think he'd like that very much."
"Haha, I bet he wouldn't." America could just imagine the look on England's face. "It's all just in fun, anyway. It's not like there's a deeper meaning to it."
"That's true." Canada conceded. "So who would Prussia be? Or France?"
"I don't know," America said after a moment's thought running through the available characters in his mind. "None of the characters in Star Wars really match up with any of us, personality wise. 'Cept maybe Romano and princess Leia." Romano grunted and nudged him in the ribs with an elbow to remind him that he wasn't a girl. (He still wasn't entirely thrilled about being compared to the only female in the show, but he didn't mind as much as he normally might have since America was right— she was the only one with her head on straight, was gorgeous and consistently kicked ass. Leia didn't take shit from anybody.)
"Y'know," America chuckled, confiding, "for the first couple movies I thought she and Luke should end up together. I mean, she's a hero, he's a hero; they're both always looking out for the people they care about, and stuff. I mean, I like Han Solo but she and Luke would've perfect for each other if they weren't brother and sister. Especially after he becomes a jedi. They'd make an awesome team." He nudged Romano, leaning in close to stage-whisper. "You're not secretly my brother or anything, are you?"
"Don't be an idiot, idiot." Romano snorted, pushing his face away. "As if I could be related to someone like you."
America laughed.
"That's good." He grinned, slinging an arm around Romano's shoulders. "Then we should be fine."
"Yeah? Why's that?" Romano asked; wondering if America was trying to tell him something.
"Well for one thing, I know you're not going to run off and marry Han Solo." America teased, moving his arm from Romano's shoulders and wrapping it around his waist a little possessively, ready to keep rogue Romano-stealers at bay.
"Eugh." Romano's face screwed up in disgust. "And anyway, I'm not Leia."
"And I'm not Luke." America said.
"No." Romano agreed.
"So we're good." America nodded in satisfaction; relaxing deeper into the cushions and drawing Romano closer. Romano made a pleased little grumbling sound; relaxing into his best friend's side as they returned their attention to the movie.
On the other side, Canada shifted, leaning on the arm of the couch, missing Prussia. Ignoring the movie, he withdrew his cellphone, scrolling through his call history and frowning. Now that he thought about it, he was a little worried that Prussia hadn't called him back yet. He hadn't had time to think about it earlier, what with being focused on making sure that America didn't forget about him now that South Italy— oh, excuse him, ''Mano'— was around prancing around in The Jacket and they were getting all...cozy and whatever, what with their 'best friends' schtick. But now that he was thinking about it, getting called away early from their weekend together, not answering his phone, even for France...and the fact that even France didn't know where Prussia was or what he was up to, well, that was especially worrisome.
He sent a quick text to Prussia, and as an afterthought sent one to France, too, and slid the phone back into his pocket, settling down to watch the movie and wait.
They took a quick break after the first movie to grab snacks and drinks before putting the second movie in.
Canada noticed with some annoyance that his brother and South Italy resumed their cuddling session as soon as they'd settled back down on the couch. South Italy even went so far as to throw his leg across America's lap, and America rested his arm on it. He was pretty sure neither of them even remembered he was there.
It was ridiculous.
And neither Prussia nor France had texted him back yet. Or called. It was worrying.
He sighed, wishing he had Kumajon there to cuddle and tell him everything would be alright.
Romano nibbled contentedly on a cracker, comfortable and well-fed and warm, and basking in the glow of his new friendship. This best friends thing was turning out to better than he could ever have expected. Dangers from Canada and moose aside (which America would protect him from anyway), America's arm around him felt nice, and leaning against his side felt nice, and really the whole thing was...nice. He even felt comfortable enough to throw his leg across America's lap, and enjoy America's arm on his leg, without worrying that America would do something weird or make a big deal about it and embarrass him, and really just the whole thing was really nice.
And America kept looking at him and smiling at him like he was something special, and generally just seemed really happy that he was there. In fact Romano was pretty sure America was paying more attention to him than he was to the movie.
To be honest, he wasn't paying much attention to the movie, either.
Romano couldn't remember the last time he'd been this happy.
He shifted against America's side, lifting his left arm to drape it across America's arm on his leg. America looked at him out of the corner of his eye and smiled, lips curling up in a happy little curve, and Romano hid his own smile and the warmth in his cheeks by resting his head on America's shoulder and pretending to watch the movie. He could feel America pretending to watch the movie next to him, too. It felt really nice.
All he could really see from here in the darkened room was the television, playing the movie, or his and America's arms and legs, and his focus was on the latter. He liked seeing himself and America together like this, their limbs tangled in an intimate manner that spoke of their close friendship. Sitting like this, anyone could just look at them and see that they were best friends. There could be no doubt or question. Only best friends would sit this close.
America was warm and firm and smelled nice, and the shirt he wore felt soft under Romano's skin where his face rested on his shoulder. He ran the fingers of his left hand lightly along America's sleeve, wondering whether the shirt was as soft all over. It was, pleasantly so, and soon he was engrossed in running his fingers and hand over America's forearm, toying with the sleeve, enjoying the feel of the soft fabric under his fingertips and the supple firmness of his best friend's arm underneath. It was a little awkward, though, with his left arm half-pressed against America's side, so he pulled America's arm closer, almost into his lap, so he could handle it more easily.
That was much better.
America's sleeve had ridden up a bit as a result of the move, exposing a pale wrist, and, curious, he ran his fingers over that, too, where smooth skin disappeared under cloth and the two textures juxtaposed (he was vaguely aware of America watching him, but he was too preoccupied in his task to pay it much mind). America's wrist— and hand, too, Romano could see— were strong in appearance, but still held the slight angularness of youth, the teenage years which he hadn't quite outgrown yet. He turned America's hand over, trailing his fingers across the soft, thin skin of his inner wrist, running his thumb across the fine lines edging the heel of his palm.
America watched Romano, mesmerized by the sight and feel of his best friend's fingers sliding over his skin, nimble, warm and deft, the Italian's darker olive coloration a pleasing contrast to his own pale skin. They looked good together, he thought. And Romano touching him felt really nice, almost a tickling sensation but pleasantly so. Very pleasantly so. Romano had touched him earlier, he remembered, up in the bedroom when he'd been sleepy and it had been soothing and really nice, like this, too. He could definitely get used to this. Romano had very nice hands. He'd noticed that before, many times, and now he was learning that they were very nice when touching him, too. Though, he supposed that wasn't really a surprise.
If this was what it felt like to be petted, then it was no wonder dogs and cats liked it so much.
Romano moved his fingers up America's palm, spreading them across it, and America flexed his fingers, curling them up to touch Romano's, lips curling up again when Romano responded by running his fingers up in-between them, sliding them up to the tips and back down, and back up once more. He touched the tips of his fingers against America's, and glanced up, to meet America's gaze. America smiled at him, eyes flickering down to where their fingertips touched and back up to Romano's eyes, and curled his fingers through Romano's as he leaned closer. Romano leaned closer too, tilting his face up to meet him.
"I'm going to go call Prussia." Canada said abruptly, rising from the couch to leave the room, his sudden interruption causing its other two occupants to look over, distracted from their interactions in the personal universe that the two of them had been occupying.
"Okay," America called after him mildly in acknowledgement, returning his attention to his best friend at his side.
America was such an idiot. Frustrated and a little angry, Canada shook his head, hand clenching in his hoodie pocket once more as he pulled out his cell and dialed. He couldn't believe what an idiot his brother was. Couldn't he see what South Italy was trying to do? 'Best friends', ha!
He pressed the phone to his ear, listening to it ring as he made his way to the kitchen. It didn't help that he felt completely like a third wheel here. America was absorbed in his new 'best friend', and was forgetting he was even there, and it was awkward and frustrating, and a little lonely. And watching the two of them cuddle— which was totally what they were doing, no matter what America thought— made him a little lonely for Prussia, too. Though if Prussia tried to cuddle that much he'd probably get annoyed with him, neither of them were that touchy-feely, but still, they'd been planning to spend time together, and it would have been nice.
Ha, it was no real surprise that America was a cuddler. His brother had always been more into the physical contact than he was. His own interest in cuddling was pretty much limited to Kumajiro. But, Kumakoro was fuzzy and fun to squeeze.
He missed Kuma, mostly.
He sighed as the call went to voicemail, and ended it, dialing again. He wasn't really expecting to get through, but might as well try again.
He opened the 'fridge and grabbed a soda as it rang. "Hey, Prussia." He said when the voicemail picked up again, and let the 'fridge door close. "Just checking in, eh? I hope you and Kumaball are having fun. Don't feed him too many sweets! Call me when you get the chance. I'm at my brother's. I l— 'll talk to you soon. Goodbye." He hung up, sliding the phone into his pocket. He wasn't too worried about Prussia, he was always getting into trouble, but he always got out of it okay, too; but it would be nice to know what was going on.
He sighed, looking around the kitchen. He didn't really feel like going back into the living room to play third wheel right yet. He was tempted to just go to bed. He was tired, and it had been a long week getting everything ready for the meeting, and all this with America was just making him sad and frustrated and a little angry and depressed. But bed would be lonely, especially without Kuma to share it with, and he didn't really want to leave his brother to South Italy's clutches, anyway. Who knew what might happen.
If he was smart he would go home, he told himself, taking a gulp of his soda. Yeah, he'd taken the weekend off, but there were still a lot of preparations to do for the meeting on Wednesday, and there were chores that needed to be done around his house, too. But, again, that would be abandoning his brother to South Italy, and then America would forget him entirely, and he just...wasn't ready to give up, yet. It was probably hopeless, but maybe there was a chance he could turn the situation around.
He ran a hand through his hair, deciding to get dinner started. Technically that was his brother's place as host, but it wouldn't bother America if he took care of it, and it would give him something to do while he tried to think of some way to keep America from forgetting him.
He still hadn't thought of anything when he returned to the living room almost an hour later, leaving the dinner covered and cooling in the oven. The movie was almost over, and he was annoyed to see the 'best friends' still cuddling at the end of the couch, legs wrapped up together and propped up on the coffee table, America's head resting on South Italy's on his shoulder, one pair of hands entwined and resting in their laps and the other set engaged in playing with each other's fingers, still clearly more engaged in their activity and each other than watching the movie.
He sighed, loudly, and dropped down on the other side of the couch.
"I made dinner." He announced, and America and South Italy lifted their heads to look over, momentarily abandoning their handplay. "It's in the oven, if you get hungry."
"Cool, thanks." America acknowledged with a nod. Romano nodded and 'hn'd', too (privately resolving to make himself pasta when he finally did get hungry. He wasn't sure if he could trust anything Canada might have cooked).
America frowned a bit as he observed his brother. Canada looked a little down. "Everything okay? Were you able to get ahold of Prussia?"
"No," Canada frowned slightly, pulling his legs up on the couch and folding them under him. "No answer. I just keep getting his voicemail."
"Are you worried?" America wondered.
Canada lifted his shoulders, frown deepening. "A little," he admitted, sliding his hands into his hoodie pockets in lieu of having Kumajiro to squeeze. "I mean, he's probably alright, he can take care of himself, but..." He shook his head, sighing resignedly. "Although, knowing him, he's probably just getting into some kind of mischief with his friends and feeding Kumachiki too much sugar."
"Bet you anything he's out with Spain." South Italy commented, lifting one of America's fingers and wiggling it idly. "That bastard hasn't been answering his phone either. I'm sure whatever he's getting himself into, France and Prussia aren't far behind."
"I'm sure France will keep them from getting into any real trouble." America said, looking down at their hands and wiggling his fingers for more of Romano's attentions.
The other two looked at him like he was crazy.
"Are you crazy, bastard?" Romano said incredulously. "France is the one who gets them into trouble half the time!"
"He's right, America." Canada affirmed. "France isn't exactly a mitigating influence."
"Yeah? Huh. Everytime he tells me about the stuff they get up to he says he's the one holding things together."
"Sure." Romano snorted. "Like fire holds a house together." He shifted, untangling his fingers from America's and struggling to untangle the rest of himself from America as well in order to rise. "Oi," he batted America's arm with the back of his hand. "I need to get up. I gotta take a piss."
"Ha, 'kay." America helped him sort out their limbs and stand, and leaned against the back of the couch to watch, smiling, as Romano left the room.
Canada's lips thinned as he took in expression. "You really like him, huh?"
America's smile widened, and he folded his arms on the back of the couch, resting his chin on top of them. "Yeah." He flushed with happiness, and lowered his eyes, burying the lower half of his face in his arms almost bashfully to diffuse his pleasure. "I really do. He's my best friend."
Canada paused, taken aback by the sheer...affection and happiness in his brother's voice. Then he frowned, getting back on track. "Don't you think you two are a little," he withdrew a hand from his pocket to waver it, the corners of his mouth pulling back, "touchy-feely?"
"What do you mean?" America asked curiously, lifting his head.
"It's just," Canada drew his shoulders up, "you guys touch each other an awful lot. It's a little...weird, eh?"
"It's not weird," America disagreed, shifting around a little to face his brother. "And we don't touch each other that much."
"America," Canada gave his brother a dry look, one that said he was being especially obtuse, "you touch him all the time. You're all over the poor guy. Guys don't usually touch each other that much, eh? Don't you think you might be making him a little uncomfortable? Most guys don't really go for that sort of thing, you know? And South Italy seems kind of stand-offish..."
"Standoffish to you, maybe. But 'Mano and me are best friends. It's different." America pointed out. "We're not like normal guys. And he would tell me if I was making him uncomfortable, Mattie."
"Are you sure?" Canada pressed dubiously. "You are a super-power, America. You have a lot of power. He might be too intimidated—"
"Haha, seriously? Romano?" America sat up, smiling incredulously. "Romano's not intimidated by me. And even if he was, I don't think that'd stop him from telling me to back off if I bothered him. He's not exactly shy."
"But—" Canada tried again.
"Look, Mattie," America interrupted, shaking his head a little. "I appreciate that you're just looking out for Romano, but you've got the wrong idea here. There's nothing weird about my friendship with 'Mano. I can prove it to you," he added, standing, and patted his brother's shoulder on his way out of the room. "Wait here, I'll be right back."
AN:
