A/N: Well, I've never actually shared my fanfiction with the internet, but here goes nothin'. There are a couple of swears in here but nothing major. The only other thing that one might find objectionable so far is boys kissing and ogling each other, so I do hope I have rated this correctly. I felt like it took me a little to get into the writing but I like where I have gone with it so far. I hope it gives somebody as much pleasure reading it as writing it has given me.
Japan sat at the table, eyes downcast, staring fervently into his tea. The morning had been quite awkward so far. America wasn't leaving, seeming to have made himself at home. He sat across the table fiddling with his glasses, looking oddly bare without them, hair strewn messily over his face. Japan just didn't know what to say; he was an ancient country, not used to being in this sort of situation, not thinking himself the type. But at least outwardly, America was unperturbed by Japan's awkward silence.
"So," he began in between obscenely large bites of a bagel, "You have any coffee?"
"Uh—" Japan stammered briefly in an effort to decide how to address him properly, "I have tea—Its better for you." He offered, standing to retrieve it.
"Ugh." America stuck out his tongue, "I didn't drink that stuff when England made it and I'm not starting now."
"Well, is there anything else you would like to drink?" Japan asked, hoping to escape to his kitchen.
"Nah, bro. Imma go chill with Canada anyway. I'm trying to teach that guy to live! Hes always just keepin' to himself bein' all polite and shit. Kinda like—" he paused, momentarily more self aware than usual, "—well, you I guess." He finished, laughing awkwardly. And like it often was in America's presence, Japan simply had no clue how to respond.
He didn't know why he'd told Japan he had plans, but the guy was just making him so nervous. America could never read that guy. The night before, Japan had been more open with him than he could ever remember. Now it seemed that they could communicate even less than they ever had. Did Japan remember what happened? He truly wasn't sure whether he wanted him to or not. He felt the color rise to his cheeks as he remembered, trying to dismiss his stray thoughts. He bit his lip. Don't think about that. He scolded himself. Maybe he'd call England. Nothing sobered a man up faster than having to spend time with England.
Italy wouldn't stop talking, but that was normal. Germany had long since learned to tune out his ramblings, but had made the mistake of engaging with him on this particular day. Japan secretly enjoyed watching them bounce off each other. It was comforting and familiar.
"What are you talking about? How many times do I have to tell you? Pasta is STILL not a food group!" Germany argued.
"But germany, what else is there?"
Japan allowed the noise to fade in to the background. He wasn't there to participate in their antics, just for a little steadying company. Japan was confused, very confused. He'd never had a problem with those types of relationships. He'd long suspected a certain two ex-axis members of it. But with America? Sure, they got along fine now, but—but, he didn't know what. He knew he hadn't felt that way in a very long time. He had hated him once, and the feelings had been very much mutual. Could his feelings truly have changed so much?
"America…" England adjusted his tie, stiffening, uncomfortable, "Are you telling me you're a fag? I mean, one France is really enou—"
"What!" America interrupted, "No way man! I'm just sayin…, well, I don't know, but I know I didn't say that."
"Well, good then." England huffed, "What is it you are saying? If there's a point to this inane conversation I would appreciate that you reach it."
"if you're gonna be like that you can shove it, alright?" America snapped back gracelessly, He crossed his arms over his chest frowning petulantly.
"If you're going to act like a child, I guess I will. Bloody infant. Come on fellas." He beckoned, waving to something America could not see, and took his leave in a huff, complaining to the "air".
America dropped his head to the table, frustrated and embarrassed. Who was he supposed to talk to about this? It wasn't as if anything huge happened. Some alcohol had been drunk, some potentially embarrassing things said, but not much actually done. A caress or two had been shared, but maybe he was blowing it out of proportion. A caress to the face is really just as easily a drunken touch to the cheek. What he couldn't get out of his head wasn't the feel of Japans skin though, it was his eyes. Those normally dead pan eyes came alive in a way he had rarely seen. It had made him feel something he didn't know how to interpret. Those sparkling chocolate colored eyes… He shook himself from his thoughts. That wasn't him, he wasn't any France. What did he care what type of brown Japans eyes were? HE should be kickin' ass and taking names. He was America after all! Heroes didn't have time for inner turmoil and deep thought. That's not what America is all about, at least, he really hoped not.
He felt a tap on his shoulder, turning in surprise.
"Oh. Hey there Tonny."
His small alien friend stood behind him quietly, looking as worried as a little gray "man" can reasonably look. Squinting his big black eyes at his friend, he received a pat on the top of his bulbous bald head.
"Don't worry about me bud," he gave his best shot at his usual cocky grin, "I'm just a bit hung over." Tony slipped into the chair next to America's.
So, italicized flash back time!
America felt Japans soft skin beneath his fingers. Running a thumb tentatively across his bottom lip, Japan reached up and met the hand with his own. In that moment, whether he was going to pull his hand from his face seemed like the only thing in the world to America, but Japan didn't. He simply let his own hand rest over it.
"Japan.." he breathed, searching fruitlessly for the words he wanted, "I—"
"America," Japan interrupted, "Would you call me by my true name?"
"Your true name?" America squinted his tipsy baby blue eyes.
"Hai" he nodded, letting his hand slip down to his side. America followed suit, letting his drop and come to rest on the lapel of Japan's robe. Wrapping his fingers around the silken brown cloth, he used it as leverage to pull Japan closer. America held him there, lips only inches apart, but unmoving. He was unsure as to what to do next, but he knew he didn't want to lean away. He felt arms wrap around his waist, the smaller country tucking his face into the crux between neck and shoulder. America ran his fingers through the raven colored hair and closed his eyes.
"Nihon." He sighed contentedly, savoring the sound of the man's name. He nuzzled back against him, trying to look at his face. His eyes were close, asleep. America could feel his warm steady breath against his throat. He thought it might have easily been the best thing he'd ever felt in his life. He slowly leaned back, taking care to not jostle Japan, coming to rest on the floor, Japan's serene face placed lightly on his shoulder, hand delicately placed on his chest. He laced his own fingers through Japan's and drifted off to sleep.