Bigger thanks for all of the feedback! Keep it coming ;D

I hope you enjoy~

His whistles resound through the hallway, footsteps creating a beat to go along with it. America taps vigorously on the screen of his iPad with his eyes glued to game he's playing, tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth as he zones in. He turns a corner thoughtlessly and keeps a steady pace forward. Ear buds blaring rock music on full volume, he can't hear the steps approaching him.

"America-san! I am so happy to have found you," Japan beams, picking up his pace to reach America faster, "I believe that you may have an important document of mine."

America bobs his head forward, "Because the music do…"

"It must have been scrambled when Mr. Russia fell through the ceiling," Japan says with a shy laugh.

"And it is reaching, inside you…" Walking a little faster, America sings in a barely audible voice. "Forever preaching,"

Japan closes his eyes and sighs. "Germany must be infuriated with Mr. Russia for that whole scene, it ruined the meeting. But I remember seeing one of my papers float by a couple of yours, and I do-"

"Fuck you too, your scream's a whisper-"

"-back. It has data on my country's environmental influence and-"

"Hang on you, Twisted Transi-"America smacks into Japan, hard, his nose smashing against the Japanese man's forehead and sending his head reeling backwards. "Gosh argh Japan!" America cups his burning nose, feeling something keen to the warmth of blood trailing over his lip.

Japan had jumped back also, from sheer surprise, and then peaked an eye open to see what America was talking about and oh, kuso… Moving quickly by America's side, Japan tries to pry the country's hands from his face but to no avail. "A-America, I'm so sorry! I did not see you coming," he stutters out nervously.

The younger nation waves him off. "It's fine, bro. I'll just have to get a new nose!"

"New…nose?" Japan's eyes widen, "is it that serious? I'm sure you won't have to get an all new one..."

"Hahaha!" Removing his hand, America puts it on his hip and stands proudly, a broad grin on his lips. Leaking like a broken faucet, blood runs from America's nose and over his lips, smaller trails branching around his mouth and dripping toward his chin. Japan cringes at the sight of it and shrinks into himself somewhat; he places a hand on the dip in America's back and pushes him forward, shaking his head and sounding like a parent as he says, "We need to get you clean right now, the carpet is too nice for stains."

"Is that your only concern?!" America shouts.

Japan sighs, "No, but it is avoidable."

With arms wrapped around his legs and chin resting on his knees, silky kimono draped on him, America watches the country before him stare at a pile of documents with intense concentration; the orange on top of his head just made him look adorable.

Eye twitching slightly from the persistent weight, Japan glances up from his papers and to America. He asks, "Why…did you put an orange on my head?"

"Why not?" America taps his toes on the ones sticking out from under the Kotatsu and laughs when Japan pulls his feet fully under the table.

"Because fruit does not belong on my head, that's why not!" Japan says with his voice rising slightly. It wasn't because he had just spent thirty minutes cleaning America's face and bandaging his nose that made the Japanese nation short-tempered, it was how his data made no sense. As if lifting the pages would change the statistics on the page, Japan holds them above his head and into the light. "I don't get it…"

"Dude, this is batshit boring, I think I actually fell asleep while staring at you. With my eyes open, ha," America says between yawns. He wipes a tear from his eye before stretching his back to lie on the floor. "Is this what you're going to be doing all night? Japaaaaaaaaaannnnn there's barely any light out."

Japan only huffs into the hand not holding the crinkled paper of mistake reminders, ignorance, and sheer laziness; because these numbers shouldn't be possible. Someone must have made a mistake.

"Ugh," America whines, "how can you even read? Are you using moonlight?" He turns his head to look out of the open window and at the moon and stars. Although they could have turned on the ceiling lights, Japan voted against it because he thought it was impolite to the others; America argued, but it was Japan's room, his rules….

Too bad America was bribed into letting the topic go or else he wouldn't get to sit under the Kotatsu, because who actually follows rules? Not the hero, of course!

Having to settle with dim lamp lights and the scent of flowers, America rolls on to his stomach and groans into the carpet, saying in muffled words, "Thish ish sooooo boring."

"You can always go into your own room," Japan says –more so, suggests – secretly snaps.

America lets out another boast of laughter. "Nah, my room is probably crawling with," his voice gains a British accent, "Faeries, leprechauns, and unicorns. Although that is delightful, I fancy being here with you with a relaxing cup of tea, chap. Splendid." America waves a hand in the air, "Ta-ta~"

"I don't think England would appreciate you mocking him."

It is waved off with a grin. "I do it all of the time to his face, so I think I'm good. Anyway, what could he do?"

Across two hallways in America's room:

"Mr. England! That is impolite!" A fairy smacks the Brit's hand away from her skirt and frowns, cheeks flaring a bright red.

Undeterred and drunk out of his mind, England blows her a kiss and tries to wink at her, but ends up letting his face fall to the edge of a bed. His words are a mess of slurs and hiccups, blush forming when something grabs him by his waist.

"Mmm, I likes 'hat. Ish t'at you Misses. Pearlberry? I always knew you..you were naughty– hey!" the arms yank him off of the bed and into the air, "what do you t-think you ar' doing?"

"Mon amour, you are a mess right now," the French voice tsks. England tries to glare at the being carrying him somewhere but his head and stomach start to swirl. He replies with a burp.

"Ah, disgusting," the voice grumbles. Placing England on his side on the bed, France lays a soft sheet over the sputtering Brit.

Giving him a scrutinizing stare, England rolls his eyes. "Are you America?" he asks.

France just shakes his head and moves to sit on the edge of the bed. "Non," he says,"I am not, but this is his bed." For a brief moment they make eye contact, emerald hazed over with alcohol meeting a piercing sapphire. France watches the nation mumble a "Good enough," before passing out mere seconds later.