Author: Yuu-chi PM
In which America insists it's not a Thing, Canada disagrees and England has yet to be informed.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Romance/Humor - America & England/Britain - Words: 2,242 - Reviews: 10 - Favs: 39 - Follows: 2 - Published: 08-24-11 - Status: Complete - id: 7317879
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Warning: Rapid switching between human and nation names, copious fluff towards the end
Summary: America insists it's not a thing, Canada disagrees and England has yet to be informed.
"It's not," America insisted again, for the umpteenth time, "It's not a Thing."
Canada, however, remained unimpressed, merely raising one annoyingly blonde – America's hair happens to be blonde too, but he plans on forgoing that particularly reminder – eyebrow at him so it vanished into the bangs of his wispy hair.
The conversation that was occurring had been making frequent appearances of late as it usually followed That Look Canada aimed towards his brother when the more obnoxious of the two returned home from dinner with England, or a movie with England, or a walk with England, or, as it really boiled down to, anything with England which – just like the argument, which made sense seeing as how it was the cause – had been occurring frequently of late.
"Stop looking at me like that," America snapped irritably and made his way into the kitchen, shrugging off his heavy bomber jacket as he went and dropped it on the back of a nearby conveniently located chair.
"Like what?" Canada replied with a small smirk – France was becoming a bad influence on him – and trailed after his brother, leaning on the table while America fished a cola from the fridge and, in all likelihood, something repulsively fattening to 'snack' on.
Canada was proven correct – he often was about matter relating to America, he wasn't exactly hard to guess – and watched with a burgeoning sense of annoyance as the whistling personification before him pulled a cheeseburger from the top shelf.
"Should you really be eating that?" Canada asked sceptically, "You just got back from your date."
"It wasn't a date!"
"Sure it wasn't."
"We don't have a Thing."
They clearly did.
"Whatever you say."
"Stop doubting me!"
"Look, just eat your burger and save me from having to talk to you. God knows, it helps your already terrible pronunciations further degrade," Canada said sounding amazingly like England, the likeness intensified all the more when the polar bear lover waved one hand in the air and gave a put-upon sigh.
America frowned and – always willing to oblige to requesting pertaining to food – took a bite from his burger. He'd have to start watching who Mattie spent his time with. Canada was beginning to become too noticeable for his own good.
"Alfred, all I'm trying to say is that you've been spending alarmingly increasing amounts of time with England lately. And it's pretty obvious you have a thing for him and, well, it looks like – to an outsider – that you both have a Thing going."
"I don't have a thing for him and we don't have a Thing going," America replied edgily, "Can't a guy spend some time with someone without it evolving into a Thing?"
"Not you, Alfred."
"Harsh bro. I spend time with you. Are you gonna accuse us of having a Thing?"
"We have a thing. A brother Thing."
Alfred scowled, "I spend time with Japan."
"You two have a geek Thing," Canada replied easily and America was beginning to wonder if he'd rehearsed this prior to America returning home, what with the speed the answers were coming back at him.
"And England and I?" America asked as he took a slurp of his cola, willing to play along for the time being.
"You have a thing Thing."
"For fuck sake – We don't have a Thing!"
This line of arguing was, as it had been all the times beforehand, proven fruitless when Canada straightened up, smirked and walked away with a call of, "Sure, sure," over his shoulder before vanishing out of the kitchen to where America couldn't toss something at him, or toss him, or call him a toss-er (A word he'd picked up from England and seemed be enjoying using on anyone who annoyed him).
Grimacing, the sandy haired male looked uncomfortably down into the can of fizzing drink he held. "It's not a Thing," he muttered feeling no more convinced himself than he had in Canada's presence.
"Do we have a Thing?"
The oddity of the question proposed – right in the middle of a perfectly nice dinner, too – caused England to quirk one of his sizable eyebrows and slowly set down his knife and fork to look properly at the fidgeting American before him.
Well, he wasn't exactly surprised that Alfred had spent the whole meal sitting on an uncomfortable question. It had happened before and there were tell-tale signs for when America was thinking – which was risky in its own right – and they had all been present throughout the last hour or so.
He had been restless for one – more so than usual that was – and had seemed to jump whenever England spoke after a moment of silence, seemingly forgetting he had company he was so wrapped up in his own thought. This was without adding in the fact he hadn't ordered a burger, had managed to spill half of his chocolate milkshake on the floor and had succeeded in frightening the waitress by yelping loudly when she'd mentioned the word 'Thing'.
None the less England simply asked – it was best to be simple when dealing with America or, really, American's in general – "What brought this on?"
"W-well, me and Mattie was talken'- "
England winced and corrected before he could stop himself, "Mattie and I, 'were' not 'was' and 'talking' not 'talken'."
America gave him an odd look but that was alright because if America was giving him odd looks it means he'd managed to de-hype himself somewhat.
"Right. Anyway me and Mattie was talken' and he mention… err… something about it looken' like we have a 'Thing'. Well, actually, he mentioned it a couple of times."
It took Arthur a few moments to puzzle out what America was talking about – he didn't speak American, after all – and even then he was still feeling slightly confused. Sighing, he massaged his temple with the tips of his fingers. Why could he never enjoy some simple peace and quiet when America was involved?
"I'm afraid I still don't quite understand," He confessed to the agitated boy before him.
Alfred shifted a little again. "I was – well you know I thought I'd ask – and, as I said before – I was just… Do we have a Thing?"
England let loose a frustrated groan. "America. You're still making no sense. I haven't a clue what in bloody oath you're talking about, damn yank. I don't speak American!"
"Fine then, coz I don' speak English!" Was the childish reply.
"Yes, I had noticed that." England admitted dryly and America glared at him for his trouble.
"Look, I was just asken' if you thought that we – you and me – had a Thing?"
"And, prey tale, what is a 'Thing'?"
America blinked uneasily, back to being nervous rather than angry – England wasn't sure which he preferred at this point – before saying, "Err, well… You know…"
"No. I'm afraid I don't."
Awkward silence fell between them as America realized that England was dead serious in admission and England waited impatiently for an answer so he could continue on with his dinner and then, possibly, order some tea and then when he was done with the tea he may use the cup to beat some sense to Alfred.
"I don't really… Erm… You know, this is kinda had to explain what my first approach don't work."
America was fiddling a bit with the corner of his napkin now and England really had to fight the urge to snap at him. The poor boy was clearly distressed and in no need for the British nation to go tearing into him over trivial things. Instead he said, with as even of a tone as he could manage, "Do try to explain."
A nervous flicker of bright blue eyes accompanied England's request and – because he was a gentleman, punk days be damned – he politely added, "Please."
America cleared his throat and pulled back from the napkin – thank god – and went about trying to find the best way to repose his question without well… embarrassing himself as he was prone to doing, especially around England and especially of late.
"Well, by Thing I mean… All these hanging around with each other… Err..." He trailed off but England nodded encouragingly and America somehow found the nerve and resolve to continue. "I was just… Is there anything more to it? Like, beyond just, I dunno, hanging out? Beyond friends and stuff?"
England was finally able to decipherer what America had been trying to say and the reason for his agitation the past few hours and stared openly at the western nation with a blank expression.
American shifted uneasily. "Say something…"
England continued to stare for a moment before finally managing to shake the fog clear of his head and ask in a low voice, "That was what was worrying you?"
"H-Hey! I wasn't worried! Besides, it was totally legit and if you'd heard the way Mattie was talken' you'd feel the same! At least I hope you would, otherwise I've you just managed to make a big ass of myself and possibly make relations between us awkward for centuries to come – ."
" – And then you won't wanna talk to me anymore and our bosses will wanna know why and I'm gonna have to tell them what happened and then they're gonna shake their heads at me – yeah, kinda like you're doing now Artie – and – ."
"Alfred." England leant forward and placed one hand over that of the babbling boys watching with relief as the overflowing words he was regurgitating finally trailed off and America was now looking oddly down at their hands as if unable to recall when England had shifted like that.
"You're a bloody big moron if that was what was worrying you," England said softly, "I personally thought it had been pretty obvious for a while now. At least from my side," He gave a small – and somehow very British – shrug, "However if you don't happen to feel the same –."
Alfred, however, let out a huge whoop of something that may possibly have been joy and jumped to his feet, dragging England with him via their interlaced fingers and shouting proudly to the restaurant as one might announce the birth of their first born son; "WE HAVE A THING!"
England might have whacked him one had the situation not been so a) random and b) so comically funny. Instead he settled for huffing in what he hoped was an irate way and tugging his idiot down, making sure to elbow him in the gut as he did so but nothing could quash the ginormous grin that had spread across his annoyingly American face in stark contrast to the anxious disposition from before.
"So we have a Thing now?" America asked cheerful, refusing to let go of England's hand.
"I suppose," the island nation replied with feigned indifference, making to pick up his abandoned knife with his free hand, "Now release me. I wish to eat the rest of my meal in peace."
His request not, however, granted, America far too thrilled to be paying attention to silly little things like what his date – because if they were a Thing this clearly was now confirmed to be a date – wanted. Instead, he continued grinning widely.
"Mattie's gonna be so rapt! He always thought we had a thing," he informed England as if they had been together for many years now as opposed to practically three minutes.
"Who?" Arthur replied distractedly as he went about trying to figure out how one eats fish and chips with only a fork and still comes off as a gentleman.
"You know, Mattie? My brother? Canada?"
"Ooh, right. Yes. I remember now."
Alfred was still grinning from ear to ear in clear pleasure and was now humming cheerfully to himself as he beckoned the waitress over and requested a burger; proof that he was, indeed, recovering.
Arthur grimaced and tried to spear a rouge pea with his newly acquired fork, leaving the knife sitting lonesome by his elbow. It was quite an ordeal and England couldn't really say he'd managed to hone his skills at one handed cutlery handing to finesse. He glanced up at America before him with an annoyed expression before allowing his gaze to slide sidewards to their linked hands.
The elder's mouth twitched slightly in response.
Maybe this 'Thing' wouldn't be so bad, lack of knife using aside. England supposed he could get used to the feel of a familiar weight pressing down in his palm.
"Hey, Iggy, want a bite of my burger?"
Scratch that. He may need to rethink this.
Well, he supposed as long America promised not to let go of his hand for the rest of the night – highly likely, Alfred seemed to think their fingers were superglued together – he could forgive him.
Just this once.