[USxUK] White Flag [Chapter 2/?]
Apr. 14th, 2012 09:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blood_wingedTitle: White Flag [2/?]
Genre: Romance
Characters/Pairing: America, England, Canada. US/UK
Rating/Warnings: PG for later. Possibly R. I'm not sure yet.
Summary: Arthur finally plucks up the nerve to ask Alfred out on a date, only to find that the American nation has never looked at him 'that way'. However, the simple request sets off an uncomfortable train of thought in Alfred's mind as he begins to wonder exactly why that might be.
The meeting passed uneventfully. Arthur didn’t meet Alfred’s eyes once, but he didn’t show any sign otherwise of how he was feeling. Alfred was confused. His gaze flicked repeatedly over to the English nation as he flipped through his paperwork and exchanged words with a few of the nations who had business with him. Even Argentina’s glowering didn’t seem to be ruffling him as much as it had been. It was only then that he realised how much Arthur looked at him during meetings. How many times he’d look up to find the English nation’s green eyes on him, only for him to suddenly startle and look away, or pretend he’d been looking at something else entirely. Alfred had always thought he was just watching to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid, but… maybe it had been more than that.
When everything finally drew to a close he tried to intercept the smaller blonde on his way out, but found himself waylaid by several people wanting his attention and by the time he’d broken free, Arthur was long gone. It was with something of a sinking feeling that he headed to the hotel where he’d be spending the night before he started the long drive back home, and he didn’t notice his name being called until a hand dropped on his shoulder and he grabbed the wrist attached to it, hearing the startled, high-pitched yelp as the bones nearly broke under his grip.
“Alfred! Al! Jeez! Let go of my hand you tool!”
“Shit, sorry.” He let go, pushing his hands into his pockets as the light lilac eyes of his brother half-heartedly glared at him. The Canadian nation rubbed his wrist, frowning slightly, then let his arms drop to his sides.
“No harm done, eh? What’s got you so wound up?”
“Huh? Oh… nothing, I guess. You want to get a drink or something? I could use a drink.”
“Um… sure.”
The weather was clouding over outside in a typical display of pathetic fallacy, and Alfred saw the look that his brother gave him as he shrugged his shoulders and turned the collar of his coat up. Alfred always claimed that his country was so large, how could the weather in one specific location possibly reflect his mood at all times, but it was a noted fact that sunshine seemed to follow him around, and if something was bothering him, it would immediately become overcast. Matthew knew, but Alfred kept his mouth shut as they made their way down the street to the nearest bar. Before they entered, his brother touched his elbow and gave him a meaningful look, and Alfred frowned, then shook his head and opened the door to usher Matthew inside.
It was only when they were seated, with cold drinks pooling small droplets of condensation on the table, that Matthew finally cleared his throat and lightly kicked Alfred under the table, the toe of his shoe contacting sharply with his brother’s shin. Alfred hissed, and glowered, moving his feet back.
“What was that for, jerk?”
“You didn’t just want to buy me a drink. You never want to ‘just’ do anything. You always want something else. Now what do you want?”
“I don’t—”
“You’re doing that annoying thing where you think,” Matthew told him, moving the straw in his glass and making the ice cubes clink against the sides. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing!” Alfred snapped, then Matthew looked at him in a way that simply dripped ‘are you kidding me’, and he huffed in irritation. “Fine. Look, Mattie, have you ever… thought that something was one way, and then found out it was actually totally different and not known what to do about it because it being that way and not the other way makes you feel weird and squirmy inside?”
The Canadian blinked once, slowly. “… Eh?”
“Matt, this isn’t the time for your ‘cute’ cultural quirk—”
“I’m asking you what the hell you’re talking about you bloody sook!”
“… Oh. Well, why didn’t you say so?”
“Ah, take off,” Matthew muttered testily. “Thick-headed Yank.”
Alfred stuck his lower lip out for a moment and sipped sulkily at his drink. Soon enough, though, his eyes turned towards the nearest window and down the street across from the bar, he tapped his glass against his lower lip and frowned slightly, then found Matthew looking at him again, his violet eyes slightly flat.
“What?!”
“You were saying..?”
“That’s right, I was saying. Until you so rudely interrupted me…” He paused to give Matt a meaningful glare at that point. “Arthur pulled me aside in the meeting today and he said—”
“Oh, God, he didn’t.” Matthew placed his glass down so quickly that he nearly tipped it over, and had to fumble to set it upright, clasping both slim hands tightly around it and looking up at Alfred in abject disbelief. “He finally told you.”
“Told… told me what..?” Alfred said guardedly.
“He- … Nevermind, nevermind, go on.”
“He, uh… I think he asked me out on a date.”
“Damn…” The Canadian nation grinned, and his haircurl bobbed up and down as he sat back in his seat. He puffed it out of his face and then swept it back with his hand, and rubbed his nose. “What did you say?”
“I uh…” And there it was again, that sinking, uncomfortable feeling in his gut. After a moment, he identified it as guilt, then he quickly pushed it aside. He had no reason to feel guilty. “I said I didn’t see him that way.”
“Are you really that dense?”
“Huh?”
Matthew rolled his eyes and shook his head, then he started and groaned, pressing one palm to his forehead. “Damn it, now I owe Francis five hundred dollars.”
“Hey! Don’t—five hundred? Jeez, you don’t bet small, do you?”
“Never. He was sure you’d be the one to crack first. Arthur’s always been hopeless.” Alfred just looked puzzled, and then he blinked, and leaned back.
“’Crack’? You mean you knew? And you think that I… Matt, come on, it’s Arthur. I don’t like him like that. That would be… weird.” He shifted uncomfortably, and found that he couldn’t meet his brother’s searching gaze. He heard the Canadian let out a quiet snort, and then the clink of the ice in his glass as he lifted his drink to take a sip. Slowly, he placed it back down, and then leaned forwards.
“I’ll put it this way. You argue with him all the time, but you both get upset if you don’t make up. You’re always hanging around him, telling him about every tiny thing that’s gone on in your life, even when he looks like he doesn’t care. I’ve seen how you look when you look at him – like a little boy with the Christmas present he asked for but didn’t think he’d get. You know everything about him, you like things that he likes even though you’d deny it. Hell, you can recite the entire works of Shakespeare, but does he know that?”
“It- That doesn’t mean anything!”
Alfred kept his voice to a low hiss, doing his best not to cause a scene, but he could already see people glancing over at them. He gritted his teeth and scowled, grabbing his drink up and swallowing a mouthful. The spirit added to the soda burned the back of his throat but he refused to cough, instead making a funny sound as he held the urge in his throat.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” he insisted.
“If you say so, Alfred. Just think about it.”
So, Alfred thought about it. He thought about it while he and Matthew finished their drinks and parted to their respective hotels. He thought about it while he went through his emails from home and browsed a few social networking sites to do nothing but play games against people he didn’t know. He thought about it while he lingered on Arthur’s rarely-used Facebook page and hovered the cursor over the ‘send’ button of a greeting for several minutes before he exited the tab. He thought about it while he showered and changed for bed, then thought about it some more as he stared up at the ceiling in the dark.
“I hate you, Matt,” he muttered to the empty room, sitting up and pressing a hand to his forehead. “God damn maple-sucking… ugh.”
He picked up his phone and flicked through his contacts, pausing on Arthur and glancing at the clock. No, if he called him now, he’d just get shouted at and then he’d have to go through his usual rigmarole of not wanting to apologise until he ended up doing so without actually saying ‘sorry’.
Alfred sighed, rolled over, and got out of bed, padding across to the bathroom in the dark and turning on the light. The harsh fluorescent bulb made him look paler than he was, and he peered at himself, frowning slightly.
God damn it, he hated his brother.
----------------------------
<| Chapter One | Chapter Three |>
Genre: Romance
Characters/Pairing: America, England, Canada. US/UK
Rating/Warnings: PG for later. Possibly R. I'm not sure yet.
Summary: Arthur finally plucks up the nerve to ask Alfred out on a date, only to find that the American nation has never looked at him 'that way'. However, the simple request sets off an uncomfortable train of thought in Alfred's mind as he begins to wonder exactly why that might be.
*****
The meeting passed uneventfully. Arthur didn’t meet Alfred’s eyes once, but he didn’t show any sign otherwise of how he was feeling. Alfred was confused. His gaze flicked repeatedly over to the English nation as he flipped through his paperwork and exchanged words with a few of the nations who had business with him. Even Argentina’s glowering didn’t seem to be ruffling him as much as it had been. It was only then that he realised how much Arthur looked at him during meetings. How many times he’d look up to find the English nation’s green eyes on him, only for him to suddenly startle and look away, or pretend he’d been looking at something else entirely. Alfred had always thought he was just watching to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid, but… maybe it had been more than that.
When everything finally drew to a close he tried to intercept the smaller blonde on his way out, but found himself waylaid by several people wanting his attention and by the time he’d broken free, Arthur was long gone. It was with something of a sinking feeling that he headed to the hotel where he’d be spending the night before he started the long drive back home, and he didn’t notice his name being called until a hand dropped on his shoulder and he grabbed the wrist attached to it, hearing the startled, high-pitched yelp as the bones nearly broke under his grip.
“Alfred! Al! Jeez! Let go of my hand you tool!”
“Shit, sorry.” He let go, pushing his hands into his pockets as the light lilac eyes of his brother half-heartedly glared at him. The Canadian nation rubbed his wrist, frowning slightly, then let his arms drop to his sides.
“No harm done, eh? What’s got you so wound up?”
“Huh? Oh… nothing, I guess. You want to get a drink or something? I could use a drink.”
“Um… sure.”
The weather was clouding over outside in a typical display of pathetic fallacy, and Alfred saw the look that his brother gave him as he shrugged his shoulders and turned the collar of his coat up. Alfred always claimed that his country was so large, how could the weather in one specific location possibly reflect his mood at all times, but it was a noted fact that sunshine seemed to follow him around, and if something was bothering him, it would immediately become overcast. Matthew knew, but Alfred kept his mouth shut as they made their way down the street to the nearest bar. Before they entered, his brother touched his elbow and gave him a meaningful look, and Alfred frowned, then shook his head and opened the door to usher Matthew inside.
It was only when they were seated, with cold drinks pooling small droplets of condensation on the table, that Matthew finally cleared his throat and lightly kicked Alfred under the table, the toe of his shoe contacting sharply with his brother’s shin. Alfred hissed, and glowered, moving his feet back.
“What was that for, jerk?”
“You didn’t just want to buy me a drink. You never want to ‘just’ do anything. You always want something else. Now what do you want?”
“I don’t—”
“You’re doing that annoying thing where you think,” Matthew told him, moving the straw in his glass and making the ice cubes clink against the sides. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing!” Alfred snapped, then Matthew looked at him in a way that simply dripped ‘are you kidding me’, and he huffed in irritation. “Fine. Look, Mattie, have you ever… thought that something was one way, and then found out it was actually totally different and not known what to do about it because it being that way and not the other way makes you feel weird and squirmy inside?”
The Canadian blinked once, slowly. “… Eh?”
“Matt, this isn’t the time for your ‘cute’ cultural quirk—”
“I’m asking you what the hell you’re talking about you bloody sook!”
“… Oh. Well, why didn’t you say so?”
“Ah, take off,” Matthew muttered testily. “Thick-headed Yank.”
Alfred stuck his lower lip out for a moment and sipped sulkily at his drink. Soon enough, though, his eyes turned towards the nearest window and down the street across from the bar, he tapped his glass against his lower lip and frowned slightly, then found Matthew looking at him again, his violet eyes slightly flat.
“What?!”
“You were saying..?”
“That’s right, I was saying. Until you so rudely interrupted me…” He paused to give Matt a meaningful glare at that point. “Arthur pulled me aside in the meeting today and he said—”
“Oh, God, he didn’t.” Matthew placed his glass down so quickly that he nearly tipped it over, and had to fumble to set it upright, clasping both slim hands tightly around it and looking up at Alfred in abject disbelief. “He finally told you.”
“Told… told me what..?” Alfred said guardedly.
“He- … Nevermind, nevermind, go on.”
“He, uh… I think he asked me out on a date.”
“Damn…” The Canadian nation grinned, and his haircurl bobbed up and down as he sat back in his seat. He puffed it out of his face and then swept it back with his hand, and rubbed his nose. “What did you say?”
“I uh…” And there it was again, that sinking, uncomfortable feeling in his gut. After a moment, he identified it as guilt, then he quickly pushed it aside. He had no reason to feel guilty. “I said I didn’t see him that way.”
“Are you really that dense?”
“Huh?”
Matthew rolled his eyes and shook his head, then he started and groaned, pressing one palm to his forehead. “Damn it, now I owe Francis five hundred dollars.”
“Hey! Don’t—five hundred? Jeez, you don’t bet small, do you?”
“Never. He was sure you’d be the one to crack first. Arthur’s always been hopeless.” Alfred just looked puzzled, and then he blinked, and leaned back.
“’Crack’? You mean you knew? And you think that I… Matt, come on, it’s Arthur. I don’t like him like that. That would be… weird.” He shifted uncomfortably, and found that he couldn’t meet his brother’s searching gaze. He heard the Canadian let out a quiet snort, and then the clink of the ice in his glass as he lifted his drink to take a sip. Slowly, he placed it back down, and then leaned forwards.
“I’ll put it this way. You argue with him all the time, but you both get upset if you don’t make up. You’re always hanging around him, telling him about every tiny thing that’s gone on in your life, even when he looks like he doesn’t care. I’ve seen how you look when you look at him – like a little boy with the Christmas present he asked for but didn’t think he’d get. You know everything about him, you like things that he likes even though you’d deny it. Hell, you can recite the entire works of Shakespeare, but does he know that?”
“It- That doesn’t mean anything!”
Alfred kept his voice to a low hiss, doing his best not to cause a scene, but he could already see people glancing over at them. He gritted his teeth and scowled, grabbing his drink up and swallowing a mouthful. The spirit added to the soda burned the back of his throat but he refused to cough, instead making a funny sound as he held the urge in his throat.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” he insisted.
“If you say so, Alfred. Just think about it.”
So, Alfred thought about it. He thought about it while he and Matthew finished their drinks and parted to their respective hotels. He thought about it while he went through his emails from home and browsed a few social networking sites to do nothing but play games against people he didn’t know. He thought about it while he lingered on Arthur’s rarely-used Facebook page and hovered the cursor over the ‘send’ button of a greeting for several minutes before he exited the tab. He thought about it while he showered and changed for bed, then thought about it some more as he stared up at the ceiling in the dark.
“I hate you, Matt,” he muttered to the empty room, sitting up and pressing a hand to his forehead. “God damn maple-sucking… ugh.”
He picked up his phone and flicked through his contacts, pausing on Arthur and glancing at the clock. No, if he called him now, he’d just get shouted at and then he’d have to go through his usual rigmarole of not wanting to apologise until he ended up doing so without actually saying ‘sorry’.
Alfred sighed, rolled over, and got out of bed, padding across to the bathroom in the dark and turning on the light. The harsh fluorescent bulb made him look paler than he was, and he peered at himself, frowning slightly.
God damn it, he hated his brother.
----------------------------
<| Chapter One | Chapter Three |>
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2012-04-15 05:44 pm (UTC)SOON <3