Rating: PG
Pairing: England/China
Word Count: 487
Notes: It's like I just want to make them suffer all the time.
xxx
Angry yells and mocking words had been nonchalantly tossed around for what seemed like an eternity; now, however, the room was silent, and China was gently pressed against a cool, hard wall.
England was far too close. Their bodies lightly brushed. England's arm rested against the wall beside China's head. His green eyes peered into China's gold ones. Their breaths mingled, noses barely touching.
Yes. England was far too close.
China knew their afternoon tea would lead to arguing. It wasn't often that they argued. Their silly spats had dwindled as the years passed. And when one of them—usually England—did say something offensive, the other would sigh in frustration and leave. That was the end of that. They were mature adults; they knew arguing would get them nowhere, and China hated buying new chairs to replace the ones he tossed at the Englishman.
But this time, England had backed him up against the damn wall. China couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He couldn't look at anything except England's brilliant green eyes.
The anger was disappearing, but the air was still tense. China half-expected England to say something obnoxious—what were they fighting about again?—or leave, but …
The younger nation closed his eyes and slumped against China.
"I never meant to hurt you," he whispered.
China blinked and automatically wrapped his arms around England's torso. England felt heavy, and China didn't want him to fall, so he protectively secured his hold.
A sigh escaped England's lips. He turned his face, his nose brushing China's neck. It caused the older nation to shiver; the other's breath gently kissing his skin was not what he had expected to receive from this argument.
Much less an apology.
"Hurt me?" China feigned indifference. He swallowed and moved a hand to England's hair, gently brushing his fingers through the thick, soft strands. "We always argue. You didn't hurt—"
"You know what I mean." England pressed his lips against China's neck. A soft, apologetic kiss. "I never apologized, Yao."
China closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against the side of England's head. His hair tickled China's nose. England hadn't verbally apologized, but China wasn't blind; he could see the regret in those eyes. He moved his other hand to England's chest, gently coaxing him to stand upright.
"The tea's getting cold," he murmured, finally able to look England in the face again.
A minute in silence passed. England smiled. He reached his hand out and ran his fingers through China's hair before cupping the nation's cheek. After a quick glance at the tea, England chuckled and pulled China into his arms.
"We can brew some more later," he whispered against China's lips.
"I never said I forgave you," China began, his words swallowed before he could escape his entrapment.
But England could tell by the way China's fingers gently wove through his hair that his apology had been generously accepted.