^~^ not mine, giving credit to the author, ghostofthemotif from livejournal ~ either way I love it~! ^~^)) Eight nations had approached him since the meeting let out that morning. Every single one of them had greeted him with some variation of “America, just where the hell are you getting those numbers? I need to see the study myself,” and Canada had replied to every single one of them with some variation of “I’m Canada.” He was getting understandably frustrated. All he wanted to do was make it to the parking garage, get in his car, drive to the hotel, and splurge on complimentary cookies until he fell asleep. If people kept pestering him about his brother’s miscommunication, he was going to drop Kuma and then whack them with his briefcase and run… only not really, because he didn’t think he’d be able to live with it later. “Canada?” “I’m Canada!” he countered automatically. Then the statement caught up to him, and he flushed as he half-turned to the nation hurrying to catch up to him. Spain looked slightly bemused, customary smile dimmed a notch as he came to a stop at Canada’s side. One hand was running through his hair uncomfortably. “Isn’t that what I said…?” “Sorry, I’ve had a long day…” Canada fumbled. There was light, understanding laugh, and Spain’s expression brightened again. “Kumajiro was playing with my pen during the conference, and I was wondering if he still had it.” “Um…” Canada dropped his eyes to the top of Kuma’s head. A red pen cap was peeking out from the bear’s mouth. Spain saw it at the same moment as Canada. “Good Kuma!” He patted the bear’s head appreciatively and took the pen back, wiping it on his sleeve before stowing it in his pocket. Kuma mouthed his hand as he pulled away, and Spain laughed again. “Thank you for holding it for me.” Thinking he should probably apologize for Kuma’s thievery, Canada’s eyes snapped back up, mouth open to do so. The other nation was already walking away, flashing a grin and a lazy wave over his shoulder. --- It wasn’t a good morning. Kuma had fallen asleep on his nightstand, smothering the clock and making the alarm incomprehensible. Canada was gifted with twenty minutes to get dressed and look decent enough not to embarrass his own delegates when he got to the world meeting, and in the rush had forgotten one of the two files he was supposed to present. He comforted himself by remembering that America almost never brought his files, and when he did, they usually didn’t make sense anyway. He’d been late to the conference itself, which meant that whoever had gone out for coffee would either bullshit an order for him or forget to get him coffee altogether. The latter was more likely. Canada had just resigned himself to making it through the morning without any caffeine and nothing but cashews in his stomach when a cup appeared in his immediate field of vision. Startled, he looked up into his benefactor’s face. “Latte with hazelnut, right?” Spain checked with the same good-natured smile he always wore. “Y-yes,” Canada confirmed, hastily taking the coffee from Spain’s hands. He did a quick mental re-hash of Spain’s memory capabilities. “Thank you very much.” Spain looked as if he were about to reply, but he was cut off. Prussia’s impatient shout rang out from the opposite end of the table. “Oi, Spain! Where’s my change?” Still inexplicably pleasant, Spain swiveled towards his friend. “Coming!” Canada took a sip of his coffee, ignored the whipped cream in favor of appreciating the rest of the order being right, and reflected that there was very little that good coffee couldn’t put in a better light. --- They were on a lunch break, and far from wanting to stay in the meeting room where Poland was lecturing Ukraine on letting her nails get so ‘horribly malformed’, Canada ventured outside to find somewhere peaceful to sit back until the hour was up. The sunlight wasn’t very warm, and the breeze was a little chilly, but it was manageable. “Canada~!” He came to an abrupt halt, confused until he saw a waving hand and a familiar smile over the low hedge to his left. Choosing to take the path that coiled the long way around rather than try to force his way through the bushes, Canada started towards the other nation. Spain was sitting on a bench beneath an oak and looked genuinely pleased to find company… then again, that might have just been his default expression. “You caught me,” Canada greeted lightly. “I was trying to escape the others.” “I have good eyes, my friend,” Spain winked. “You really do... How can you tell me and my brother apart?” he asked curiously as he took the proffered seat beside him. “Hmm?” The question seemed to surprise him. Spain thought on it for a moment. “I guess I’m used to twins,” he shrugged with a contented hum. “I have Lovi and Feli, and Tomas and Martin.” Canada gave a wry smile. “But no one ever confuses them…” That made Spain laugh. “Because Romano is always grumpy, and Tomas keeps his hair so short. You and your brother always smile, and if people don’t look too close, maybe they miss the difference.” Canada was silent. There was a reason they never looked too close. There was nothing about Canada to make them worry; he was a comfortable guarantee, someone they could trust in the background while their focus was on threats and opportunities elsewhere. “You are just as important as your brother.” Spain’s voice was very different, and Canada couldn’t decide if the older nation had misinterpreted his anxiety or found the root. Spain watched him carefully as he spoke, and there was almost a tinge of music to it. “I believe that people are all worth the same amount, only in different currencies, you understand? If you were worth a diamond, your brother would be worth the same, but perhaps in gold.” Canada nodded, but he felt as though Spain had gotten the association backwards. America was the diamond… sharp, strong, only able to be broken by himself; Canada was the gold, softer and more malleable. Still, he understood the sentiment Spain was trying to express, and he was thankful for it. “What would you be worth, Spain?” he asked to break the silence. “Ah…?” Spain tilted his head towards the sky with a thoughtful expression. “Romano would be angry if I took tomatoes from him, so I’ll say…” He looked down at his hand and then raised it so that Canada could see the ring there. The band was plain silver, set with an oval stone. “It was named after one of my provinces,” he clarified when Canada looked confused. “Andalucite. People call it the poor man’s gem, but… I’d rather wear it than be weighed down by something more costly.” The gem flickered gold and green in the sun, and Canada agreed. A poor man’s gem… and here was Spain, real, unassuming, and kind. --- As far as Canada knew, it had caught everyone off guard, and yet none of them appeared surprised that Prussia was the one to cause it. It didn’t matter that Canada hadn’t been at the party in question because the moment he walked into the meeting room and saw Prussia slung possessively over Romano’s chair, he noticed Spain’s vacant seat, understood, and immediately ducked back into the hall. He bumped into America but didn’t respond to his question; he shoved Kuma into his arms and kept moving. His steps started out slow as he turned his head to search each of the rooms he passed, but they became steadily quicker and more desperate as he found one after another empty. He’d searched two floors before he remembered the bench beneath the oak tree and bolted for the nearest exit. Out of breath and worried to the point of lightheadedness, Canada stopped with his hand on the wall to gain his bearings before he lifted his head and prayed someone would be on the bench. When he recognized the hunched figure, arms resting on knees, head bowed, he rushed forward. Canada stopped a few yards away, suddenly doubting himself. Would Spain even want someone nearby…? Would he even want to talk…? “Spain…” he ventured. “Are you…?” “Hmm?” Spain’s head snapped up, and Canada could tell he hadn’t realized anyone was standing there. Then he flashed a smile exactly the same as all the others, and Canada couldn’t help wondering now how many of those had been lies as well. “Oh, good morning, Canada. Yes, I’m fine.” “You… don’t…” Look fine, but Canada didn’t want to finish that sentence. Where was France? Shouldn’t he be with him? “What happened?” he asked softly instead, gathering enough courage to supplement his concern so he could take a seat beside Spain. “I waited too long,” was the simple response, spoken far too unaffectedly. “But I always thought…” “I thought so too,” Spain replied easily, and Canada wished his expression would convey even half of the emotion that was in his voice because that smile was killing him. “I waited and gave him space because he seemed to want it. I must have been wrong.” He straightened, turned partially towards Canada, lips still curved in false brightness. “Prussia just pushed him up against a wall, and that’s worked out fairly well for both of them, don’t you think?” “I…” Canada’s voice died in his throat. How did someone reply to that? He didn’t know what to say, couldn’t even begin to think of something that felt like it was good enough. He could profess that he didn’t think Prussia and Romano would last long, which was true because he really didn’t, or he could claim that there was someone else out there for him, which was true because Spain was too good of a man for there not to be… but Canada didn’t think any of those things were what Spain wanted to hear. Then it occurred to him that maybe Spain didn’t want to hear anything, so he stayed quiet and sat with him until Hungary came to get them to weigh in on a debate in a meeting neither really wanted to be in that day. --- Canada could hear the acoustic guitar from the stairwell and was suddenly sure that he was about to find where Kuma had disappeared to. He pushed the exit to the third floor open, holding onto the doorhandle so that the heavy metal closed behind him with only a soft click. The sound was coming from an open door near the end of the hall, and Canada approached it cautiously, taking steps that were as quiet as he could manage. He paused to listen just outside the threshold, at an angle where the musician couldn’t see him. Spain was playing, singing in a hushed voice without words. “Kuma likes my music,” Spain called out to him, apparently psychic; either that or Kuma had heard him and given him away. “So do I,” Canada murmured sheepishly, finally entering the room. Spain jerked his head towards the floor beside him with a lop-sided smile. “Sit with me?” “All right…” As if he could have said no. Canada settled onto the rug beside Spain, not even casting a thought to why they weren’t sitting on the couch or in cushioned chairs instead. Spain’s answering grin was welcoming, and maybe a little grateful, and this time when he sang, there were words. “Simple things escape me, but you catch them in your hands. Your smile is warm, your words are sweet when you help me understand.” Canada really hoped he wasn’t blushing as badly as he felt like he was. --- The meeting was emptying out. No one had said anything about Canada changing seats to sit between Spain and Romano; they hadn’t even glanced at him. Canada hoped it was because they were being considerate rather than because they thought the chair was vacant. “Hey, Canada!” America beckoned from the head of the table where he was packing up his presentation. “C’mon man, let’s get home so I can kick your ass at Mario Kart.” “You realize you actually have to win for it to be considered kicking my ass?” Canada quipped back. He turned confidingly to Spain. “He’s bored because he’s been staying inside all the time… he went to the beach and got sunburned really bad, so now he’s bitter.” With a forlorn sigh, Canada picked up his briefcase and stood. “Which is unfortunate, because I was looking forward to some sun…” Spain caught his arm as he started to follow his brother from the room. “Your beaches are so cold… Would you like to visit some of mine instead?” “I-I…” Canada stammered. There was that blush again. “Yes, um, I’d like that.” A month later, Canada still hadn’t been able to take Spain up on that offer, but it was the fact that the offer had been made that mattered to him. --- The doorbell rang while he was rinsing plates from breakfast in the sink. He almost didn’t hear it over the running water, but Kuma fwapped his leg with a paw, and he heard the second ring more clearly. Drying his hands, Canada edged into the foyer, curious. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and America wasn’t even on the continent, so an impromptu visit didn’t seem likely. When he opened the door, he was greeted by a sloppily packed snowball in the chest. Spain smiled brightly, a second snowball clutched in one hand as he leaned against the porch railing. “Good morning!” Canada blinked. “Good… morning?” He glanced down at the snow sliding down his shirt in perfect incredulity. “I, this, you…” Then something clicked, Canada lunged forward past Spain, ducked down to scoop up some snow, and swiped an expertly formed snowball at back at his assailant. Spain’s reflexes were quick, and his arms were up to guard his face just in time. “Aha! Canada you throw hard!” After putting Spain in his place in the realm of snowball fights, Canada laughed and invited the visiting nation inside. Spain lifted a hand to brush snow from Canada’s hair as he walked by. --- France’s parties were always fun until one of two things happened: someone wanted to talk about the past or England got overtly drunk. Tonight both had happened simultaneously, and Canada had retreated to the roof in the hopes of avoiding miscellaneous flying objects. He was watching the Paris skyline, a mostly-full wine glass in one hand, and a bottle he’d rescued from a soon-to-be-toppled table in the other. Spain found him there a little under half an hour later. It was strange. The older nation paused in the doorway with an arm outstretched towards the slung he’d slung open, let go, started forward and stopped, started forward and stopped, turned to the side to pace, stopped again, and finally faced Canada with an apologetic expression. “Give me a moment…?” he asked, shifting from one foot to the other, eyes latching on to Canada’s but looking as if they wanted to fall to the side. “O-of course,” Canada conceded, perturbed. Spain swallowed, took a few more aimless steps, and then turned towards him completely, leaning back against the railing. “I really like the beginnings of relationships,” he began, voice quiet and controlled but somehow lacking his usual sureness. “The sweet, shy part? But I made a mistake the last time, and I didn’t say what I wanted. I didn’t make it clear.” Spain wet his lips. “I don’t wish to make the same mistake twice, and it’s not my intention to mislead you in any way.” He fell silent for a moment before speaking again. “Can I ask you something, Matthew?” Canada nodded. His heart was pounding in his throat, either from shock, or dismay, or hope. “Do you like me enough to go somewhere with me if I call it a date?” Disbelief welled up in his chest, accompanied by a warm, soothing something he’d been trying not to give into. “Really…?” Canada questioned back. Spain laughed warmly, comforted by the lack of a sudden negative. “Really.” He gulped and felt the word leave his tongue even though he’d been sure he wouldn’t have the presence of mind to speak. “Okay…” “Ah, thank you, Matthew!” Spain bounded forward, hands lifting to rest on the curve of Canada’s shoulders and neck. “We’ll go dancing this weekend, si?” Canada blanched. “I don’t know how.” “I know,” Spain beamed. He kissed Canada’s forehead and then took a respectful step back before giving a happy, true smile. “I want to teach you.” ---
Posted on: Sat, 02 Aug 2014 02:07:03 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015