altaeansonata: (US/UK)
[personal profile] altaeansonata
First time actually posting a fic, so hooray for that ^^. Concrit is welcomed and appreciated.



Title: Forget Me Not – (1/?)
Author: [personal profile] altaeansonata
Rating: PG-13 (Warnings: None)
Wordcount: ~1500
Genre: Fluff, mild angst in later chapters
Characters: England, America, Canada
Pairings: US/UK, Canada/UK
Summary: England brings America flowers. Canada schemes to intercept his affections.


-- ₤ --

The cold bit into England's skin as he stood outside America's door, but he ignored it well enough. He wore a grey wool overcoat to keep the winter air out, and the only visible effects of the cold were the foggy puffs of breath escaping his lips and the rosy blush of his otherwise pale cheeks.

In his gloved hands he held a bouquet of flowers. Not roses, of course, because roses were boring and cliché and, any more, meaningless. No, these flowers did have meanings, the red carnations and the narcissuses and the few sprigs of witch-hazel thrown in for good measure, because England was England and therefore superstitious. Of course, the meanings would all probably be lost on the other nation, but they meant something to England, and that was enough.

England's reverie was interrupted by the door opening in front of him, and the rush of warm air that followed it. It was a bit startling, as he hadn't remembered knocking. His surprise turned to a slight bit of disappointment as he saw that it was not America but Canada who had opened the door.

“Oh, hello Arthur,” Canada said, eyeing the flowers. “What, um... what brings you here this morning?”

England frowned slightly. “Morning, Matthew. Is Alfred here?”

“He's here, he's just finishing something up. Would you like to come in?”

England nodded and stepped through the door past Canada, who quickly moved aside to accommodate him. Setting the flowers down on a table, he shrugged off his coat to reveal a green turtle neck sweater and khaki slacks. He didn't notice Canada's apparent interest in the flowers, or how Canada watched him a little too closely when he took off the coat and kicked off his shoes. Nor did it occur to him that Canada was standing perhaps a bit closer than was proper. His mind was elsewhere, and with that elsewhere in mind he retrieved the flowers and began making his way toward America's office.

“A-Arthur, wait!” Canada called, taking a step to follow him and tentatively reaching out a hand after him.

England stopped, turned around, and raised a bushy eyebrow at him. “What is it?”

“You can't go in there, he's busy!”

“Busy doing what, exactly? It's a Sunday.”

“Working on, um... well, you know that treaty everyone signed in Paris last week? It's a follow up to that,” Canada said desperately, trying his best to look earnest.

“I see,” England said. It was pretty obvious that Canada was lying, but England decided to indulge him, if only out of vague curiosity as to exactly why he was doing it.

Canada looked relieved when he saw that England seemed to accept his story, and continued. “I, um, I think he might be done in an hour or so, if you want to stick around until then. I could put those away for you, or put them in a vase or something,” he said, indicating the bouquet in England's hand.

“That's all right, I'll hold on to them,” England said dismissively.

“Oh. All right. So... what would you like to do in the meantime? We could watch television, or go for a walk, or talk, or go up to my room and, um... talk,” Canada finished lamely. England gave him a funny look, and he cast his eyes downward.

Is that why he seemed so odd? England wondered, somewhat astonished. He felt a little bad that he didn't return the other nation's affection, but he reasoned that Canada would get over it. He was stronger than many other nations gave him credit for, even if he didn't show it sometimes.

“I think I'd prefer to stay here,” England said, adding “Downstairs.” when he saw Canada's face begin to light up.

Undeterred, Canada remained cheerful, and he bustled into the living room ahead of England. He began straightening cushions and collecting magazines off of the coffee table, while England set the bouquet down again on an otherwise-unoccupied end table. He sat down in the middle of a couch – deliberately avoiding the love seat – and leaned back into the soft leather cushions.

“Sorry about the mess,” Canada said, joining England on the couch and leaving far too little space between them. “You know how America can be.” There was always a sort of reverence in Canada's tone as he said the other nation's title. If he ever felt any bitterness, he didn't show it.

“I've rather gotten used to it after all this time. Although, I'm grateful that one of you learned proper manners.” Canada blushed at the platitude, and England wondered if perhaps he shouldn't just out and out tell Canada how he felt. Or didn't feel, as it were.

And it wasn't that he didn't like Canada. He just didn't feel any sort of romantic affection toward him. Perhaps it was Canada's submissive nature that led England to see him more as a brother or son than as a potential partner.

Or maybe it was a vague sense of pity, due to his being largely ignored by the other nations, that led him to look past the fact that Canada was tentatively brushing his elbow against England's as he reached for the television remote, or that his fingertips grazed England's knee as he retrieved it and settled back into the couch.

Of course, pity didn't make one's heart flutter, or one's spine tingle, but England tried to ignore that too. It was just anticipation of America's imminent arrival, or just a simple physical reflex that had nothing to do with the fact that Canada was the one causing it. England was certain that he'd never felt anything for Canada, which was why it was obviously impossible that he'd be doing so now, and how had this little seed of doubt been planted, anyway? It was like he was the Elizabeth to Canada's Darcy, and Canada's wandering fingers – absently tracing circles over the middle of his thigh, now – the confessory letter that changed his whole outlook.

No, no, he thought, and shook his head to clear it. This whole thing was daft, and why was he thinking so much about Canada, anyway? “Matthew, I don't think–” he began, but both his objection and Canada's apologetically embarrassed retreat to the end of the couch were interrupted by the sound of America's office's door opening.

“Hey Matt, I–” America said, appearing in the doorway, but he stopped when he saw England there. “Arthur? What're you doing here?”

“I just came by to visit,” England said smoothly, rising from the couch and taking the bouquet back up into his hand. “I thought this place could use a little colour, too. It's rather drab.”

“Flowers?” America said, giving England a strange look. “You'd think you were France or something.”

England bristled. “France? You've rather a lot of nerve comparing me to that” – he couldn't resist the pun – “lily-livered pansy.”

America laughed, and England couldn't tell whether it was because he got the joke, or whether it was just because he was America and laughed at everything. It was possibly both, and to England it was a little infuriating. “Look, just take the damn flowers,” he said, and America laughed again.

“All right, all right, keep your pants on. Matt, mind getting a vase for these?” America said, taking the flowers from England's hand and waving them at Canada.

Canada, still looking embarrassed, hopped up from the couch with a mumbled “Sure” and hurried out of the room.

“So why did you really come?” America asked after he had left.

“To bring you flowers, you git. I haven't got an ulterior motive for everything.”

“Mm,” America said, not really paying attention. “So you want to go for a walk or something? I've been inside all day, got sucked into those Sudoku puzzle things. They're really addictive, but they're supposed to make you smarter or more logical or something, so it's okay.” He pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. “I'm a little stiff from staring at them for the last few hours, though.”

“A walk would be nice,” England said, trying not to think too hard about America practising logic.

“All right, let's go then!” America said, tossing the flowers haphazardly onto the couch. England grimaced as some of the flowers shook loose and tumbled to the floor, but he turned away and followed America back to the front door.

The two put on their coats and shoes, and America led the way outside. Through all this neither nation glanced back, or even thought about Canada, who had just found the perfect vase to display the flowers that England had brought.

-- ₤ --
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