After slamming the door, Canada turned away from it and stood, staring at his walls in shock. His heart was beating a million miles an hour and his blood pounded angrily in his ears.
Was he just… Did he just… FLIRT? Dear lord! I know he has a bad reputation of being a pervert, especially with guys, but I can't believe he would show any interest in me. I must have been imagining it! I mean, I kicked him out and everything, but ohgod, what if he wasn't and I just kicked him out when he needed emotional support? Then I'd be a total douche!
Canada's thoughts rushed painfully around in his head as he slumped back down at his place at the kitchen table. His hand wrapped around the handle of his mug, but he sat quietly, thinking up a storm, absolutely, and utterly shell-shocked.
The next morning, Canada's alarm shouts him unwillingly awake. With a disgruntled groan and a roll, he feels around for the button to shut his alarm up. Once, it is finally silent, he tries opening his eyes and sighs at the result. His eyes are tired and dry from the night without sleep. He must have checked the clock every hour, swearing that he'd get some sleep before work, but every time he tried to sleep, his efforts were denied by a whirlwind of thoughts about the evening before. With an extended yawn, and a pause to rub the sand out of his eyes, he stands.
Canada stretched and toed his slippers on to his feet before shuffling over to the bathroom. He grabbed a towel from the old, white cabinet by his shower and after carefully arranging it on the hanger, he turned the water on. The water in Canada's house takes quite a while to warm as his pipes are old and his land is ridiculously cold. He waits for the weary water heater in his basement to warm the water to an acceptable temperature and steps in. Warm, almost hot water rushes over his face as he turns it up toward the showerhead, letting the water run down his face and across his chest. His blonde hair quickly darkens with moisture and clings to the back of his head. He runs his fingers through it and then reaches for his bottle of specially formulated color-enhancing maple scented shampoo, courtesy of Francis. The man may be his father and an effeminate pervert, but he had fine taste. The puddle shined like liquid gold in his hand and he rubbed it in to his hair with a smile. He pondered France as he did so, but his thoughts were soon torn away by one of France's friends -a certain German friend who seemed to be making questionable approaches on the Canadian the night before.
It wasn't that the well-built blonde was a virgin. No, Canada's sick papa had long since taken care of that, and when they were younger, poor Alfred was so pent up from Arthur's prudish rules that he stole more than a couple kisses. He really enjoyed the time that he spent with the sexually damaged American, but he could never imagine being in a relationship with him. The only time he could be dominant in their relationship was during sex, but he always had to coax the younger along after the first advance. Alfred would be painfully horny and desire the Canadian, but after a tackle and a kiss, he would become a shy, stuttering mess of embarrassment and arousal. Somehow, the Canadian who had been trained by the nation of love himself, couldn't imagine being satisfied with that sort of sex life, not to mention Alfred's hero complex. Yes, he loved his brother, but Alfred just wasn't mature enough to love him back like he wanted to be loved. He loved Francis as well, but he had to admit to himself that the man was a coward and a pervert, and having sex with him felt a little bit wrong in a lot of ways.
No, Canada was not a virgin, and was certainly not new to love, but somehow Prussia's advances caught him completely off-guard. Canada had known Prussia for a very long time, but not on a personal basis. He frequently heard of his escapades with France and the trouble he got into, but he hadn't spoken much with him since he was a child and Canada forced the Prussian to babysit as France tried to get with "un petit fleur." The evening had been awkward for both of them and Prussia had spent it drinking a long series of beers. When the Frenchman finally returned home reeking of wine and covered in bruises, the German staggered out as quickly as he could. No, he definitely didn't expect advances from Prussia. He must have been drunk. Forget about it. Canada wet his face again in the water before turning it off and reaching for the fluffy well-loved towel. Canada promised himself again to forget about the entire ordeal and to act naturally the next time he saw Prussia as he dressed. He slid his jacked on to his shoulders with a slight nod of confirmation for the plan and set out for another day at the grind.