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There was nobody that Alfred F. Jones liked more than Kiku Honda.
It came upon him so suddenly that he froze with his coffee - venti caramel macchiato with extra espresso and whip because today was a “treat yo self” kind of day - halfway to his parted lips. People accused America of being dense when it came to social norms but he was pretty sure that this wasn’t the kind of thing people were supposed to be thinking about when they were literally just about to go and talk business with dignitaries from Morocco. It just so happened that when he stood up, coffee in one hand and briefcase in another, he glanced very casually across the table and saw him, the one and only Kiku Honda, representative of Japan and its people, standing there - doing nothing else and just standing there, adjusting his notes into a neat pile and packing them away and just - well. Damn. There was nobody he liked more than Kiku Honda.
America frowned, puzzled and vaguely disturbed by the sudden surge of certainty accompanied by an almost overwhelming desire to ditch the meeting, ditch the whole thrice-damned UN and the florescent lights and squeaky clean floors and stiff-suited translators, and just go out to lunch with his best friend in the world.
And hey, who was he to argue? He didn’t really want to go to the meeting anyway.
“Hey, Kiku!”
Kiku looked up, frowning. “Is something the matter, America-san?”
The habitual honorific only annoyed him a little. It was just Japan’s way; the word slipped into his English speech from time to time out of habit. Things had always been like that. But still, they were best friends - more than allies but actual besties, and America felt that he deserved a little more than routine politeness from his favorite person. “Come and get lunch with me!”
He made his way around, pushing past a startled India and an indignant China in the process. Their protests and exclamations went unheard as America came to stand at Japan’s side, smiling.
“You can pick wherever you want! I’ll treat you!”
Japan lowered his gaze to his notes. “I couldn’t accept that.”
“Sure you can! You always cook for me when I come to visit, which recently is practically all the time, so the least I can do is buy you lunch sometimes and make up for that!”
Japan’s fingers tightened noticeably around his papers. America became abruptly anxious - was something wrong at home? He so rarely mentioned his own affairs in these meetings, preferring to focus on global issues while they were all together.
“Don’t you have an appointment?”
“Morocco doesn’t care,” said America confidently, though he was pretty sure that Morocco might care a little about him ditching for a lunch date. “He’s the proud partner in my longest-running friendship treaty, so he’ll forgive me if I reschedule this one time! This is important, come on!”
Japan frowned again. “I suppose, if you insist.”
America did insist. His heart swelled with joyous expectation - he’d get to spend time with Kiku, maybe hear about his problems and help him to fix them. And of course, he would do all in his power and then some to fix Kiku’s problems. They didn’t call Alfred F. Jones a superhero for nothing! (They didn’t call him a superhero at all, but America’s official policy on that account was blocking out the haters.)
Japan’s expression didn’t clear up as they walked but America didn’t push him - there would be time for a heart-to-heart when they were settled in somewhere. Japan was indecisive, but America insisted that he choose. New York was packed to bursting with good places to eat and over the years, America had visited almost all the good ones and half the bad. He had ranked lists of his favorites and honestly, he was in the mood for a good old-fashioned pastrami sandwich from his favorite deli. But he refrained from saying it. This wasn’t about him, after all - this was about Kiku, his best friend and the absolute light of his life!
“What about here?” asked America, gesturing. “You like French food, right?”
Japan examined the menu posted in the window. It was a bit pricey but America wouldn’t mind paying if it was something that Kiku wanted. He watched Kiku’s eyes scan the various dishes, wondering if he should offer to translate. All nations made it a policy to study various languages but Kiku struggled with his English sometimes and had lost much of the Chinese he’d learned as a child. Still, Alfred thought that even knowing two languages was tough and Kiku was so smart that he could do anything he put his brilliant, beautiful mind to…. (Where was he again?) He noticed the way that the fringe of his hair fell just into his eyes - and he had such pretty eyes, dark as space, dark as cocoa, dark as…
Wait.
This was definitely not friendly territory. Not to say that it was enemy territory but was it normal to think your friends were totally hot? America was a pretty easygoing dude, as far as that went. He liked giving compliments - he told Germany that the guy was hot, like, four times a week, just to see him squirm - but this was not like those times. America found his eyes traveling down Kiku’s pale cheeks, to the starched collar at his neck - wasn’t he uncomfortable like that? Should he ask? And then, his arms - Kiku was not muscular like him but America eyed his slender wrists and his hands, wondering what it might feel like if he just reached out and held it for a little while.
Oh no, this was definitely not normal. But it felt fine - not strange, not new, how long had this been going on?
Japan looked up. “Is there something wrong, America-san?”
America blushed - actually blushed (damn Arthur’s genetics) and then got annoyed, and then reminded himself that there was nothing to fear. This was his best friend in the whole world and he was a superhero, who could handle anything life threw at him. Everything was going to be fine.
“O-on second thought, maybe we can try one of those cool food trucks at the park instead?”
Japan actually smiled - God, but his smiles were so rare and special that it knocked America’s heartbeat askew. “That sounds like a good idea. This place does seem expensive and I would hate to inconvenience you.”
“You wouldn’t inconvenience me,” said America as they walked in a new direction. “Not with anything. I mean, I always have time for you.”
“Mm.” Japan sometimes made this sound when America said something that embarrassed him - but in a good way. He didn’t take compliments quite so well as, say France or Italy. But he appreciated them, all the same. America loved to see him happy - to let him know how important he was. He liked the faint pink tint to Kiku’s cheeks.
“So, Kiku, what’s been up with you?” asked America casually. Might as well get started on fixing Japan’s problems, since it'd be a bit of a walk to the park. His friend’s expression furrowed slightly.
“You keep calling me by name.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve been noticing it for a few weeks now. You hardly ever call me ‘Japan’ anymore - just Kiku.”
America cringed. Dumbass! “Well, I just thought since - you know - in the last couple of decades, we got to be such good friends. I don’t really get the point of all those titles anyway.”
“I see…” said Japan, which was either a good or bad thing.
Impulsively, America added, “Like when you use honorifics on me, it makes me feel kinda like you’re just - like you’re just tolerating me. Like maybe you’re not really interested in spending time with me and just put up with me because you think you can’t say no.”
Japan’s expression softened. “I - I’m sorry. I had no idea I gave you that impression.”
“Yeah, well,” said America, awkwardly now. Moment ruined. “It’s fine.”
He noticed the look on Japan’s face and - shit. He stopped at the edge of the park, frozen with fear.
Kiku said, “What is it?” The words fell out of America, like a waterfall.
“Wait, no that sounded bad! I take it back, I - I don’t want you to worry that you upset me, you know. I get it. I know that being super polite and kind of distant to people is just a part of you and - you know, like your culture and I do understand that. But sometimes it’s hard for me because it’s totally the opposite of what I’m used to with someone, you know? But the point is that this isn’t about me, right now, because I thought earlier that you just looked kind of upset and I had this meeting but you’re more important than that, because you’re my best friend and I love you -”
America froze, the realization dawning on him suddenly. It was so obvious, how could he have missed it? He had to smile because it was so ridiculous. There was nobody he liked more than Kiku Honda. He loved his best friend and that was the way it was supposed to be. These feelings weren’t new because it had been this way for a long time now, longer than he cared to count.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, awe-struck. “I love you. I love you, Kiku Honda.”
Japan went scarlet; America couldn’t help the little laugh that bubbled in his throat. God, he was adorable. I’m in love - this is what love feels like.
“This - this is all a little unexpected,” Japan said, his voice a touch higher than the usual baritone. “Please - forgive me but I - I hadn’t anticipated that you might - that you might confess such feelings to me. And out of the blue like this… I have to say that I’m just a little - ah, how do I say this? I suppose I had planned for -”
“Planned for what?” America’s hopes soared. “You had plans?”
His entire face was red - even his ears. “It’s just that - well, I feel as though we’ve been spending a lot of time together recently. Personally, I mean, outside of - um - official business. And I think that we get along well and I would like to continue spending time with you so I was hoping…”
This day could not possibly get any better. “Were you seriously planning on how to ask me out?”
“I wouldn’t say it like that…”
No, Japan would say it better. Kiku was so smart, so eloquent - even when he was caught off-guard and flustered, he could turn his words into an art. I’m so lucky, thought America, dizzy with happiness.
“I - I think what I mean to say is that…” Japan swallowed, folding his hands anxiously in front of himself. “Even though it is unexpected… I would be happy to accept you, if you would accept me in turn.”
They transitioned, right there and then, from one sort of relationship into another. And it was easier than America expected, though maybe it wouldn’t always be this way. That was okay, though. Even if things got hard, they would work it out. After all, there was no one that Alfred F. Jones loved more than Kiku Honda.