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The rain had started quietly.
Nothing more than a slow gathering of darkening clouds until the first drops began to silently strike into darker patches of the concrete pavement one by one.
Now, it’d surrounded them entirely.
Heavy droplets fell in steady waves, drumming against rooftops, pooling in the cracks of the cobblestone street, clinging to their clothes and soaking through fabric until warmth was hours away.
It’s cold.
Amidst this, neither of them moved.
-ˋˏ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .
𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀 exhaled slowly, blinking through the rain as he looked at 𝐉𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐍, who stood just a few feet away. His sleeves were soaked through. Damp strands of black hair clung to his forehead, usual careful composure and neatness now stripped away by the downpour, leaving something raw and unguarded in his expression.
He looked… human
America almost laughed at the thought.
Human.
A strange word to describe him with.
It’s quiet.
They had been standing here for too long.
Not moving.
Not speaking.
Just watching each other.
It had always been this way—long stretches of quiet that neither of them knew how to fill—pauses that felt too heavy.
But those times, the silence was comfortable—it was never a problem—it was the kind that came by everytime they were together.
I mean, after all, they were used to it.
Japan had always been comfortable in it. America, for all his energy, had learned to respect it.
This silence… wasn’t exactly comfort.
It was hesitation
The distance neither of them had put into words but both had felt growing between them for too long.
The rain continued to fall, unrelenting, as if daring one of them to break first.
America’s fingers curled into fists at his sides, rain dripping from his sleeves. His heart pounded in his chest.
He wanted to say something—anything!
…But he didn’t know where to begin.
-ˋˏ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
Japan moved.
Slowly, carefully, he stepped forward and moved, his gaze locked onto America’s. Water dripped from his lashes, his expression unreadable, his breath unsteady. And yet, there was something certain in the way he looked at him, something that made his breath hitch.
“. . . America”
He murmured, voice quiet but firm, barely audible over the now heavy rainfall.
The person on the other side swallowed hard. “Yeah?”
Japan took a pause—A long one, gradually stretching between them, teetering on the edge of something neither of them had been brave enough to say.
For a moment, it seemed as if he might step back—might let the silence and drops swallow whatever it was he was trying to say.
Then—softly, in contrast to the rain—
“I don’t want to keep pretending. I don’t want to keep running from this—from you—from everything.”
America felt his chest tighten.
For a second, the world blurred—the rain, the city, everything fading until all that remained was Japan standing in front of him.
“…What are you trying to say?” America’s voice was quieter now.
The distance between them wasn’t just political—wasn’t just the weight of their roles.
It was something far more fragile.
“I wish . . .”
The other searched carefully for the words
”. . . to speak to the one standing before me.”
And then, he spoke again.
But this time, it wasn’t Japan who spoke
It was Kiku.
” . . . Alfred. ”
The name was soft—hesitant—familiar on his tongue.
And at that moment—just like that, America wasn’t America anymore.
He was Alfred.
The shift was instant, almost dizzying. For so long, they had only ever been nations to eachother—two figures shaped by history, bound by responsibility.
But now, standing in the rain, soaked. They weren’t anymore.
They were just two people.
Alfred inhaled sharply, his heart pounding against his ribs.
Kiku had never called him that before.
Not in all the years they had known each other. Not in war, not in peace—not even in the quietness of what was their own ‘shared apartment
—or, what they’d call ‘home’.
But he had said it now.
And it meant everything.
Alfred swallowed, his voice hoarse when he finally spoke.
” …Kiku. ”
The name felt foreign on his lips, too personal, too intimate—but he didn’t want to take it back.
—Heck, he would never want to take it back.
Kiku exhaled sharply, a barely perceptible tremor running through him before he took the final step forward,
so close now that Alfred could see the raindrops clinging to his lips, feel the warmth of his breath against the cold.
Alfred’s pulse thundered in his ears.
There was nothing—no-one Alfred F. Jones loved more than Kiku Honda.
He had spent so long second-guessing, so long convincing himself that he was imagining things—that the lingering glances, the holding hands, the unspoken words meant nothing.
But this—this wasn’t nothing.
This was real.
And for once, Alfred wasn’t going to run from it either.
Without thinking—without hesitation—he reached for Kiku. Fingers brushing against his cheek.
Kiku didn’t pull away.
Instead, leaned into the touch, his dark brown eyes fluttering closed for just a second, just long enough for Alfred to hear the shaky breath he let out.
Alfred tilted Kiku’s chin up slightly, his thumb tracing a path along his jaw to the edge of his lips. Then he leaned in, replacing the warm pressure of his finger with his own lips.
Their meeting was tentative, careful—like something fragile, something meant to be cherished.
Then, like the now beginning storm crashing around them, restraint shattered.
Kiku kissed him back, just as desperate—just as lost in the feeling. His fingers curled into Alfred’s rain-soaked hoodie, clutching, holding, grounding himself as a soft, breathless sound escaped between them. Alfred deepened the kiss, one hand sliding to the small of Kiku’s back, pulling him in, closer, until there was nothing left between them but warmth, aching, and everything they had been too afraid to say.
The rain didn’t matter anymore. The cold didn’t matter.
Nothing existed beyond this moment—just the press of lips, the shiver of breath, the way they fit against each other as though they were not discovering one another… But finally recognizing someone they had known all along.
When they finally pulled away, neither of them moved far.
Their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling, the sound of the rain the only thing between them now.
Alfred let out a quiet, breathless laugh, his fingers still tangled in Kiku’s slick and glistening hair.
“So, uh…” He swallowed, his heart still racing. “Guess that means you like—wait no… love me, huh?”
Kiku giggled, a fond softness to it. “I believe that much was obvious.”
Alfred grinned. “Yeah, well, just makin’ sure.”
Silence settled between them again—but this time, it wasn’t heavy.
It wasn’t full of hesitation or uncertainty.
It was warm.
The usual.
Comfortable!
Kiku sighed softly, his fingers still loosely curled into the fabric of Alfred’s hoodie. “...Shall we find somewhere dry?”
Alfred hummed, pretending to think about it before pulling him in for another kiss—just a short one, quick and teasing, but enough to feel the way Kiku’s breath hitched in surprise.
“Nah” Alfred murmured against his lips. “I kinda like it here.”
Kiku huffed, but there was no real protest in his voice. Only quiet acceptance.
And when Alfred kissed him again, slow this time, Kiku kissed him back without hesitation.
Because—after everything—the quiet between them was no longer uncertain.
The quiet was something that had been waiting, patiently, to be filled.
And at last, it was.
FIN (?)