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Chapter Text

The ticking of that damn clock was annoying the living hell out of America. If it wasn’t for the fact he absolutely must attend this silly meeting then he’d be out of the cold boardroom before you could say cheese crackers. If only to get away from that clock, which only served to make him feel miserable about all the time he was wasting dying in this place.

The most annoying part about this whole thing was that the meeting taking place currently wasn’t even the first meeting that he had been forced to attend today. Nope, it was in fact the fourth which means the American was about three minutes from attacking anyone unfortunate enough to try and speak to him.

Well anyone rude that would try and speak to him, to be honest he was kinda hoping someone would start something. That way he could jump in and not actually be in any trouble, or at least not in as much trouble as he would be in if he were to start something.

America’s fingers tapped rapidly on the wooden table he shifted restlessly in a matching wooden, not to mention horribly uncomfortable, chair. Seriously, who made chairs this stiff, no human being or in this case nation wanted to deal with a classic case of ‘oh my god I can’t feel my ass’. If you had a kink for that kind of stuff then you should stay a million miles away from him because that shit is unnatural. Though knowing Germany he probably had the chairs meant to be so uncomfortable just to spite all the nations that he hates, his chair is probably super comfy and totally not killing his ass.

He lifted up a pencil and drew a few random circles and abstract shapes that he hoped weren’t some cult symbols. The last thing America wanted was to summon some ghosts, even boredom was better than those transparent zombie wannabe’s. Even the thought of accidentally summoning something ruined the slightly relaxing doodling thing he had going on, so he stopped in favor of poking Canada’s arm.  

Unfortunately his sibling was used to this sort of instigating and merely ignored America’s light pokes. Knowing full well that he wouldn’t do anything noticeable, sometimes he can get Canada to poke him back, but it seemed like today was one of those days where his northern brother was not in a mood to play. 

In Fact he seemed rather adamant on ignoring America. Someone probably accused him of something that America had done, it happens more often than either of them would like to admit. This didn’t stop him from poking Canada’s newly pressed suit with slightly less vigor than before, it’s not any fun if he didn’t do anything. 

If Canada was going to be boring maybe he should take a nap, like anyone would notice right? America allowed his eyes to slack closed and just as he began to relax an ice-cold hand suddenly slapped down on his neck. America yelped, his eyes snapping open and he turned to look at imposing green eyes.

“Excuse me? America, are you seriously not paying attention?!” An Englishman, the personification of Britain to be precise, shouted. His bushy eyebrows that looked so much like little bugs raised up to hide comically behind his messy bangs.

America quickly raised a hand over his mouth to cover a gasp of laughter and tried in a horrible attempt to look serious. “Of course I was, but to be honest the hero hasn’t got any time for this bullshit.” He replied cheerfully, hollywood worthy smile in full effect.

England took a minute to process his words, after that it took less than a second for his face to explode in an angry red. America kept smiling, wondering if maybe Germany would cancel the meeting if England killed him. Because dying seems like a better option than listening to Monaco drone on and on about how trash is clearly trying to overtake humanity. It totally was but she wasn’t even giving a solution, just bragging about how clean she herself was.

“You little bugger! No wonder everyone thinks you’re an idiot.” England hissed, his deep voice making the words seem a lot creepier than intended. Kinda like a creepy guy that offers you candy if you get in his car.

America glared, why did everyone always jump to calling him stupid or fat. Really apparently these old geezers had no comebacks given they always use the same ones! It was no fun to argue with someone when all they did was the same stuff over and over again. He’ll never understand why teens like arguing with old people, it’s like talking to a wall that likes to scream.

“I’m not an idiot, go get some better insults Arthur . ” America sang the British's human name. 

Which was kinda harsh since the nations weren’t really supposed to use each other's human names when they weren’t close. For some reason everyone got really flustered whenever America said their name, it was the easiest way for him to win an argument without having to smack anyone on the head.

True to his thoughts England immediately stiffened up, his face fading to more of a rose color rather than red. He wasn’t sure if this was an improvement or if he had just shocked him enough to chill out. Either way he sort of wins, he can’t really get in trouble for saying England’s human name either so no one could yell at him without seeming nit picky.

“Don’t say my name like that.” England mumbled looking back at his papers avoiding France’s wiggling eyebrows. 

France, like usual, refused to be ignored and simply leaned on top of England's paper with a flourish, somehow making flopping on a table look fabulous.

“Would you rather him say it in a different way?” France purred, winking at both America and England. 

America gave him a blank look while England went straight to his stuttering and screaming mode. Dude really needs to learn the art of chill.

“Like how dude? I know I’m pronouncing it right so don’t throw that crap at me.” America replied, tugging his own papers away from underneath France’s body. 

Monaco kept droning on despite the disturbance but to be honest the three weren’t the loudest people there. He was pretty sure Romano was trying to summon god with how loud he was being.

“Non, I mean, would he rather you scream it.” France tittered, sitting up quickly when England tried to bash his head in with a briefcase. 

Canada quickly reached over and snatched the briefcase away, pinching England when he tried to capture it back, which caused France to laugh and England’s attention reverted back to smacking France with his hand.

America snickered at the two rough houses before giving Canada a ‘cover your ears’ look. Some people would just think they were staring at each other but America uses this look so often Canada knows when he’s about to do something stupid.

“Arthur!” America screamed, laughing loudly when the brit momentarily released France’s shirt to stare at him with a red face.

“Don’t you start git! I said not to call me that!” England yelled ducking when France tried to pull his tie back. 

America hummed, leaning away from the two. “Nooo~, you said not to sing it. Well to be precise you said,” America let his voice drop to mimic England's deep tone and accent, “ Don’t say my name like that. ”

Both France and even Canada snorted, or France cackled and Canada tried hiding his smirk behind his sleeve. England glared his sharp eyes even more narrow than usual. He reached forward and tried to get a good grip on America’s jacket but the blonde refused to be choked out by the former empire and instead he fell back and landed directly in his brother's lap.

Canada glared, pushing America off in a totally unbrotherly way. Allowing England to grab the Americans foot and pull him out from underneath the table. 

America shrieked, grabbing some unknown nation's foot to avoid being dragged to his death. Normally he doesn’t get involved when France and England fight but the meeting was boring and he was practically drowning in misery. He hadn’t expected England to go all horror villain attack mode.

Whoever's foot America was holding onto suddenly moved and tried to kick him off. America whined holding tighter and a moment later the foot stopped resisting and England stopped pulling. America was momentarily excited but then realized that they’re probably in trouble.

Being the totally heroic person he was, America rolled out from underneath the table to see a very angry Germany looking down at him. America winked and stood up quickly looking over to see Romano glaring at him…huh, so that’s whose foot it was.

“All three of you are behaving like children, normally I’d allow this type of behavior to continue but hiding underneath a table is much too childish to ignore.” Germany gave America such a disapproving look he couldn’t help but look away awkwardly, his face feeling awfully warmer than usual.

“Not to mention England behaving like a crazed hospital patient. Grabbing someone and attempting to do whatever the hell you were doing-” Germany continued until France interrupted.

“Grope him.” The Frenchman accused, falling backwards to avoid England’s fist.

“That’s not at all what I was going to do! I was just going to slap him!” England defended his voice too rushed and panicky for America’s taste.

“Dude, that's creepy.” America muttered, still refusing to look Germany in the eye. He had no problem getting England into more trouble.

“That’s not what I was doing!” England screeched, silencing only when Germany slapped the back of his head.

“The meeting is adjourned and everyone go home.” Germany started suddenly, face palming when the other nations quite literally ran out of the room. 

Italy lingered walking over to Germany pulling on his arm.

“Ve~, Germany why don’t we go get pasta… the meeting is over like you said so there’s no point in disciplining them. I doubt America would stay anyways.” Italy sang, tugging Germany away from the three trouble makers. He waved at America as they left.

America waved back until the two were out of sight, he then spun around and smacked the back of England’s head. 

The British man yelped, grabbing the back of his head glaring, “What the hell was that for?”

America shrugged, “For being an asshole I guess.” 

“Bugger off, arse.” England whispered, kicking France’s leg lightly. 

The three were clearly done fucking around, which meant they needed to head back to their hotels or homes. Given this was Germany the former is what America planned but he didn’t really fancy being bored in a hotel room. Least he made the mistake of trying to prank call people again. He hadn’t met to call Romano last time but he did and oh boy was he chewed out for it.

America groaned, glancing at his watch. His flight back to the states didn’t even leave until tomorrow morning. He could call his boss but the meeting wasn’t supposed to end for another two hours which meant any text or call would be ignored. So America had to more or less entertain himself. Being left to his own devices was almost as bad as having to listen to boring speeches.

“Are you guys doing anything, because I have no idea what I’m going to do?” America asked, both France and England seemed to perk up. France even adorned a flirty smile.

“I was planning on making my way back to France but perhaps you’d like to go eat?” The flirty man offered, America smiled and was about to agree when England suddenly interjected.

“No way in hell will he go with you alone, America will come with me. We’ll go to one of those stupid restaurants you like. I’ll pay.” America turned to England eagerly, saving money was always a plus.

France glared at the British man and grabbed America’s hand. “No, I offered first. Besides I always pay, like a true Frenchman unlike you pisse-froid .”

England inhaled sharply, “Listen hear frog, I refuse to allow you this sort of headway. We already agreed on certain terms with the others-”

“That doesn’t include taking him out on a friendly date.’ France interrupted, a smug look crossing his face.

America was slightly curious as to what these terms were and how many others knew about them. It would be totally uncool if they all had some secret get together party and didn’t invite him, why wouldn’t they invite the hero? Sure he might be sort of annoying but he was still fun. Fun enough that France and England were arguing about who got to take him out on a date- waitwaitwait a date?

“Dude ‘friendly date’? We’re literally just going to get something to eat… like no homo.” America said, glancing between the two rivals.

“America you are gay.” England stated plainly. 

His face was blank yet somehow looking annoyed, maybe it was the eyebrows, it always was. While he wasn’t wrong he wasn’t right either. America was a proud pan-sexual who has never dated a single person. Well maybe he wasn’t proud of the last bit but being pan was awesome.

“No I’m pan you boomer. It doesn’t matter either way, it's just two friends going out.” America replied, stressing the word ‘ friends ’. He wasn’t sure but he could have sworn both England and France made a sour face at the word.

“What a stupid word.” France muttered. America glanced at his disgusted face and went back to England.

“Look, standing here all day arguing isn’t on my agenda. Why don't we all go somewhere together? That way we’re not fighting!” America exclaimed, jutting his bottom lip out (NOT pouting) when both England and France seemed against it.

“ Mon lapin , don’t you think it would be a better idea to just leave the grumpy flea to his own fate?” France suggested, ignoring the murderous look England threw his way.

“Or perhaps it would be better if you were to ditch the frog and come with me. I’m much better company than the pervert.” England taunted, grinning smugly his large eyebrows rose up tauntingly making America think about that one megamind meme.

France rolled his eyes, “Ah you are one to talk, at least I’m not in some sort of secret pervert cult. I spread love and warm nights not just sex like you Angleterre.”

America looked at England mildly alarmed. The dude is in a what?! He wasn’t even aware secret pervert cults existed! Much less one the self proclaimed gentleman would be in one, than again England did have a history of being overly sexual. Or at least a teeny bit pushy, he was horrible during the opium wars. That was something America preferred not to think about.

“It’s not a cult France, it’s merely a trio that I happen to be a part of. We’re not perverts either.” England defended himself hissingly. Glancing at America with what may have been guilt. “Japan is in it.”

Immediately America relaxed, Japan the country might have done some weird things but he knew the personification was a chill guy. He’d never be in a pervert cult at least. Well unless it had to do with his kawaii anime people, in that case Japan would be all over it. Or if it had to do something with yaoi, America still isn’t sure what that is and Japan was very adamant on making sure it stayed that way.

France and England had continued bickering and the longer they stood here the longer America had to wait for food. Which meant he needed to make a decision. Going with France was asking for a good time, the Frenchman was hella flirty but he knew how to entertain guests and loved doing impressions of famous french cartoon characters which automatically made him America’s first choice. 

However he hadn’t done much with England lately, he sort of avoided the crass Englishman if not only to avoid being picked on. But that made him feel the tiniest bit bad and when it came down to it England could be enjoyable company as well...

America snapped his fingers and grinned brightly “Okey dokey, so I’ve come to a conclusive decision!” He announced, both France and England gave each other cocky looks. 

“I’m going out with France-” France pinched England’s arm as he went to argue, “But, I’ll go out with England tomorrow morning before I leave. That way we won’t have to go together because you two have issues, but I don’t actually have to choose anyone! I’m going with France first because he offered first.” America amended, grinning like a loon at the other two’s dumbfounded expressions.

England tapped his chin thinking for a moment before nodding, “That actually seems rather well thought out and fair. I agree.” 

France nodded as well, clapping his hands together. “So that means we’ll be going to a small place called Chez Mamie ! It’s not as well done as the restaurants in my country but it is still french.”

America shrugged, waving goodbye to England who made an awkward half wave in return. 

“That sounds okay, I’m cool with french food.” America said to France who winked in return.

“Then let us be off, it’s almost seven so it will be appropriate for me to say that you are going to have one of the best nights of your life.” France sang, hooking his arm around America’s shoulders and leading them both out of the building.

America briefly wondered if he should have told both of them to fuck off, but the promise of free food and a fun night quickly chased that thought out of his head. Maybe France would mention something mean but at least he’d cover it up nicely. 

He failed to notice the eager jump in France’s step and his oblivious mind had already forgotten the weird fact that France and England had some sort of deal involving him.

Chapter Text

France was… something else to say the least. The country itself was fascinating and America absolutely loved learning about the rich french history. It’s still not as amazing as his own history, but he found it was pretty cool. Which takes a lot to admit given they were literally the personifications of their own countries.

One thing about France that always has America reeling is how old he is. Compared to the american France has had centuries of experience and time to hone skills, which obviously means he’s got to be really good at something, even if that something is giving tours. Seriously, America has never been too invested in walking around after eating but this was basically breathtaking. The way France would point at the most minuscule things and treat them like it was something momentous was almost intoxicating.

Every little flower or vine had some interesting story and facts about it. America honestly only came for free food but the walk was quickly making the thought of leaving disappear. The food was amazing, contrary to the popular opinion of his fellow nations America actually did enjoy foods other than his (Germany’s) amazing hamburger. Plus it was free and made by someone other than him, which makes it a million times yummier. 

Even the dinner talk was less awkward than he had assumed, France went on about how annoying England was for a while like he usually does but then he moved to more interesting topics like recent movies and competitions in his country. America hadn’t planned on enjoying anything other than the food but spending time with France was oddly intimate not sexually like he had thought it would be but sort of… romantic? 

Not the mainstream kiss and go romance but an actual pleasant meeting between two people, like the ones in the stories his nannies would read to him when he was a mere colony, the same ones that he would never admit he still enjoyed and thought about. After all they were childish and a full fledged country had no time for magical fantasies, America was much too busy being a hero!

Still it would be nice… America shook his head furiously, willing any sort of romantic or soft thought to rid his brain. His face burned when he realized what he was thinking, that he was a world-power. Having a relationship was too risky; it could affect his decisions and bias. They were already heading back to his hotel room so hopefully he could fight any weird thoughts like those before then.  

“Amérique, are you feeling okay? We can call a cab to take you back instead of walking.” France offered pausing in his story about how he and Germany once fell in the river. 

France’s stories ranged from abstract romances to real experiences but all of them were as interesting as the last, even the ridiculous ones. Calling a cab would end the stories, although he’d be able to clear his head without France whispering less than PG wrapped words in his ear.

America took a deep breath, tempted to say yes, he got the free food and even a few blackmail worthy stories to use against Germany in the future. There was no reason to stay when he could be doing work or at least trying to contact his boss. It was well after time the meeting would have originally ended. So yeah, no reason to stay… but the thought of leaving was bordering on painful.

“Nah I’m good, I’m surprised Germany let himself be surprised by a squirrel though! I could see you being a scaredy cat but a guy as huge as Germany? No way.” America retorted teasingly, apparently.

France and Germany spent quite a bit of time together during the Treaty of Ribemont, when Germany was the Holy Roman Empire and France was West Francia, which meant America was hearing plenty of interesting stories about the German man. Stories that he wouldn’t really have expected either, like tripping, falling and almost drowning into a river because a baby squirrel hissed at them.

France let out a dramatic, offended gasp, dramatically clutching his palm to his blue uniform. "L'Amérique I'm appalled! I thought you held a higher opinion of moi. After all I did assist you in kicking Angleterre’s sorry ass.” France smirked, his violet eyes lighting up as he snagged America’s hand bringing it up to his face.

“I remember how small you were, just a child really. Well, you are practically the same height now, but you’ve certainly matured since than… which is why that stupid deal really shouldn’t be considered legitimate anymore.” The Frenchman grumbled the last bit.

America snorted, “While I’m grateful you helped little old me, I know it was only to get back to England. You guys really do hate each other.” He let go of France’s hand and walked a bit faster.

France huffed, speeding up to reach his side again. “No, well yes technically I wanted to get on England’s nerves, but I also felt like you deserved a chance to be free. I believe in the freedom of man almost as much as you do remember?” 

America sighed longly, it was true that France had a history of revolutions and changes not to mention it was some of his people that created the Lady Liberty. Which was one of the most popular freedom icons in the world. He still didn’t truly feel like France or really any of the other nations helping him through his revolution had the purest of intentions, despite what most people think he really wasn’t an idiot.

“Yeah, yeah old man. This conversation is boring. Let's talk about something cooler like robots.” America grumbled, he didn’t really want to talk about stuff like history or revolutions, for once he wanted to talk about normal stuff, like normal ‘people’ stuff not normal nation stuff, y’know?

He actually wanted France to fill him in on another story but saying that would result in a boosted ego and America wouldn’t be able to handle France bragging to literally the entire freaking world about it later.

France started making a face at just the mention of something techy, “Oui, oui. Hmm I know little about robots since technology is not my favorite thing in the world-” 

“You’re a technophobe.” America interrupted grinning slyly..

“Maybe I’m a tad technophobic but at least I know how to get around without all those silly self-driving cars or fancy cell phones. People nowadays have absolutely no class, they’re always on their phones instead of entertaining their guests. What happened to the land of dance and amour?” France lamented, twirling his arms in the air like an exaggerated wind-up doll.

The Frenchman then nonchalantly flipped his shoulder length flaxen hair over his shoulder and continued, “Even Italy has given into the temptations of television and I personally trained him! Where did the art of love go, no one seems to be interested in anything other than the repulsive ‘netflix and chill’”. He visibly shuttered at those last words looking as if they were on par with murder.

“Hey at least everyone’s less homophobic… sort of. From what I heard you guys never really cared for keeping it in your pants in the past anyways. Being prude apparently makes you a stick in the mud nowadays. At least people can say they’ve watched online porn so they’re technically not a complete sex virgin.” America chirped, enjoying how horrified France looked when he finished his sentence.

“That is not how it works at all, Amérique! Love and sex are something you must experience you can’t just watch someone else have sex and expect to suddenly be gifted in the way of love making. Have you ever watched porn it's horrendous!” France shrieked, reaching down to America’s arms and shook his torso slightly.

“Nah I don’t really watch porn I can’t get past the fact that everyone always seems to be total strangers who the hell sleeps with a plumber guy? I mean I get going for someone rich but… a plumber? Those girls are usually hot too. Talk about low standards, not that there's anything wrong with plumbers but come on.” America laughed, France clenched his teeth but nodded shirley.

“I believe one should experience love and not watch it but if you’re going to watch others enjoy life then you should watch something of high quality. I’d recommend erotic novels, not like that twilight fanfiction that was hideous and uncaring sex try something nicer.” France suggested.

Judging by his vain look America could guess he was implying he read a French novel. Which was too bad since he hated reading french. There was nothing dumber than giving a chair a gender.

“Hey I actually like Twilight and no I will not read sex books even if they are in french.” America replied ignoring the affronted gasp from France.

“Besides all your novels are sad and weird, I don’t understand any of it and by that I mean the plot. I can read french thank you very much.” America continued on frowning at the thought of the dark french novels with such twisted and bordering unfinished ends. They were nothing like his own stories of heroes and heroines falling in love and defeating evil.

“Anything I make has meaning beyond meaning like real love. As for the happy ending surely you don’t expect every book to have a perfect end? Love especially has a tendency to end in tragedy” France lamented, looking away from America with a solemn expression. 

America shrugged, turning to watch a bird flutter across the water leaving a few feathers behind, “I don’t like romance books unless they have a cute ending. What’s the point in love if it ends up making you sad or unsatisfied in the end.” 

France stared at for a minute his fingers brushing against one of the delicate roses that were growing from the bushes perched along the street, “Perhaps you're right, love is meant to be beautiful. However you would never truly treasure anything if nothing has ever been taken away from you. I’ve lost people before, while it hurts it helps me see what I desire.”

America watched France who was now a good few feet in front of him. He wasn’t sure what France was implying by that but he wasn’t really interested in his reasoning. What he said might’ve been true but that doesn’t mean America has to like and/or agree with it. There’s nothing better than a happily ever after and no one could argue with a perfect ending. 

He wonders what had to happen for France to have such a serious mindset but he was really old so there’s probably a lot of things that have led him to this point. Still that distant expression bothered America greatly, France was supposed to be a light hearted flirt not someone who talks about loss like it’s a friend. It's almost funny how they went from talking about porn to something so serious.

America huffed catching up to France and grabbing his arm stopping him from walking farther. “Don’t look like that, tell me about those flowers over there. Just because something bad happens doesn’t mean that’s what life is about. I don’t know what I want but I know it isn’t something tragic so tell me a happy story!” He yelled not really meaning to sound so aggressive but he’d rather talk about politics than something like this. 

America wasn’t the type to really comfort people, he was used to pushing past feelings. It was the only way he could manage to deal with all the shit nations have to experience.

France was dead silent for a moment and America felt cold waiting for the Frenchman to say anything, even if it was something lewd. 

“A red rose is an unmistakable expression of love; they convey deep emotions, be it love, longing or desire. Would you like to hear another story as I walk you back?” France asked, allowing his lips to curl upwards as he reaped the flower America had been pointing at and handed it to him.. 

America cupped the flower carefully to avoid thorns, “I’d love to, just make sure it ends happily.”

“I’m not sure of the ending yet, but I truly hope it ends as perfect as you imagine.” France whispered, roping his arm over America’s shoulder and leading him back to the hotel with a story about a blue bird and red rose.

Neither of the two realized a very shocked nation watching them.

Chapter Text

The next morning was interesting to say the least, America made sure to wake early so as to not piss England off by being late or unruly. After a quick shower and rechecking all of his packed things he messaged England to come over to his hotel room.

His roomie, aka Canada, seemed less than pleased about America heading and off missing the first flight. 

“We were supposed to take the 7am flight together, I’m not going to wait until ten to leave Alfred. I've got a lot of work to do.” His northern neighbor chastised, making sure to shove on him a few pointed glares. 

“Yeah I know,but  I promised England that I’d go out with him, and a hero always keeps his promises! Besides I don’t know why you even want to travel with me, last time all you did was sleep.” America grumbled.

Canada flushed quickly rising from the bed, “I was tired and that was like five years ago! You seemed so intent on getting my attention at that meeting that I was going to try and spend time with you,but  if you’d rather hang out with England than fine.”

“Don’t say it like that, it sounds like you’re accusing me of running off with my boyfriend. I made a promise and I’m going to keep it. We can hang out when I get back… or you could go with me?” America suggested, it might actually be a good idea for Canada to go.

England tends to be less cranky when his neighbor is around. Canada had that effect on pretty much everyone and everything. At first America thought it was because he was quiet,but  then he realized it’s because he always looks so judgmental. Like a really grumpy moose, he just stares. Canada says it’s called people watching,but  he knows better than to take his neighbor's word when it comes to his supposed ‘kindness’.

“I’m not going to chaperone your date Alfred. Despite what you think I have better things to do with my time.” Canada huffed, crossing his arms.

America pouted for a second before narrowing his eyes, “Like what? Making a hundred pancakes and crying when you run out of syrup.”

“It was one time!” Canada shrieked, covering his face in embarrassment. “I was at a low point Alfred, it hurts that you won’t drop it.”

“You still make fun of me for crying when I dropped my coffee.” America shrugged. It was hard to feel bad for the Canadian when you realized how evil he truly was.

“Because you do it every single time! Who cries when they spill coffee?” Canada draped his arms over America’s shoulders and went slack.

America yelped quickly, stiffening up to prevent both of them from crumbling like a house of cards before a storm. Canada might have a few inches on him,but  oh boy did he wear that height with power.

“Dude stop! I swear I’ll let you fall.” America threatened leaning against Canada to keep him from slipping.

“No you won’t.”

“I will.”

“Don’t lie, it's unbecoming.”

“I’ll lick you.” America warned, almost instantly Canada withdrew his arms away from America.

“You didn’t win, I just have to leave for my flight.” Canada snapped, shuffling away from America.

He snickered, pushing his friend slightly, “Yeah right, and you just so happened to need to leave now! You’re such a germaphobe.” 

“Wow Alfred I’m surprised you knew such a big word.” Canada clapped slowly letting his eyes drop into a glare.

“For someone that fears a tongue you seem awfully bold at the moment.” America stuck his tongue out a bit and prowled towards Canada.

Canada squawked briskly, backing away, “Don’t lick me! You realize how gross that is?”

“It’s an easy defense Matthew, you're just a coward.” America teased, using his neighbor’s human name to make the insult just a tad more personal.

“I will throw you out the-” Canada started to terrorize his safety, his body becoming rigid when there was a sharp knock from the door.

“There’s only one person who knocks like a hardass.” America muttered, sliding over to the door and opening it.

“BB! How do you do?” America bellowed, winking at a now disgruntled englishman.

“The hell does BB mean?” England urged, raising a single, large, bushy, eyebrow.

“British buddy, of course.”

“Do you purposely try to annoy me or does it just come naturally?” England hissed glaring.

Luckily this was England’s, ‘omg America please stop this nonsense’, glare not his actual ‘I’m pissed off at you glare’. There was a difference between the two, it was miniscule, practically non-existent,,but  to those that see both glares often it was easy to know which was being used.

“Man you know everything comes naturally to a hero. Besides, I know you like it when I think about you.” America sang leaning towards him. 

England turned a funny shade of red as he stuttered in a reply. “I do not, you are so annoying! If you weren’t so pretty, I doubt anyone would want to be anywhere near you.” 

America was quietly gawking at the slightly taller man. He actually wasn’t that surprised by what he said, England had a weird tendency to accidently compliment him when he was flustered. Last time he called him a golden ray of sunshine. Which was oddly detailed since America is pretty sure all sunshine is goldish looking? 

“Glad you think I’m pretty, gonna stare into my eyes next or do you want me to dish out a few compliments beforehand?” America teased, batting his eyes.

“Can we just leave, you have a flight to catch later, correct?” The lemon blond muttered, staring intently at the floor. 

America heard Canada’s muffled laughter as he nodded. “Yeah I do, where are we going to eat anyways?” He asked as he stepped out of the room with his luggage in tow.

“Somewhere near the airport I suppose.” England said taking a bag from America and walking down the hallway.

“Wow you don’t put half the effort into dates as France.” America huffed jumping next to a now red England.

“What makes you think this is a date idiot! I thought you said you don’t go on dates…” He trailed off in reply, his pale cheeks still red.

While what he said was slightly true it was also kinda wrong? America wasn’t sure if he went on dates, sure he’s gone out before,but  he never really tried to see it in a romantic light. However the ‘outing’ with France last night was nice to say the least. He supposed he wouldn’t be too terrible to go out on dates if it meant he got free food and slightly enjoyable company. So yeah maybe he doesn’t mind if this was a date.

England certainly wasn’t attractive in the same way France was. Sure they were both slim and the same height,but  that’s where their similarities ended. France had longish hair while England had rather choppily cut bushy hair. His hair was nothing compared to his bushy eyebrows. Though he supposed if he stared long enough they weren’t terribly unattractive. The most eye-catching thing was probably his face. England’s face was sharper than France's, his face was cleaner too since he shaved regularly,but  he still managed to have a gruff, old-man look. 

The most attractive thing about England would easily be his eyes, they were, well, eye-catching. Not a lot of people have bright green eyes like that and while he was typically glaring with those things, they were still pretty hot-looking.

The more he thought about it the more he realized he didn’t hate England as much as he thought he did. Well he never hated him really, before the revolution they were like friends- almost,but  that bond was shattered  by America after the war. 

Despite what others seem to think the revolution was invoked purely by the determination of freedom and equality it had nothing to do with his relationship with England. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t tried to impress the British man many times afterwards. Perhaps he’s always wanted his attention? It was hard to describe their ‘special’ relationship. 

“Why are you staring at me?” England asked suddenly, they were now standing at the car not moving. 

America, being pulled out of his thoughts, shrugged, “I guess I was checking you out sort of? If we dated would you be nicer? Cause I’m not fucking with someone that’s always calling me a fatass.” 

England gaped at him perfectly still, “What…” He muttered though with his accent it sounded a lot stupider, more like “Wot…”. God, British people sounded so weird.

“Are you just going to stare at me dude? I'm starving right now.” America whined jumping in the passenger seat. 

Normally he’d drive given England drives like dogshit,,but  Germany is lowkey scary and he doesn’t want to accidentally drive over someone and get beaten. Apparently America was a ‘reckless speed demon’  entirely false by the way..

England quickly hopped in the car turning it in before goggling back at America. “Was that a serious question or were you just fucking with me? Did France tell you about the thing already? He said he was going to wait,but  he’s a frog so-”

“What thing?”

“So! Where do you want to eat? There’s a Starbucks near the airport.” England sheeched driving forward abruptly,  very obviously ignoring the question. 

“Dude what the hell is wrong with you?” America muttered leaning back in his chair.

“Me! You're the one talking about dating.” England hissed, turning sharply.

“Hey dude watch the road. Don’t stress about what I said anyways, I was just wondering. God, you old people are so serious. Can’t even talk about dating nowadays without getting chewed out.” America whined looking up then out the window.

“You’re talking about dating me!”

“Or France maybe.”

“Fuck, no you can’t date France.” England hissed, pulling into a Starbucks.

“Why not? At least he can talk about things all you do is complain.”

“That’s not true! I can talk about all sorts of things… I’m an interesting person.” 

“Since when?” America gasped mockingly.

“I’m taking you out on a date, am I not!” England half-yelled, throwing his door open. America went to open his own door ,but stopped when England hissed at him.

“Dude, that's not normal.” America commented, wrenching his hand away from the door handle. 

England ignored him, stalking around the car to open America’s door. 

“It’s called being a damn gentleman.” England explained his cheeks turning pink.

“I wasn’t aware that the gentleman hissed at people ,but thanks.” America mumbled, promptly ignoring the way his own face felt hot.

He stepped out of the car following England to the restaurant, groaning when the British man insisted on opening all the doors.

“I am totally capable of doing that myself thank you very much.” America grumbled more to himself than England.

“Didn’t you slam the door on your foot at the meeting last month?” England said his lips curled upwards slightly.

America huffed crossing his arms praying his face wasn’t as red as he thought. “T’was a rare occurrence old man, it won't happen again.”

“That wasn’t the first time-”

“So! What are we gonna get? I gotta catch my flight in like two hours.” America interrupted walking over to the register where a young girl stood.

“Hi, welcome to Starbucks. What can I get you?” She asked, smiling so wide it looked almost painful. 

Thankfully she was speaking English which meant England wouldn’t be left out of the conversation. 

“Uh, hot chocolate and like two chocolate muffins. A British guy wants Honey citrus mint tea with some peppermint.” America ordered easily ignoring England’s huffing and puffing.

“I didn’t say I wanted that.” 

“Dude you always get that before a flight, I’m actually sort of observant.” America gloated, going to pay for the meal,but  England beat him to it.

“I said I’d pay.” The blond mumbled, the girl behind the register grinned happily at the two.

“It’s so cute to see couples like you two. The pressure of society doesn’t bother you at all.” The girl cheered happily, turning away from the two men to relay the order.

“He’s not my boyfriend!” America blew his face burning fiercely. 

England spluttered for a moment next to him before giving America a wicked grin. “Aw love you don’t need to be embarrassed she’s just trying to be kind.”

“Oh my god I’ll throw you out a window bastard.” America hissed, covering his face to avoid seeing the girl's happy smile.

“I thought I was supposed to be the prude, you know it’s rude to take another's job.” England teased leaning towards America, poking his shoulder.

America groaned, ignoring England in favor of grabbing his drink and food which the girl was now holding out.

“Thanks! Please ignore Mr. Eyebrows, he's clinically insane.” 

“I am not you git!” England retorted, taking his own drink and trailing after America who was already perched at a table.

They were both dead silent for a minute, America chewing on his muffin while England glared sipping on his tea.

“I’m surprised you didn’t order your usual fancy coffee.” England muttered still glaring.

America rolled his eyes, “Well I was gonna, ,but then I decided I kind of want to sleep on the flight. I could get it without caffeine,but  hot chocolate is good with muffins.”

“Ah, it’s interesting how much effort you put into thinking about food. Maybe if you thought about work in such a way you’d get things done quicker.”

“Are you just going to insult me, I can sit here and make fun of you too.” America huffed, nearly burning his tongue on his drink.

“Go ahead, I’ll have you know that I’m perfectly above average in everything I do. Even my looks are-” England started to brag,but  America quickly stepped in with a single word.

“Eyebrows.”

“You fucking brat.” England cursed, “My eyebrows are perfectly fine.”

“Your hair looks like a rat's nest.”

“It does not!”

“Yes it does,” America said, leaning over and running a hand through England’s hair. “Feels like a rat's nest too.” 

The blond locks were ruff and slightly tangled. England was definitely the type not to use conditioners. He probably used cheap shampoo too. What a boomer.

“Dude, do you even wash your hair?” America asked, pulling his hand away.

“Of course I wash my hair! Do you wash yours?” England challenged standing.

Before America could even think about yelling at him England was already threading his fingers through America’s hair.

America froze his entire body heating up. He imagines in another situation this could be romantic… or even erotic,but  he’s not going to think about that one. 

England’s hands felt slightly cold which wasn’t entirely shocking. What was shocking was how softly England was being, America sort of expected him to basically yank on his hair before yelling at him. However the other man seemed to be sort of petting him?

“Iggy dude… you realize how weird this looks.” America whispered hoping his voice wasn’t as squeaky as it felt.

“Shit your right.” England cursed, pulling his hand away. His face was probably just as red as America’s face felt.

“So…” 

“Your hair is absurdly soft, you most likely wash it often.” England mumbled looking at his tea intently.

America almost felt like laughing at how totally lame that was ,but he refrained from doing so. “Thank you, I try to keep up on my appearance.”

“I noticed.” 

“Dude either flirt with me or don't, this is confusing as hell.” America said plainly glaring at England who if possible turned redder.

“The hell is that supposed to mean! I’m the confusing one? You’re the one that was talking about dating ,but then practically screamed at that poor girl when she confused us as a couple!” England exclaimed, obviously frustrated.

“Well we aren’t a couple! If you like me like that, which it’s obvious you do, then man up and say it!” America yelled back, not at all okay with being called confusing. He prided himself on being a very simple person despite what others say.

“I can’t!” 

“Why not?”

“I promised France I wouldn’t! Actually I promised almost the entire damn world I wouldn’t!” England confessed still yelling. As soon as he finished he froze horrified.

America was confused, obviously that was not the type of confession he was looking for. He had hoped that maybe if England stated what he was feeling then he’d be able to clarify what he himself was feeling instead he was left with a new question. 

“What do you-” America stopped tilting his head at England who was furiously gesturing to behind him.

“Dude are you trying to pull a look over there and then run away? I’m totally not going to fall for that-”

“What are you bastards talking about?” A deep, monotone Italian voice asked suddenly, piercing through the almost calm silence between them.

America didn’t shriek ,but he did yelp in a heroic fashion. He spun around to see South Italy, or Romano, standing behind him along with his brother, North Italy. Both of whom looked less than pleased.

Chapter Text

The two Italian men were gaping at America, who smiled widely and waved excitedly. He hasn’t talked to those two in, like, years.

“Uh, nothing dudes? What are you up to?” He questioned, his hands dropping down to his hips, watching with a raised eyebrow the brothers give England a very disgusted look, as if they were scolding him purely with their eyes.

“We were just in the area, having to go back home and all. What are you doing with England?” Romano responded, his voice as irritated as always. America doesn't know how someone so old can be so tired all the time.

“We were having a very chummy chat, not that it’s any of your business.” England snapped, rather forced, in America’s very professional opinion.

“Ah, Mr. England, don't be upset!” Italy exclaimed, eyes widening as he waved his forearms, “We’ll leave you and Alfred alone.”

America reeled for a moment, not used to anyone but his friend, The Great White North, using his human name. Although it wasn’t uncommon for Italy to refer to him as Alfred. They just never spoke too much, which is strange given how similar the two are.

“Don’t use his human name, dumbass!” Romano yelled in barely concealed shock, gripping his younger brother's shoulder.

“He doesn’t mind, I’ve done it before!” Italy cried as his brother shook him back and forth.

Romano suddenly stopped shaking him and very easily stared at America.

America shrugged watching England who was hissing at the ground. Which is actually pretty normal for him but unsettling to watch nonetheless.

“Yeah that’s chill dude, just don’t go throwing it around all the time. Gotta keep it professional for Germany’s voice.” America replied, grinning like a madman.

Italy visibly lit up while both Romano and England seemed absolutely pissed. 

“Why does he get to call you that?” Both men yelled in synchronization, glaring at the other directly after. America never really thought about it but they were super similar, both had major differences but they would do that same angry scream thing.

“Uh why not, we’re buds. Right dude?” America said smugly, nudging Italy who grinned.

“Yes! We’re best friends. We go to races all the time. Alfred has very fast cars.” He exclaimed, clapping his hands together. 

It was true, though he’d rather Italy stay away from any fast cars. Watching races was fine however the italian seemed to be possessed by some crazy need to drive at the speed of light. Getting in the car with Italy was basically a death sentence, one time he almost cried. Plus the dude never hit his signal which was just plain rude. 

“Yeah well I’m at your house all the time, why can’t I call you Alfred?” Romano asked his face doing that weird ‘imma bout the flip the fuck out but not quite yet’ look that he has somehow mastered over the 2000 plus years hes been living.

“I never said you couldn’t dude.” America whined, leaning away from the three men. 

Why were they being so weird about this? It’s just a name.

“What about me?” England hissed, his eyebrows furrowing. Being angry is really not a good look on him, whoever said thick eyebrows were a thing should’ve put some sort of limit on it.

“No, not you.”

“Why not?!”

“Because I said so and you’re british. Besides, I'm going to be late for my flight.” America stated, walking away from the fuming British man.

He didn’t actually care if anyone called him Alfred. Unlike some of the older nations he didn’t think it was some sort of sacred or personal thing, it was just a name. If it wasn’t for the fact that he didn’t feel like learning everyone’s human names he’d use them with everyone. He just liked fucking with England’s mind.

Not to mention he was more than slightly pissed at their conversation being intercepted. He wanted to know what England and France had been talking about. Not being able to confess because he promised the entire world he wouldn’t, what the fuck was that?

Honestly, America didn’t care if England confessed or not. He may like him for sure, but he may like a lot of other people, nations, as well. He just didn’t like the idea of England keeping a secret. Why would it matter to anyone if he started dating? Whatever, he could think about it once he was home.

Unfortunately, America’s exit was not honored at all. All three of the other men trailed after, England was fuming while the italian brothers chatted happily about pasta and murder of the their northern european ‘friend’. It was weird because he was hearing four sets of feet, whatever, he’s probably just imagining things,

“Dudes you realize we’re all on different flights right?” America pointed out for them. 

Italy nodded quickly, “Yes, but my flight doesn’t leave for a while so I thought I could keep you company!”

“Oh, I guess that’s okay-” America started, stopping mid-sentence when England interrupted.

“I was keeping him company!”

“Yeah well you’re an old man and a pervert. We're a much better company.” Romano teased, shrieking when England reached for him.

“I’m not a pervert you bugger! I was just taking him out for a meal, how is that malicious at all?” 

“We were just worried you were breaking the whole deal, which wouldn’t really be fair since no one ever told us that it was off. I would have prepared some pasta and wine if I had known.” Italy sniveled, snagging Romano away from  the greedy clutches of England.

America frowned while watching the three aruge. What the hell was that deal they keep bringing up? Was it some sort of secret alliance? That was doubtful, his government would have picked up on it. Or maybe it was an alliance between the actual personifications? Almost everyone seems to be on it so either way he had to find out what it was all about.

“What are you guys talking about?” He asked, stepping in between England and the brothers.

“Um, lots of things. Mostly how horrible England’s fashion sense is.” Romano replied sarcastically, almost robotically, like it was rehearsed. 

Most of his body was behind his brother, obviously waiting for England to try and grab him again so he could do..something. Said Englishman was turning an awfully bright red color. If he kept this up they’d be taking him to a hospital for an aneurysm or even a stroke. Probably a stroke though.

“No not about that, you’re totally right though. Sweater vests died like eight years ago dude.” America agreed, high fiving Romano, smirking smuggly.

“They did not! I look perfectly fine, thank you very much!” England screeched before inhaling deeply, “You are just all uncultured, the sweater vest is the clothing of a true gentleman.” 

America waved his hands while searching his nose trying to focus one the previous topic, “I want to know about that deal thing Italy was talking about. France said something about it before and I think I’ve heard some others talking about it.”

“Oh it’s a deal that no one is allowed to-” Romano slapped his hand over Italy’s mouth preventing him from finishing the sentence.

“It’s none of your business, has absolutely nothing to do with you so don’t ask again.” England replied smoothly, also sounding rehearsed. 

America pouted, eyes narrowing. Despite how absolutely confident England sounded he looked nervous, plus there’s no way Romano would have cared enough to stop Italy from saying something unless he thought it was going to get both of them in trouble.

“Fine, don't tell me. I’ll just find out later… Hey North Italy, you want to visit my country for a little while?” America asked sickly sweet, grinning from ear to ear, like the Cheshire cat.

Both Romano and England look at Italy in horror. Italy’s amazing ability to not read the atmosphere came in handy when he nodded in confirmation. 

“I’d love to! We haven’t had any alone time in a while.” Italy chirped, grabbing America’s hand with both of his.

“You can’t!” Romano and England both exclaimed, Romano going as far as to grab his brother's arm roughly.

“Why can’t he?” America hissed, grabbing Italy’s other arm pulling him towards the door.

“Uh we have a… meeting?” Romano lied sheepishly. Not rehearsed or planned, America guessed.

England slapped the back of his head which made Romano release Italy’s arm in favor of nursing his now throbbing head and wailing.

“The fuck was that for bastard!”

“Why the fuck would you say that you dolt- where are you going!” England sputtered as America walked away.

“This way obviously.” America pointed to the help center, “I’m going to cancel my ticket and find out about you guys' secret cult.

“No way in hell! And it’s not some strange cult.” England retorted, grabbing America’s arm.

“Then why won’t you let me-” America began but was cut off by Romano.

“Why can’t he go? Maybe he could sort everything out by just saying who he likes.” The Italian shrugged.

His brother nodded in agreement. “Romano’s right, England! We’re being creepy and vague. If we're just honest, maybe America would be happier?”

America looked at the brothers in confusion, “Why does who I liked matter?”

“You’re right.” England said releasing America’s arm, “I’ll just tell Germany to gather everyone back up. We’ll tell him tonight.”

America looked at the three men suddenly feeling a sense of dread, “Ya know dudes maybe I don’t wanna know.” 

“Oh shut it, this is your fault anyways.” England muttered, flipping open his phone.

“It’s okay America, I think you’ll like the meeting. How experienced are you when it comes to sexual matters?” Italy asked happily, oblivious to how personal that was.

“I’m sorry, what?” America muttered weakly in disbelief.

He was starting to regret all life choices now. He should’ve just left with Canada on that early ass flight. 

[A/N from this point and on is written by me and not an edited story, I am sorry] 

Running seemed like the best option right now, but where to?

 Navy blue eyes darting side to side, as slowly took a step back towards the security check’s line. His eyes suddenly locked on the mens’ restroom that was only visible from his perspective. Its sign was just above Southern Italy's head. 

Just as he was about to sprint for his life, he felt someone’s breath down his neck. A chill ran up his spine, all of his muscles tensed. Huh, America always thought he would be more of a fight or even flight person and not a freeze person. But anyway it’s not the time for that now, someone's breathing down his neck and he doesn’t know who it is.

It could be anyone, Russia (eugh), Germany, or even North Korea, does anyone even like that one? Fuck, America focus !

Following the shocked stare of Northern Italy, his eyes led up to..

Oh

Oh

Chapter Text

Oh

It’s just Greece.

A lazy grin shifted up on to Greece’s face, seeming more sly then he probably ment. Blinking, America trained his face into a contradicting grin, admitting absolute confidence of his ability to beat anyone of the four men up or out running them all. “Yo, what’s up Greece?” His voice sounded strained, even to himself.

Greece merely ignored him and continued smiling on. That’s when America noticed the phone pressed up against his right ear, seeming as if he just hung up on somebody. Gingerly, his grin grew and started to show way too many teeth to seem friendly. A low grumble as an excuse for a voice started to declare.

“Wouldn’t you come with me, αγαπητός ?” 

The same shiver from just a few moments ago came back and started to run up America’s spine. His brain froze as he heard the foreign word said with such emotion that were uttered from the lips of the sleepy country. His quiet voice practically purred out the words in just the way that made his cheeks flush a gorgeous rose color.

The Italian brothers were tense in shock and maybe even anger, but that wouldn’t make sense because what would they be mad about? Before he could even start to question their anger his center of gravity changed, from his feet standing anchored on the floor to his stomach being pressed onto somebody’s shoulder. Being thrown over someone's shoulder was not on his to-do list, unfortunately. America most definitely did not squeak, he was stone-cold and stone-faced. Totally. 

America was now facing the security line, with only a few people glancing over, feeling like whatever was happening was none of their business. “What the-, Gr- Hercules , what the hell are you doing?!” 

That got a reaction out of the stoic nation, his footsteps pausing right in the middle of a step. “What did you call me?” His usually quiet voice was now very clear and audible, America’s hand tightened on the back of Greece’s white shirt, the hairs on the back his neck started to stand up.

Now, America knew that Greece couldn’t hurt him and he was the last remaining world-superpower, but America couldn’t help but sweatdrop. It was as if Greece somehow got his empire strength back, his grip on the back of America's thigh was almost painful, it was like he was trying to control himself from doing… something.

“I ain’t mean it I swear.'' America quickly excused his words as his face flushed into an even redder shade, he just couldn’t let people know about the personifications of nations yet, his boss flipped out last time he almost told the entire freaking world about them. 

The lazy man started walking, but at a more heartful pace, like Greece was trying to get away from something or.. someone. After wriggling a bit, America finally let his body go limp against his uncomfortable resting place.

America started to peer at the passing convenience stores. He would rather ignore the present situation or else he might explode out of sheer embarrassment. Speaking of exploding, where’s England? 

A shrill shriek, that was very obviously British, echoed through the near empty airport. America felt like rolling his eyes, God, did he ever chill out?

Suddenly being set down, America had been knocked out of his daydream. Grumbling to himself, he looked up at his abductor. “Why’d ya do that? Broski, you there?”

Fixing his glasses that dropped to the tip of his nose, America’s entire body went taut as he peered into the storm brewing in the green eyes that told a thousand stories at once. America put his back against the wall, there was a tan forearm at the side of either of his head. Greece’s eyes were narrowed into slits, with the power of a former superpower, demanding, “ Why did you call me that? ” 

“Well, I couldn’t just call you Greece in front of all those people, couldn’t I? Our bosses would freak.” 

America didn’t know where this unbridled confidence came from, he was one death stare away from pissing himself. The stray strands of hair slipping from Greece’s hair started to tickle his face. Trying to savor the distance they had right now, he placed his hands on the firm chest of the ancient nation. America practically could count each eyelash of Greece’s unbelievably attractive face. Wait what- God Damn, now's not the time Alfred! 

“That’s..actually pretty reasonable for once.” Greece seems to be caught up in some thoughts, eyes glazed over looking up to some point in the ceiling. Well isn’t this just the best time to sprint to his flight, he’s pretty sure it’s boarding soon. Four versus one? Nu-uh, One versus one? Probably. Eh, whatever, shit he's becoming like Canada.

“CAT!!” 

Greece was immediately distracted from his current dilemma, lifting his forearms off the wall to turn and look to where America’s eyes were boring into, which was actually just a random stain on the floor. Ducking under his hands, America started to sprint for the life of him, it probably was. He was ignoring the fact he was slowly getting more and more despised by most of the other countries. Taking a left, America began to think about how strange this entire situation was- goddamn was this bag heavy.

Going down the slightly curved hallway, America started to hear footsteps pounding behind him. Glancing back he realized all of the previous countries were here, the Italies, England, Greece and France-France? What is he doing here? Probably trying to get home, his mind dutifully supplied.

Speeding up, he started to wonder why the world was suddenly so obsessed with him, he’s pretty sure that nobody cared this much about him. Why the hell are they even chasing him again? His bag hitting the back of both of his thighs, still slightly feeling the crescent-moons on it from the death grip of Greece. America didn’t even know he was that strong. 

Seeing the plane’s terminal, he quickened his pace. Throwing himself into a seat and taking off his glasses, for some reason nobody recognized him without his glasses. Looking at his ticket to look distracted and not bothered of the five men running by, 

Business Class - Seat 5A - Flight No AF084

Hearing the rapid footsteps fading into the distance, he sighed and waited for the A group to be called. None of the five men even tried to do a double-take at the strangely familiar man reading his ticket. It was five minutes until they started boarding, to pass the time he started to check his phone messages. 246 unread messages, his eyes started to widen in shock, 16 missed calls. His lips started to part as he glazed over all the suddenly flirty or just y'know sudden messages from countries that he never even really talked to, like Sweden. 

A woman with a thick French accent started to call out “Group A, please come to the front to get your ticket checked by the Cabin Crew.”

America started to rise from his seat and started to walk to the table and handed his ticket to the hostess, she tore it in half and handed one piece to him. Murmuring his Merci , he walked out into the ramp area.

Walking to the plane door, he waited for the Pilot to open the door, he pulled out his phone and started to look for Matthews message. 

Get home safe, love you, Amant garçon. 

That was.. weird, Canada never told him he loved him or anyone for that matter, maybe he meant it as a friend? And what did he mean by “Lover Boy”, was that a new nickname or something?

Chapter Text

Humming to himself, America shuffles his way up the ramp. Serving his greeting to the pilot and his hostesses, blinking, surprised, at the small space in between the seats, they were practically a bed! I mean, these things at least look like one very wide chair! Side-stepping some luggage on the floor, he starts walking at a leisurely, but confident, pace, America shimmies his way towards his seat in business class. 

Gently moving the curtain to the side with his unbelievably soft hands, not to toot his own horn. Silently wishing there was no one in the window seat, he got motion sickness; America made his way to the front of the plane. Gazing back down at his ticket and comparing it to the number on top of the seats. America found himself repeating the word twelve in his head like a mantra, trying to memorize the word so he didn’t look like more of an idiot then he already did. 

Finding the number he was thinking of, America checked if someone was already in his, self-proclaimed, seat. Eyes widening in shock , America found someone already there, actually he already knew them. It was Switzerland! It seemed as if he was reading a book that was in a language that was a mix of German and some other languages. Beaming like the Sun itself dived to that very point on Earth, America started a greeting-

“Dude, I didn’t know that we were on the same flight! What’s bringing you to the states?”

“Hey America, How’re you?.” 

America’s eye twitched with slight irritation, smile still not leaving his face, you couldn’t really blame him; he was basically just completely disregarded and ignored by his longtime friend and crush! That’s right, you heard him! It started when an American representative switched from being a U.S diplomatic service to a Swiss Minister- they were both at the meeting for the trade off. America stiffly but swiftly avoided Switzerland's luggage and sat down next to him. 

The American plopped himself next to Switzerland, taking a glance down the row across from them, taking note of the lack of matching blonde hair but with a bow. Feeling a streak of confidence surge through him, America questions the other man, “Hey, wait a sec’, Where’s your sister at?” Switzerland sighed tiredly before slotting a bookmark between the page he was on and snapping the book shut.

“Vell, Amerkia that’s her business-” His eye twitched, “-, so buzz off, vill you?”

Jeez! America didn’t mean for it to invoke such an irritated response. He guesses that there are different social standards in Europe, he was always told Americans are too “up in your business” by various other nations. He should apologize, but heroes don't apologize, right ? Right, anyway he might as well get comfortable since this is an around eight hour freakin’ flight.

“Erm-, I mean that she’s busy with papervork and then has a meeting. My apologies.” His uncharacteristic display of tenderness stunned the American into silence, not being able to muster any response to the rare soft words he just nodded stiffly. Switzerland’s face was also unusually maroon, the heat from his face  looking like it was jumping down to his neck. Regaining his composure, the American grinned brightly and choked out a thanks. 

“T-Thanks dude, but you really didn’t have to tell me, I totally would’ve been fine if you left it at that!”

America would’ve continued, but the intercom went off and started to tell them to look at the flight attendant as she went over the robotic motions of what to do in an emergency situation. As her voice faded into the back of America’s mind, he pulled out his phone to check on his messages before he put it on airplane mode. Glancing to his right, he couldn't help but take note of the fact that Switzerland started to strain his hands on the arm rest. It looked like the cheap leather was two more milligrams of pressure and would tear, checking out from how nervous Switzerland’s face looked.

Deciding to try and help the older man to try and calm down, he slid his hand to interlock his with the other man’s. Shocked green eyes snapped to his face, trying to find any sign of deceit or chaffness of his nervousness. Not finding any he relaxed and let the moment sink in as the ground started to move under them. Ignoring the fact that he was on a plane, one of his greatest anxieties next to losing money, he focused on the fact and was holding hands with his long-time acquaintance.

Trying to avoid the embarrassment of his current situation, Switzerland gazed longingly out the window, already wanting to leave. Glancing to his left he noticed that America was already drifting off to unconsciousness, slumping to his right. He guesses that airplane rides do the opposite for him, they calm him down.

Directly on his shoulder. 

Obviously not thinking straight, Switzerland glanced away, leading the rest of his body with his head from the sudden motion. This sudden motion caused the American nation to slouch even closer to his stomach. 

Exhaling once again Switzerland, shrugged one shoulder to his neck. Sliding his arm gingerly off from under America’s surprisingly light body. He gently lifted the young nation to his chest, while he was using his right hand to recline his seat only just slightly, then it found purchase on America’s back. The lights surrounding them dimmed. Switzerland yawned, and then let himself relax and sink into the comfortable atmosphere.

His left hand was carding through the golden locks that belonged to the fairly young country. Switzerland's left hand was rubbing light circles on America’s spine, noting how easy it was to feel the vertebrae. America was practically laying on the shorter man, feeling like a cat being scratched on the back of his ears; although you couldn’t really blame him, Switzerland was leaving no space in between the two nations, hugging him tightly.

 Warmth fully enveloped every piece of skin that pressed to each other. The warmth combined with the petting, America started to drift off to sleep. For someone so cheap, Switzerland was giving a lot right now. America’s arm was curled loosely around Switzerland’s waist. No words needed to be said, both of them just wanted to sleep.

Even with the murmur of the plane’s engines quaking against one another, everything was absolutely perfect, even to the last miniscule. Drifting off into a deep slumber, America snuggled closer to the European nation, becoming more and more greedy for the warmth that was offered from the ‘Playground of Europe’. Knowing in the back of his mind that this would be the last time someone would ever willingly get this close to him, people like hated him or something, America tried to force himself awake for even just a minute long to savor the rare moment, although it was futile. 

Trying to ground himself, America started to strain his hand to fumble with the man’s unsurprisingly pure white shirt. America was drowsily clashing with himself to stay awake, but his brain was already trying to sink off into an 8-hour cat nap. Darn, America hates losing arguments, especially with himself, that's even more embarrassing because he doesn’t listen to it often.

Yawning dramatically, America glazed down with a little concern for his arms only to find a pink-red line on his wrist in replace of his usual tan skin. Flopping it back down carelessly on Switzerland’s seat buckle, he gave up and accepted his fate.

The day's events’ fatigue finally catching up to him, America accepted his fate and finally sank into the darkness of unconsciousness. 

The last memory America has was Switzerland's grip tightening a miniscule amount on his hair, looking out the window, the seat that he wanted, frowning with some unidentified emotion. Making some fun of a game to guess what it was in his last moments of consciousness.

Jealousy? No..what could he be jealous of?

Anger? Possible, but he’s not a naturally angry country. 

Solemnness? No, Switzerland doesn’t have any reason to feel sad.

What is it?

Chapter Text

Preview to next chapter:

“W-who’s there?” the golden blonde forced the shaky words out of his mouth, America did NOT want to deal with something as impossible to crush as an off brand, horror-movie ass ghost. The door to his bedroom slowly creaked open, as if moved by an invisible hand.

When the door finally stopped opening, it was left wide open as the darkness from his room was revealed to the world for all to see, even though you couldn’t see more than like a foot in. It was silent throughout the house with the expectation of the soft breathing coming from America’s lips and Tony’s loud, full volume video games.

The low grumble of something undead coming back to life reached America’s ears, causing him to whimper fearfully. A surprisingly warm hand reached from the darkness and roughly pulled him into their, also, warm body, “Please don’t be scared of me. You like to have your face free of hand, no?”

America shrieked in response. 

--

God was this embarrassing, not only did he fall asleep on another nation, it was Switzerland of all of them! He probably hated him now like everyone else did.

When America did wake up he was something he was often: Alone.

“Shit shit shit, why am I always like this?” Were America’s first words when he groggily woke up.

The flight was over and the first round of people had already left. “Excuse me sir, but it’s time to wake up.”

A light feminine voice was shaking him awake, it was one of the flight attendants: “Oh, I’m sorry dudette.”

After he said those words she promptly left him to his own devices. America stood up and stretched out his tight muscles from staying in one position for too long. Bones cracking and popping, he reached down and picked up his bag, quickly joining the line of people leaving.

While people were grabbing their bags and leaving he started to respond to all the messages that he ignored for, like, eight hours.

–

After around twenty minutes, America finally exited the plane and was walking in the hallway to the airport. The heavy pitter-patter of feet was rushing behind him as he was entering the building, it got fainter and fainter.  

America was starting to get drowsy, it became very obvious that jetlag was starting to kick in, heavily affecting the superpower. Sighing to himself, America gingerly stumbled over to the baggage claim. Teeter and tottering his way to the downstairs escalator, America made a split decision. 

Staring off into the distance, America stood eerily still on the escalator, regretting all life decisions. 

America could feel a headache slowly growing as he went down, becoming more and more annoyed at everything by the minute. 

“-‘cuse me.”

America was a muttering and stumbling mess by the time his ‘fun’ ride on the escalator ended, he didn’t even notice the poor boy next to him who was trying to pass him. A light tap did the trick, so he just shuffled out of the boy’s way, even though they were both now at the bottom.

Walking tiredly, America started to fade into autopilot-mode, the rest of the day fading into a messy blur. 

Moving mechanically, he grabbed his bags and looked at his phone for his Uber as he moved to the beautiful E-X-I-T doors. 

Pausing right before the road, America started to awkwardly stand next to his citizens, not taking his eyes off his phone.

The soft murmur of the crowd somehow made his headache slowly go away, glancing up in what may have been jealousy, he watched as families happily reunited with each other. Watched as friends embraced one another tightly, watched as his military personnel grinned at their colleagues as a final goodbye.  

He watched as people who missed each other reunited, knowing that this was his only chance to see it. He knew this because he thought-no he knew that even if he left this world, no one would miss him for a second.

America’s phone buzzed embarrassingly loud, drawing the attention of some people around him.

Flushing he looked at his phone, then backed up looking for his driver. The vehicle looked the same as any other one in this sea of black and white cars.

Humming an unnamed tune, America went on his tippy-toes to look at every unique license plate, trying to find the one that matched his phone.

Seeing no matches, he sighs and leans his weight back on his heels. He’ll just wait until the next round of cars arrives.

–

Plopping down in the plush black car seat, America hastily grinned to the driver seat of the car.

Lucky for him he didn’t embarrass himself and the driver flushed and smiled back: “Hello my friend, what brings you here?”

Happy to get interactions with his citizens, America replied “Oh, nothing, just coming back from a meeting with my coworkers.”

The man nodded.

 “I see, you must be exhausted. Traveling overseas is tiring, I hear.” America ignored the fact the man somehow knew he was traveling overseas.

Instead he hummed in a lazy response, his mind and body agreeing with the seemingly wise man.

The driver seemed to notice that America was not in a mood to carry a conversation with a man he did not know. So he forced his line of vision on the road in front of him instead of the strangely attractive and familiar man.

The man, deemed ‘Him’  in America’s head, realized that he needed to know where America lived so he could drop him off.

“So..where to?”

Also realizing that he needed to give the driver his address he pulled out his phone, opened a GPS app and showed the driver; leaving it on the center console. 

The rest of the ride was in a comfortable silence, there was no more need for a conversation.

As he started to pull into America’s driveway, he unlocked the car doors.

“Be safe, dude.” were his parting words to the other man.

Chapter Text

Slipping his shoes off, America sighed deeply, trying to relax his tense muscles. Man, going overseas really has a way to suck all of your energy out of your body. Contrary to what most nations believed, America did not wear his shoes inside of his house. That was just gross, all of the outside dirt, inside his house? No way.

 He stretched his head to his right side, it popping satisfyingly, just like with the other side. America shrugged his heavy winter coat off his shoulders, revealing his pristine white shirt, and placed it on his old, wooden coat hanger. Lately, people have been acting so weird around him, giving him things and like talking to him in a non-business related way. America dropped his suitcase off at the door, wanting not to do anything else but go upstairs and play video games and/or sleep in his bed for once. 

As he wandered off upstairs into his room, he didn’t notice the looming presence creeping up behind him. God, did America feel crusty. His hair was a mess and disheveled, his glasses were askew, and the tie that was usually loosely wrapped around his neck was just straight up gone. He opened the door to his master bedroom before he quickly stumbled off into the bathroom attached to it. Cold water would wake him up, at least a little bit. (hopefully)

Flicking the water faucet on, America rested both hands on the cool marble of his bathroom sink. As he stared into his own ocean blue eyes, he contemplated his face, he hadn’t really looked at himself for quite a while. Ignoring the many skincare products around the eve and the few toothpaste stains in the sink, it was relatively clean. If people knew the amount of time he put into his appearance, he’d hear no end of it, like who’d want to see his old freckles and minor scars. 

He held his hand in a cupping motion before dunking them under the ice cold water, yeah, this will definitely wake him up. Taking in a breath to prepare himself, he splashed the water on his face multiple times in a row. Yes, yes it did wake him up. He was right, America was always right. He blindly grabbed for the nearest towel, or really anything to dry his face. 

Aggressively rubbing the freezing cold droplets off his face and turning off the sink, he glared up at..nothing really. He placed the cloth back on the hanger before he walked back into his room. The carpet was a welcome change to the cold tile floor that he was just standing on, even though he was wearing socks, he could still feel a chill running up his spine. Ugh, now he needed something to warm him up. Nothing would be better than having a hot soup in his stomach to heat him up! 

First though, he needed to change into something more comfortable that a dress shirt and slacks. His cold hands began to undo the buttons from top to bottom, the temperature of his hands not making it any easier. When they were all undone, he wiggled himself out of its tight confines and in turn exposed his bare chest to the cool air. So, he slipped on one of the sweaters that he left on the floor before he left. 

Also changing into some sweatpants that were also on the floor, he flung the old clothes onto the floor, where he might pick them up later. (if he felt like it) Gripping the varnished banister, America went down the stairs two steps at a time, because God, was he freaking starving. Landing on the wooden flooring of the first floor, he slid into his kitchen where he opened his fridge hungerly. Locating the tupperware of soup that was oh so generously gifted to him from France, where he knew it’d be.

He opened the lid of the container, and popped it in the microwave. He didn’t even check if it was microwave safe because who really cares if he gets plastic poisoning and dies? Not him that for sure. As he set the timer for two or three minutes, he sat down in a nearby chair and turned on his phone. America hadn’t said a word since he got home and he could feel his voice getting scratchy from not talking ten minutes for once, but no one is here and he is not talking to himself like England. 

Mindlessly scrolling through his feed, America let his mind go off on its own adventure. 

Why has everyone been so friendly recently? Did his boss open relations even more without him knowing again? Maybe there was something new in his country that everyone wanted? Yeah, that’s it, they want something! He’d totally give it out for free, if he knew what they were looking for. Maybe it was something on he, himself had or-

God, why do microwaves have to be so loud! America sat up from his slouching position and stomped up to the microwave. When he first reached into it, the steaming soup literally almost burned his hand off. America figured it would be smart to grab a napkin and then pick it up. Looking behind him, he grabbed the nearest roll of paper towels and ripped a few off of the roll. Look at him, using his head for once. The idea was smart, because it worked wonderfully and he successfully pulled the hot dish out of the microwave. 

He placed it on the stove and pulled out a spoon from the dishwasher, yes, he was going to eat it right here. Blowing on the searing hot mouthful of french soup, he shoved the first bite into his mouth. Did the French know how to cook international dishes? Abso-fucking-ly not. Their own? Yes, very. So, it is no surprise that the American destroyed that soup like a ravenous dog. 

Gently throwing the tupperware in the sink, he walked back up satiated with way less vigor then he did going down. Before he walked into his room, he noticed something strange, the door was not how he left it. He would’ve ignored it, but then he heard the muttering.

“W-who’s there?” the golden blonde forced the shaky words out of his mouth, America did NOT want to deal with something as impossible to crush as an off brand, horror-movie ass ghost. The door to his bedroom slowly creaked open, as if moved by an invisible hand.

When the door finally stopped opening, it was left wide open as the darkness from his room was revealed to the world for all to see, even though you couldn’t see more than like a foot in. It was silent throughout the house with the expectation of the soft breathing coming from America’s lips and Tony’s loud, full volume video games.

The low grumble of something undead coming back to life reached America’s ears, causing him to whimper fearfully. A surprisingly warm hand reached from the darkness and roughly pulled him into their, also, warm body, “Please don’t be scared of me. You like to have your face free of hand, no?”

America shrieked in response. Not another freak of nature trying to go into his home, he couldn't handle a ghost he didn’t even invite into his home. Aren’t they like not allowed to do that?

‘Why are you yelling at me? Stop it!” 

America didn’t know why this thing seemed so confused by someone screaming at it when it broke into his house. Its brown hair and eyes seemed a bit familiar but he couldn’t place his finger on it. Had he seen this man before, no that couldn’t be right. The only men he knew with that kind of accent were the italians and they were home to where they live.

Wait, he had seen that scratchy beard before, during world war two and some guy was singing in the sky. Rome! That’s his name, North Italy was cheering about “grandpa Rome” before the allies all ran away. 

“Why are you in my house, dude? I wouldn’t be screaming at you if you knocked on my door like a normal person!” 

This guy , America thought, was absolutely insane . Why was he looking at him like America was the problem here? His eyes spoke of someone who was hopelessly confused, like he was a child who didn’t understand wrong from right. America almost felt bad for him until he said:

“Well if I had knocked you wouldn't have let me in.” He seemed honest and oblivious to what he had just said. 

“If you knew that I wouldn’t have let in, take it as a sign.” God, were all the people related to Italy this socially stunted? Maybe, he was hallucinating again and none of this was real and wow, the floor is looking rather close right now.

And then everything went black; why didn’t the world let him have a break for once?