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Cold weather was a daunting thing. It made going outside insufferable. Tasks as simple as getting mail or groceries became something to overcome as opposed to a simple chore. Winter was generally a drag on life. It was a big, horrendous thing. Not only that, but it forced people inside for long periods of time. One wouldn’t feel a great urge to go outside other than to go to work or another thing similar. Or if it snowed, and a person wanted to play in it. Even if they were a grown ass man.
Staying inside because of the cold weather was just as grating as experiencing it. There was nothing to do. After a while, any possible fun that someone could have would have been exhausted. See, there’s limits on things. There’s limits on how much someone manages to enjoy doing something over and over before it becomes a torturous way to pass time. Scrolling a phone makes a person feel useless and braindead over time, and there’s only so many hobbies someone can try to pick up before they wonder, why the hell am I doing this? I can just scroll my phone instead. Rinse and repeat.
The uncomfortable, yet comforting lame repetitiveness of the day was shaken out of Croatia’s soul as he full body flinched when a phone that was not his was shoved directly in his face. A startled sound escaped him. Scrambling, he pushed himself more upward, trying to sit up while Serbia stood over him, holding the phone outward and wearing a pleased little smile.
Croatia had been laying on his own couch, dicking around on his phone while something he wasn’t paying attention to was playing on the television. He hadn’t seen much of Serbia all day, but it was still just a bit past morning. Until now.
Immediately annoyed and slightly shaken, Croatia twisted his body a wee bit to put his phone on the arm of the couch. He then snatched the phone out of Serbia’s hand to look at what he was showing him, knowing damn well that the other man hated it when he took his phone instead of simply looking at it like a baby being shown a sensory video. He could sense a bit of annoyance from Serbia as a result, which was always a satisfactory thing, but it wasn’t nearly as much as usual. From behind the phone, Croatia could see Serbia cross his arms over his chest like he was proud of himself. Sigh. Now, what was this?
Eh. What? “An ice skating rink,” Croatia spoke flatly. It was a strangely, conveniently local one that he’d never taken note of before.
Serbia pretended to look at his nails as if he ever gave a shit about his seven thousand layers of pushed back cuticles. “Yeah.”
“What about it?” Croatia prodded. He wasn’t really interested, but he knew that Serbia wouldn’t leave him alone if he didn’t play along with his bullcrap.
Reaching out again, Serbia pinched the top of his phone, attempting to tug it away. For a second, Croatia felt an urge to not let go of it at all and to get him annoyed instead. He decided against it before the other guy threw a fit like a kid and let him take his phone back. “We should go.”
Blinking, the Croat stared up at the other man from his position on the couch. After an unpleasant second of silence, it dawned on him that Serbia was being actually, truly serious. A short, loud laugh came from Croatia as opposed to the resounding yes that Serbia so clearly wanted. A frown fell on his face as soon as Croatia laughed. “You’re kidding. What am I, your girlfriend? No!”
Serbia’s shoulders slumped. He pocketed his phone in sweatpants that didn’t seem anything like something he would own. With exaggerated displeasure, he tilted his head to the side. He was oozing with disappointment. “I don’t just want to do nothing all day. It’s boring as fuck. This is something we can do!” He threw his hands out a little bit. Not all the way, but enough to be a gesture.
Grunting, Croatia pushed himself more upward until he was actually sitting up instead of being in the odd half-laying half-sitting position he was in before. “Go by yourself. I’m not doing that.” He patted the couch as he spoke, looking away and trying to find his phone after having forgotten where he placed it. He was failing. Ack.
“That’s loser shit. No way,” Serbia eyed him weirdly, trying to figure out what the hell he was searching for mid-conversation. “I don’t have work today, and you don’t do anything. I don’t want to drink. We can go for, like, a half an hour. Get food. I don’t know— just not this repetitive nothingness.”
He brought up an arguably good point. Wasting away like this kind of sucked ass, and it wasn’t out of character for them to do something together every now and then. It was just weird to suggest such a ‘cute’ little activity to do together. They usually tended to get food and go back home. That was that. It was simple. Doing a whole activity was a whole other field of things that they never really needed to poke into. It wasn’t like they were friends. Just two guys who hung out and also unfortunately lived with each other.
Finally, Croatia looked back up at Serbia. He didn’t like the idea of ice skating, though. It was a stupid activity and he knew good and well that he wouldn’t be good at it. He didn’t want to hug the wall like an idiot, but he didn’t want to fall on his ass and make a fool of himself either. “We can get food if you’re that bored. I don’t want to do that, though. It’s stupid.” Skating is not stupid and it’s very nice to watch on the television when the Olympics are relevant, but putting down the topic like he cared enough to have such a powerful negative opinion was fun when it made Serbia’s face twist with irritation.
It almost looked as if the Serb was about to give up. Then a pause came. He was thinking, clearly. Thinking a lot. Croatia looked away, about to resume looking for his obviously-placed phone before Serbia uttered a terrible sentence: “You’re just scared of making yourself look like an idiot in front of me because you know I’d be much better at skating than you.”
Oh, fuck that!
His neck popped a little when his head snapped toward Serbia, brows knit together. “Shut the hell up. You’d suck and you know it. I don’t care enough about this to make it a competition.”
Serbia was smiling again and Croatia hated that he fell right into his hands, but what he hated more was that he was absolutely going to continue this argument despite his better judgment. “No, I really wouldn’t. I know how to skate well enough. And you don’t. This is something that I’m better at than you are.” To punctuate his sentence, Serbia stepped closer to the Croat and jabbed his index finger at the center of his chest, hard.
Croatia swore to god that the other’s fingerprint would be left on his heart from the unnecessarily large amount of force he used to poke him. He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t know how to skate. You’re lying.” Unless he wasn’t?
“I mean,” Serbia started, shrugging, “I’m a bit of a colder place than you are. I think I’d know my way around the ice at least a little bit, y’know? But you’d have no reason to. You’d be total ass at skating. That’s why you don’t want to go, right? You don’t want me to have to hold your hand like and lead you around like a blind man? You’d hate to have to rely on me.”
He knew what he was doing. He knew exactly what he was doing! But, god, he couldn’t help himself! Croatia pushed himself up off the couch, standing at full height. This resulted in Serbia faltering for a second, taking a step back; they were too close. “You’re fucking lying. You can’t skate.” It’s a girly thing to know how to do, and heaven knows they both love their masculinity.
Serbia’s little smile was the most infuriating thing on the planet. At least, at that moment it was. He held his hands behind his back, tilting his head. “That can easily be proven. Right? I can be proven right. Or, well, you can just agree that I’d be better than you at something and leave it at that. Then you won’t have to go through the trouble of embarrassing yourself.”
Staring at him, Croatia contemplated just pushing him into the coffee table that was a mere foot behind him and leaving it at that, but he knew doing so wouldn’t help his case and would only result in Serbia whining like a bitch whilst still managing to gloat about a skill that he most definitely did not have. Instead, he satisfied the urge very slightly by giving him a little shove to the chest. Serbia stumbled, but Croatia spoke anyway. “I’m not gonna play this game with you.”
The Serb pressed his lips into a thin line, still keeping the smirk on his face. A second passed, and then, “Your phone is on the armrest. I don’t know why you couldn’t find it.”
Something weird and angry bubbled up in Croatia’s chest. He turned to the side, looking at the phone and giving it a good, long glare. He heard Serbia clear his throat behind him. He wanted to throttle him. Croatia sighed. “Put your coat on.”
They were going ice skating.
…And, admittedly, Serbia didn’t really expect that to work. All he wanted to do was go out and do something fun while he had the energy and motivation to do it. It was annoying enough that Croatia didn’t want to do anything but eat with him. It was even more annoying that Serbia had to go on a tirade about being so much better at a stupid activity than he was.
It was the way he always managed to get his way with him, but it wasn’t the best method at times when it eventually backfired on him. This activity in particular was a good example. Serbia didn’t know how to ice skate. He didn’t know shit about it! He just wanted to piss him off and leave the house. They were friends, after all. What’s so wrong with bumbling around on the ice together? Everything always had to be a problem, didn’t it?
After Croatia gave in, Serbia went off to their shared bedroom to put on more appropriate attire for leaving the house. Yeah, he’d end up covering himself in layers to keep warm, but going out in sweats wasn’t exactly the most presentable way to go. A dumb little sweater and regular pants. Sneakers that he’d eventually take off for the rental skates. His jacket. It was below freezing out, but he’d put on gloves at most and contemplate zipping up. He didn’t like wearing hats to keep warm. They made him look stupid.
He was kind of stupid, he thought to himself. He’d gotten himself into this. Well, it probably wasn’t that hard, no? There was a good chance that he could get on the ice and just amazingly, instantly figure it all out. Isn’t that right? Having hope is nice.
Deep down, he knew that he was going to make an idiot of himself. He just had to hope that Croatia would make a bigger one.
They didn’t drive to the rink. It wasn’t that it was a comfortably walkable distance, but rather that neither of them had a working car at the moment (a drunken fight that results in beer spilled all over the engine would do that). It was a bit far, but they’d make it work. They’d have to, unless they wanted to use public transportation. Given the cold weather and rampant illness that swept through the masses every time the temperature plummeted, it wasn’t the most appealing idea. So they walked. Both of them were bundled up enough. Still, it was a bit of a grating walk. But they’ve been through far worse.
Serbia bit his tongue to stop from complaining about the weather. It was his fault that they were out of their warm apartment, anyway. They could be home and comfortable. This didn’t even seem all too worth it. His only intentions for this activity was to see Croatia fall on his ass and to laugh at him, but he didn’t really think through the idea that he might do the same. And perhaps worse than him. Eek.
They had to rent skates once they arrived, of course. No sicko would just casually own a pair unless they actively went out frequently enough to justify it. Dully, Serbia noted that Croatia’s shoe size was just a little bit bigger than his—as if he didn’t know this before from living with the guy and occasionally mixing up their footwear. Didn’t shoe size correlate to something? It was a perverted thing, right?
Why did it matter? Serbia tied the laces on his skates once he got into the rink, thinking about how hard he would have to grip the wall while not looking as if he didn’t know a damn thing about what he was doing. They placed their shoes and some other crap in a locker, which they also had to rent. Croatia refused to use his own money for these things, as he hadn’t wanted to go to begin with. Serbia had awkwardly wrestled with his cash. He couldn’t use his card. It declined and it would be awkward to admit.
The body of the man next to him was suddenly significantly taller than before. Serbia looked up from where he was, pretending to tie his laces very slowly to try and stall. Croatia was standing, holding the wall and frowning down at him. He was ready, but obviously didn’t look like he wanted to be.
Pulling the loop through the knot, Serbia stood. There wasn’t much else he could do to delay. He, too, gripped the wall and forced himself to stand. A smug grin was plastered on his face. He’d been wearing a worried little scowl and had not realized until then. Embarrassing. Aaaaah.
Gesturing towards the ice, which was thankfully not very populated, Croatia said, “Go on. Show me how great you are.”
Fuck.
Fuuuuuck.
Serbia gripped the wall for a second longer, grin faltering just slightly. He took a few steps backward, clenching his hand around the wall like his life depended on it. “Yup. Here I go.”
Croatia stared. Waited. After a moment too long of silence, he spoke again, “Dude.”
Scoffing, the other man’s voice wavered as he tried to being confidence, “You don’t know a thing about skating, man. I have to build up my- my confidence and shit. Y’know? What’s the— warm up! I gotta warm up. Okay? So, chill out. Haha. Get it? ‘Chill,’ and we’re in the co—“
Impatient, Croatia let go of the wall and reached over, grabbing Serbia’s arm and wrenching it away from the surface he so desperately gripped. He was a good bit stronger than him, and the man was unfocused, so it wasn’t very difficult. He swung him by the arm further into the ice—a ways away from the wall, but still only a few feet in front of Croatia. Stupidly, Serbia shrieked in a girlish manner as he was manhandled.
He certainly almost fell. The Serb barely caught himself in time on the blades of his skates. With wobbly legs, he stood in place. He balled his fists at his sides in a dull anger. “You asshole!” He spoke in a raised voice, trying not to draw attention. That would be idiotic. “What the hell was that?”
The words that came from Serbia seemed to give an immediate effect to Croatia as he felt the need to roll his eyes. He turned to face Serbia fully, leaning his arms and back against the wall. “You were taking too long. You don’t know how to skate, do you? You lied.”
Lying wasn’t anything new to either of them. It was a little bit dumb that that was the point that Croatia decided to end on. Despite it all, Serbia persisted. “I told you! I was warming up. You’re just a dick. I know how to skate.”
“Then do it already!” Croatia moved slightly away from the wall to throw his arms and hands forward in exasperation. His thick brows knit tightly together.
“Fine! But I might not be at my best potential! Because you pushed me! Because you’re an asshole!” Serbia shot back childishly. He didn’t have any good reason to stall now. He glanced at the ground, sucking in a breath, and then looked back up. He turned to the side, taking a step forward.
Immediately, he fell. It was a comical slip-and-slide situation, his hands flying out wildly in desperation as he tried to, at the very least, give himself something to land on. He fell on the ice quite hardcore, the side of his face hitting the cold surface with quite a force. Ow! His hands were useless. They splayed out on the ground but did nothing to soften his fall. In fact, he may have just hurt his wrists in his flail instead, causing more injury than what was initially intended.
Silence passed before a guffaw filled the air. Serbia pushed himself up, trying his best to keep his hands from sliding out under him. He looked to the side, seeing Croatia grabbing the wall as well as his own stomach, laughing obnoxiously at the sight of him. Oh, great. Very funny. Very nice. Very cool. Serbia glowered.
What a dick. He was going to ask him to help him up, but he could tell he was just going to be mocked in the process. Ugh. Serbia dragged himself with his hands towards the wall. Once he reached it, he attempted to climb back up on his own. It was very difficult, and he wasn’t succeeding at all.
“Hey, hey,” a shadow cast over him, giggles still escaping as he spoke. “Let me help you up.” Croatia, still holding the wall, held a hand. For a moment, Serbia stared at him suspiciously. But, ah, he already had his fun, didn’t he? He wouldn’t put him through that embarrassment a second time. It wouldn’t be as funny. Reluctantly, he took the hand. It took a while more than it should have to get him off the ground given that Croatia was clearly avoiding trying to fall, too, but they succeeded in due time.
Letting out a breath, Serbia leaned against the wall, pointedly looking away from Croatia. “I know how to skate.”
Another laugh came out of the other man, hissing through his teeth like the (admittedly charming) poison that it was. Serbia noticed the way his breath clouded visibly in the air. “Right, right. That was the epitome of your skills?”
Serbia crossed his arms huffily, pressing his back to the wall. “No, dickcheese. I told you already. You didn’t let me warm up.”
Croatia ignored him, looking out at the other people on the rink instead. Most were generally having a good time. Some tumbles here and there, but that was to be expected. There were a lot of couples. It made them both look odd in comparison. Two grown men skating together? Kind of gay. Or just embarrassing, considering that they both sucked.
Unfortunately, allowing himself to space out and look at the crowd before them was a mistake. Before he knew it, he was getting pulled away from the wall against his own will by the other man. Croatia blinked back into focus. “Hey, what the hell?” He stood with his feet slightly spread out, hands ready for a fall. His legs shook like a baby animal learning to walk.
In the moment of distraction, Serbia had yanked Croatia out into the open. He shot him a wicked little grin that pissed him off. Holy fuck, he wanted to go up to him and just punch him in the dick! He was just nice to him, wasn’t he? He didn’t have to offer to help him up! Ignoring that he was the reason he fell, of course, this made Serbia entirely unreasonable. Croatia took an awkward step forward, momentarily forgetting he was on ice. The angle in which he placed his foot down (heel first, toe second) resulted in an unlucky fall. Backwards.
His legs flew in the air as he lost his ground. He shouted a curse, which was likely overheard by many children, and landed flat on his back. Serbia didn’t waste any time. He laughed immediately. It was an annoying sound from an annoying guy. He grabbed the edge of the wall, sinking to the ground and to Croatia’s level. He watched him struggle to turn over and around, basically flopping onto his stomach and spinning around to face him. He looked stupid as hell.
Trying to get onto his hands and knees, Croatia glowered at the other man. Fighting words were resting on his tongue before he proceeded to lose balance again, hands slipping out from under him. Serbia shrieked with more laughter, legs sliding out from under him. His bottom touched the cold ice, but he didn’t care at all.
This was kind of fun, wasn’t it?
Serbia was able to pull himself back up thanks to his thought to grab the wall. He held out a hand to his struggling companion, snickering a little at the angry stare that he was met with. “What? I’m helping you. Now we’ve both shown each other what we’re capable of.”
Frowning, Croatia took his hand. Serbia was going to make a comment—how he fell so much better than him, he could at least stay on his hands, so he is clearly the better skater, but he couldn’t. Croatia jerked Serbia’s arm, pulling him to the ground with him. For the second time that day, the Serb’s face was on the ice. Or rather, his jaw, because that was what hit the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Croatia’s mouth twitch as he suppressed a victorious smile. “Fuck you,” was what he said next.
Offended, Serbia put his hands out, pushing himself up a little before they slipped out from under him like what had just happened to Croatia before. “You fucking suck,” he hissed back.
A small sigh was released from Croatia’s chest. The two of them were both lying on the ground like idiots. People were probably staring. What was the point of all of this? “Is this seriously all you wanted to get out of this?”
Serbia made his second attempt to get his chest off the ground. He failed. After a grunt, he replied, “No! I did want to actually try and skate. You’re just being an ass.”
“Because it’s stupid!” Croatia was able to get on his knees while Serbia continued to flail on the ground. “You don’t actually know how to skate. You lied about that to get me to do this.”
“I do know how! I didn’t lie!” Serbia lied. “It’s not my fault you just pulled me to the ground!”
Rolling his eyes, Croatia scooted towards the wall of the rink, pulling himself up with relative ease. “Sure. It’s my fault you’re making a fool of yourself. Not your own.”
An irritated blush settled over Serbia’s face that could easily be dismissed for reddened cheeks due to the cold. “I’m not.” After another bout of squirming on the ice, he looked up at Croatia in such a pathetic manner that it made him want to kick him in the face. He was pouting, for god’s sake! However, kicking would probably gouge out his eye due to the skate’s blade. Normally he wouldn’t mind such a thing, but it wouldn’t be best to do so in public.
Croatia grabbed his hand begrudgingly, sliding him towards the wall and putting his hand on the edge, leaving him to do the rest of the work himself. Serbia did exactly that, looking anywhere but at the other man as he did so.
No, he would not admit he can’t skate, but he did still want to get some sort of enjoyment out of this. He turned to face the Croat. A disgruntled expression came to his face. “I want to actually do this.”
Staring for a moment, Croatia then shrugged. “Okay. Go do it.”
It sounded like he was choking when Serbia forced out, “With you? Please?” The words sounded like they pained him to say.
The Croat blinked. “What?”
“Well!” Serbia immediately turned away, eyes widening in embarrassment. “If I wanted to do it alone, I would’ve gone alone. Just wanted to do something with you. Christ.”
The thought of Serbia ice skating by himself and falling pathetically on his ass was so upsetting that it made Croatia feel a little bad. He didn’t really understand why he’d want to go with him. They weren’t friends. They didn’t tend to enjoy each other’s company, so why did this matter so much? Still, he felt an odd pull to deal with the stupidity and humor him. Ugh. His chest felt funny. Disturbing.
Croatia wordlessly pushed himself off of the wall, standing freely on the ice. His legs shook. He gave Serbia a resigned look. “Fine. Come on.”
Serbia looked back at him after a moment of stubborn staring ahead. Confused, he blinked. His sulking expression softened slightly. “What?”
Rolling his eyes, Croatia leaned over and grabbed Serbia by the arm. He tugged him forward and away from the safe wall, leaving only his hand grabbing the edge of it, ignoring the little squeak of complaint from him. “Let’s skate.”
He eyed him for a second. For many seconds, in fact. Hesitantly, he released his grip from the wall. Serbia gave Croatia a good, long stare before he decided he should just take him seriously and go along with it. They were to skate, then. Like friends. Or something equally as gross and familiar as that.
The two of them slipped and fell numerous other times, but eventually generally found some footing. They looked like complete idiots, honestly. It was like they were learning to walk. The worst thing of all of it was that the way they could manage to balance was by holding the other’s hand. Well, arm. They refused to do something so stupidly ‘intimate.’
It eventually turned a little bit competitive after they could manage to take about three steps forward without falling over. The competitions were stupid, though. Things like: who can take four whole steps the fastest without falling? (Serbia). Who can get a girl to look at them and not have a look of pity in their eyes at the sight of their stupidity? (Croatia, but she had a goddamn boyfriend right next to her). And, of course, a tally of falls so they’d see who was the biggest idiot at the end of the day.
The two of them were grabbing each other’s forearms when Serbia slipped sideways, his body slamming into Croatia’s side. Instinctively, his arms flew out and he grabbed him into a hug to stop from falling. “Ah! Fuck!”
Croatia grunted in surprise at the sudden weight. “Dude, don’t be a fuckin’ idiot!” He glared down at Serbia, arms raised above the other man’s body. He jumped a little bit at the sound of an offended woman, glancing to the side to see a mother covering the ears of a clueless daughter. Ah. He mouthed an apology before looking back at his stupid companion. “I’m not your boyfriend. Get off.”
Serbia did not get off. Instead, he stared ahead in embarrassment. His grip around Croatia’s middle did not loosen. He felt his face grow warm, once again thankful for the cold to utilize as an excuse for his red face. He let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m gonna fall if I let go, man.”
“I don’t give a fu— damn,” Croatia peeked out of the corner of his eye to see if the mother was still there. She was, so he censored himself to the best of his abilities. “Get off.”
He did not.
Sighing, Croatia hooked his hands underneath Serbia’s arms like he was picking up a baby. The Serb released him from his grip, allowing Croatia to help lift him upright. He shifted his grip from under his arms to his upper arms, holding him steady like so. Serbia grabbed his arms back in return. From an outsider’s perspective, it was like they were holding each other intentionally in a cute manner. Croatia frowned. “That’s another fall for you. Didn’t you say you were the better skater? You suck. I’ve helped you up way more today.”
“God, shut up,” Serbia breathed out, closing his eyes shut in irritation. He squeezed Croatia’s biceps absently, like he was pretending he was the wall of incredible safety. He looked so goddamn stupid, Croatia thought. He was acting like a total girl and a total fool. If Serbia was a girl, he wouldn’t mind this at all. He might even find it cute. But he wasn’t a girl. He was a grown ass man with a dick and balls. So annoying.
Watching the way Serbia’s breath came out of his dry looking lips, Croatia replied, “You’re standing, aren’t you? Let go.”
His face almost looked like a pout again. Holy shit, what was wrong with him today? He opened his mouth to speak, loosening his grip on Croatia’s arms. He managed to say, “Yeah, fine. Maybe we should lea—“
“Aah, sorry!” Someone skated by, calling out as she squeezed between them and the wall far too fast. Her body had bumped into Serbia’s back as she passed, causing him to…
…Careen forward, directly into Croatia. The two of them called out in shock. Both of the men’s feet were swept out from under them as Croatia landed on his back against the cold ice while Serbia fell almost directly on top of him. Thankfully he was the lighter of the two, so Croatia wouldn’t have been crushed. However, the fall resulted in something significantly more unfortunate.
The fall resulted in their faces knocking together hard, noses bumping past each other. Their teeth clacked together like an outrageously aggressive kiss.
Startled, Serbia pushed himself upward with a red face, looking down at Croatia. His hands were planted on the ice at each side of the other man’s head. They stared at each other with wide eyes and red faces, brows knit together. The Serb wanted to speak, say something, perhaps apologize for something that was not his fault, but he didn’t get the chance. Croatia furiously pushed him off, sending Serbia to the ground on his side.
The Croat flipped onto his front, spun around and crawled towards the nearest wall, hoisting himself up off the ground. He glared ahead with a heated face. Eventually, Serbia found his footing and joined him.
Ack.
“That—“
“We’re going home.”
Ah. “Yeah. Sure. We can agree on that.”
The leave was awkward. They both took off their skates wordlessly, grabbing their things from their lockers and leaving the building. Occasionally, they’d bump shoulders or hands. They wouldn’t apologize, but they’d quickly wrench away out of sheer embarrassment. It wasn’t like that was an absurdly horrific moment, per se. It wasn’t the fault of either of them. However, it broke the uncrossed boundary between them that had existed for ages and ages.
Unfamiliar. Weird. Kind of harrowing.
They decided to eat somewhere with quick service afterward. It was an odd time to eat food, but they’d both get hungry and angry if they didn’t. Croatia suggested it, and Serbia went along with it. Admittedly, the man liked to bulk, so it wasn’t surprising to Serbia that he would still suggest being with him to eat food together.
They sat at a table together by the window, Croatia staring out the glass at the street with his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand while Serbia picked at his food tentatively. Man, it probably looked like they both just fucked and had to eat food about it. Awkward as hell.
Croatia cleared his throat. Serbia looked up. “It was a little better than looking at my phone. I guess.”
“Yeah,” Serbia gave as a weak reply. Cool.
Leaning back in his seat, Croatia faced Serbia more fully. “I’m never doing that again.” Well, good. Serbia had no complaints. “Maybe suggest going to the gym next time? That’s something we’re both actually capable of.”
Serbia tried his damndest not to make a disgusted little face at the thought. “Maybe.” He hated the gym. He hated working out. It was always, always, always a bad experience for him. For such a conceited person, he wasn’t very good at keeping up the fake body that he’d constructed for himself in his mind. Without thinking, he then blurted, “Less opportunity to accidentally kiss there.”
Fuuuuuuck. He wasn’t supposed to actually acknowledge it. Neither of them were! God fucking damnit! He was an idiot!
He stared at the table, trying to let the moment pass. He couldn’t.
He couldn't, because Croatia let out a shocked little giggle. A giggle, for Christ’s sake—from the mouth of a grown man. What the hell? Serbia looked up at him, not masking his vaguely surprised expression. The other man was covering his mouth with his hand, trying to hide his smile. He clearly didn’t know why he was laughing, either. And, for some odd reason, it gave Serbia the odd urge to snort a wee laugh out.
Weird as hell. He felt much warmer inside than it was outside.