Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.
Taking a break from rewriting the next chapter of Educating America for the third time, thought I'd throw a little tidbit on the platter while the main course is simmering.
This is a little story based on cultural differences...ha...yes. I'm planning for it to be a shorter story, two, three chapters at most. But, I planned for Educating America to be a 2k word oneshot, and Misconceptions to be an 8k word oneshot, and Futzed...well, let's just say I suck at keeping stories short.
Still, it'll be cute and silly and fluffy, 'cause that's how Romerica rolls.
Tentatively titled: Culture Clash.
Sniffling wetly, America reached a hand out from his blanket cocoon to snag another tissue, disregarding the ringing phone. The message machine beeped, and England's voice came over the speaker.
"America, what the bloody hell are you getting up to, you daft idiot? No-one's heard from you in days, you've not been answering your phone, and your brother says you've not been home. People are starting to worry, you sodding git. N-not me, of course; I'd be hard-pressed to care less, really, but you ought to at least give your brother a call. He's quite concerned."
"A-and," He continued in a softer tone, voice understanding, "we...well, we all heard what happened from Spain. Raw luck, lad. I, I know it hurts, but hiding won't solve anything. Don't let them see you hurting, America. Show the world it doesn't matter. Stiff upper lip, and all that. It'll be right. Better to have loved and lost, eh? Other fish in the sea, you know? A-and, if you'd like someone to talk to, I'm... well, I'll be here. We can drown our sorrows in a few pints, eh? Well, that...that's all. I'll try you later. Give us a call, all right?"
Spain had told everyone what had happened, huh? So now the whole world knew what an idiot he'd been. He couldn't really muster the energy to care, not with his heart hurting like this. He groaned, curling into a miserable ball. How could he have been so stupid? He'd ruined everything. He'd lost everything, and his heart had broken, shattered into a million pieces, and it was all his own fault. And the worst part, the absolute worst, was that he hadn't... he'd never even had... they hadn't even been... everyone was right, he was such an idiot.
If only he could go back, back to when he'd- no, when they'd- no, further. Back to when they'd first really met, 'cause that was where this whole thing started, right?
AN: The next part is actually written, but you're not getting it 'cause I'm 90 percent sure I'll be changing it. So. The story's already plotted out, beginning to end, like all my stories; but that doesn't mean it won't develop surprises on me. They always do. *sigh*
Stay safe, all you out there on the East Coast!