Sweethearts Week Day Seven
Title- Ridiculous
Rated/Warnings- G (introspective, plotless, mutual unrequited love)
Word count- 1,147
Summary- America is ridiculous and England is ridiculously in love
A/n- this seems a little strange- sorry if it is :/
|Ridiculous|
England is so hopelessly in love it was ridiculous.
(And it definitely didn't start with him being in love; he doesn't know when that development happened. But the love he felt originally was so ridiculously overwhelming that sometimes he felt physically sick and that was nothing compared to the full blown infatuation he was experiencing now. )
But he is in love and it is ridiculous because he is in love with someone who is so very ridiculous as what a ridiculous boy America is.
(Maybe he does remember when this started. Maybe it was around the great war, 1917 or thereabouts. Maybe it was earlier, rejection still lingering like a knife wound when he was so very desperate for any affectionate bone America could possibly throw his way. Maybe it was later amidst arguments and squabbles and speeches of great promises and no fruition.)
So ridiculous- America is not the personification of America but the personification of pure ridiculousness. It's ridiculous how he pronounces things, how he acts, how he smiles and how he makes England love him with all this ridiculousness.
(And how he makes him love him.)
--
America does not love him.
England knows that far too well. He can tell that his gazes aren't returned, aren't even wanted. He would be lying if he attempted to say it didn't hurt. It only hurts a small bit though so he is able to keep up his pursuit because even if the attention is possibly unwanted, he can't help being this hopelessly in love and he can't hide very well.
America has to know too.
He couldn't have missed all those glances and all those slightly prolonged visits. He couldn't not realise what those sudden conversations and petty snipes meant. Surely America was not so blind that he would miss every single advancement England made on him, subtle and forward?
Of course he noticed. As much as he likes to act it, America is not a fool and England knows all too well that under that childishly stubborn exterior is a very intelligent man, be he a very ridiculous boy as well.
England is happy that America is not being cruel to him. He's not sure he could stand it if America were to not only know that he is the object of his affections but to also belittle him and mock him for it. It is bad enough that England knows his feelings will never be requited without being slighted for them too. There is not much he has to thank America for (these feelings make him sicker by the day until he feels like he needs to throw up from the mere heat on his face whenever America is nearby) but being tactful in this one instance is enough to make him very grateful.
Although, were his affections returned, he'd be far more so.
--
Although he is thankful for America's subtlety, he needs to hear it out straight.
He has some masochistic desire to have America tell him, to his face, that he does not love him as well. He needs to hear it to get over these ridiculous affections, it seems. There is no other way of getting his heart to stop beating so horribly and his face to stop burning up so badly. He needs to feel it like a punch to the gut when America tells him, needs to get it into his head that, regardless of anything he does, he will never have that ridiculous boy.
So he buys flowers.
He goes over to the florists and buys the cheapest flowers he can. America is going to throw them out (that is, if he even takes them) anyways so England does not see the point in spending a fortune on them, even if they are for love. Besides, America doesn't even care for flowers all that much and giving anything so beautiful to him where it will just be undervalued (like his affections) is useless.
(But truly, England thinks, that he does not want to buy America's love. He does not want to get the most extravagant flowers in the world because, at the end of the day, that won't change his mind. It won't make America love him ridiculously and requited.)
He takes them to where he knows America is staying and where he knows he is no doubt at, being ridiculous and doing ridiculous things. But as he stands outside the door to the hotel room (the third floor, second door down, he knows) his heart is aching and he isn't sure if he is ready to hear it or if he ever will be.
(But it is what he needs to hear and yes, he will pine for days or maybe months, but he needs this and in the long run it will help him to get over this ridiculous stupidity that is his feelings for this ridiculous boy.)
He knocks, finally.
America looks ruffled when he answers, headphones around his neck and hair ruffled around his ears which makes it apparent that he just yanked them off in his rush for the door. He stares at England and then at the flowers, wonder echoing in his eyes and England's heart
throbs.
"Who are these for," America asks, confusion sounding out in his voice and England is irritated because America should know and should know all too well who they are for.
"They are yours," England says shortly and he can feel his face burning horribly and he swears that Satan's fire would hurt less.
"Mine," America says and he pronounces every letter clearly as if he is questioning it, "Why?"
England knows he is a masochist but that is far too much for him and his poor heart to take so he thrusts the flowers into America's now grasping hands and flees before his legs give way and he passes out because he is burning up so badly he can barely breathe and he still didn't get what he came for, didn't get that rejection, and that is the cruellest thing America has done, could have done- deny him that closure.
How ridiculous.
--
America stares at the flowers in his hands.
He wonders momentarily how England can act so shifty all the time, like he is constantly trying to hide something, and ignore him for days on end and then do things like this, like dumping flowers (and not even nice flowers) on him coolly and racing off.
Honestly, sometimes he wonders if England has discovered America's feelings and is now so awkward about it that he cannot hold a decent conversation let alone a rational thought (because flowers? For someone you don't even love? Seriously?)
America sighs and goes back inside. England is not coming back, it seems. He finds a vase for the flowers and thinks-
How ridiculous.
|END|
Rated/Warnings- G (introspective, plotless, mutual unrequited love)
Word count- 1,147
Summary- America is ridiculous and England is ridiculously in love
A/n- this seems a little strange- sorry if it is :/
|Ridiculous|
England is so hopelessly in love it was ridiculous.
(And it definitely didn't start with him being in love; he doesn't know when that development happened. But the love he felt originally was so ridiculously overwhelming that sometimes he felt physically sick and that was nothing compared to the full blown infatuation he was experiencing now. )
But he is in love and it is ridiculous because he is in love with someone who is so very ridiculous as what a ridiculous boy America is.
(Maybe he does remember when this started. Maybe it was around the great war, 1917 or thereabouts. Maybe it was earlier, rejection still lingering like a knife wound when he was so very desperate for any affectionate bone America could possibly throw his way. Maybe it was later amidst arguments and squabbles and speeches of great promises and no fruition.)
So ridiculous- America is not the personification of America but the personification of pure ridiculousness. It's ridiculous how he pronounces things, how he acts, how he smiles and how he makes England love him with all this ridiculousness.
(And how he makes him love him.)
--
America does not love him.
England knows that far too well. He can tell that his gazes aren't returned, aren't even wanted. He would be lying if he attempted to say it didn't hurt. It only hurts a small bit though so he is able to keep up his pursuit because even if the attention is possibly unwanted, he can't help being this hopelessly in love and he can't hide very well.
America has to know too.
He couldn't have missed all those glances and all those slightly prolonged visits. He couldn't not realise what those sudden conversations and petty snipes meant. Surely America was not so blind that he would miss every single advancement England made on him, subtle and forward?
Of course he noticed. As much as he likes to act it, America is not a fool and England knows all too well that under that childishly stubborn exterior is a very intelligent man, be he a very ridiculous boy as well.
England is happy that America is not being cruel to him. He's not sure he could stand it if America were to not only know that he is the object of his affections but to also belittle him and mock him for it. It is bad enough that England knows his feelings will never be requited without being slighted for them too. There is not much he has to thank America for (these feelings make him sicker by the day until he feels like he needs to throw up from the mere heat on his face whenever America is nearby) but being tactful in this one instance is enough to make him very grateful.
Although, were his affections returned, he'd be far more so.
--
Although he is thankful for America's subtlety, he needs to hear it out straight.
He has some masochistic desire to have America tell him, to his face, that he does not love him as well. He needs to hear it to get over these ridiculous affections, it seems. There is no other way of getting his heart to stop beating so horribly and his face to stop burning up so badly. He needs to feel it like a punch to the gut when America tells him, needs to get it into his head that, regardless of anything he does, he will never have that ridiculous boy.
So he buys flowers.
He goes over to the florists and buys the cheapest flowers he can. America is going to throw them out (that is, if he even takes them) anyways so England does not see the point in spending a fortune on them, even if they are for love. Besides, America doesn't even care for flowers all that much and giving anything so beautiful to him where it will just be undervalued (like his affections) is useless.
(But truly, England thinks, that he does not want to buy America's love. He does not want to get the most extravagant flowers in the world because, at the end of the day, that won't change his mind. It won't make America love him ridiculously and requited.)
He takes them to where he knows America is staying and where he knows he is no doubt at, being ridiculous and doing ridiculous things. But as he stands outside the door to the hotel room (the third floor, second door down, he knows) his heart is aching and he isn't sure if he is ready to hear it or if he ever will be.
(But it is what he needs to hear and yes, he will pine for days or maybe months, but he needs this and in the long run it will help him to get over this ridiculous stupidity that is his feelings for this ridiculous boy.)
He knocks, finally.
America looks ruffled when he answers, headphones around his neck and hair ruffled around his ears which makes it apparent that he just yanked them off in his rush for the door. He stares at England and then at the flowers, wonder echoing in his eyes and England's heart
throbs.
"Who are these for," America asks, confusion sounding out in his voice and England is irritated because America should know and should know all too well who they are for.
"They are yours," England says shortly and he can feel his face burning horribly and he swears that Satan's fire would hurt less.
"Mine," America says and he pronounces every letter clearly as if he is questioning it, "Why?"
England knows he is a masochist but that is far too much for him and his poor heart to take so he thrusts the flowers into America's now grasping hands and flees before his legs give way and he passes out because he is burning up so badly he can barely breathe and he still didn't get what he came for, didn't get that rejection, and that is the cruellest thing America has done, could have done- deny him that closure.
How ridiculous.
--
America stares at the flowers in his hands.
He wonders momentarily how England can act so shifty all the time, like he is constantly trying to hide something, and ignore him for days on end and then do things like this, like dumping flowers (and not even nice flowers) on him coolly and racing off.
Honestly, sometimes he wonders if England has discovered America's feelings and is now so awkward about it that he cannot hold a decent conversation let alone a rational thought (because flowers? For someone you don't even love? Seriously?)
America sighs and goes back inside. England is not coming back, it seems. He finds a vase for the flowers and thinks-
How ridiculous.
|END|