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Fifty-Seven: Attractions

"A sense of humour," said Hungary, with an indifferent shrug. "I know it's cliché, but it's true. I love a guy with a sense of humour. It's the sexiest thing in the world."

Northern Ireland scrunched up her nose. "It's attractive, for sure, but calling it sexy is a stretch. A funny joke may make a guy appealing, but it doesn't make me want to pounce on him."

"Really?" said Scotland, leaning back against his chair. "I'm amazed there's a characteristic that doesn't make you want to pounce on a guy."

Northern Ireland waved the comment away, just as France arrived at their table with a tray of drinks. "What really turns me on," she said, pretending to lower her voice, which only served to draw more attention to her words, "are broad shoulders. When a man is tall and strong and has those arms that just dwarf a girl...whew!" She fanned herself with her fingers.

Beside her, England quirked an eyebrow toward France, and saw a flash of surprise cross his face. Instinctively, France set the tray down on the table and squared his shoulders, holding the stiff posture while passing out the drinks.

England snorted and shook his head.

Unluckily, Northern Ireland did not seem to notice France's sudden growth spurt, and he sat down on the other side of England, feeling rather rejected.

Still smirking, England returned his focus to the history book before him.

"What do you think, America?" said Hungary, taking a small sip of her drink.

The words on the page blurred; England's ears perked up.

"Oh, I don't know," said America, with a faint hint of peculiarity in his voice that suggested he did have an opinion, but wasn't convinced he should share it. "A lot of things make a person attractive. You all had good points."

"Don't be boring," said Scotland. "Everybody's different."

"Yeah Yankee," said Northern Ireland. "We want to know what gets your engine revved up." She and Hungary tittered, and England realised that his jaw was aching and forced his teeth to unclench.

America took a slow gulp of his Coors Light. The nations waited, while he hummed thoughtfully and licked his lips. "Well," he started, "lately I've had a...sort of a thing for...uh, glasses. On guys."

"Oh!" Japan straightened, showing the first inkling of enthusiasm since the topic had come up. "Me too!"

The other nations just frowned.

"Glasses?" said Scotland. "Are you just saying that cos you wear them? And like, okay, you look good with glasses; they suit you…but some people, not so much."

America shook his head. "No, no. I mean, some guys look really good in them. It makes them look…you know…"

"Brilliant," said Japan, blushing slightly. "And that is sexy."

"Yes!"

Scotland nodded thoughtfully before he smirked. "Okay, I get it. You're turned on by the thought that a guy might be able to write your presentations for you at world summits."

The table burst into laughter, except for America, whose embarrassment doubled with anger.

England gaped at the red-faced nation, not realising that he was staring. Not realising that one hand was trailing across the table in search for the little green carrying case that held his little black-framed reading glasses. The ones he despised. The ones he never wore. The ones that suddenly seemed not so bad.

And then he spotted France watching him. Their eyes met, France's mocking and victorious.

Heat crawled up England's neck and he pulled his hand back to his book, dropping his gaze.

But his history book was forgotten as he stared at the page before him. He had already read this book hundreds of times, and he had more pressing things to think of...like how hard could it be to convince France his ancient reading glasses had suddenly become prescription.

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