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There was always something sort of odd about the feeling of being in someone else’s land without them, but America could admit to himself that tonight it was almost pleasant, somehow, to be here in Japan, just waiting patiently for the man himself to return from work. That could have been it, America supposed… He wasn’t really without Japan, and he’d been invited in not only on business but as a guest, as a good friend. He wasn’t even that far away from him — a few miles at most, if that, given that Japan’s train was going to arrive soon.
How soon, exactly, he didn’t know… Both America’s watch and his phone were back at Japan’s house, because he had (as usual) forgotten to charge them until they were both practically dead. It didn’t matter too much, though, because he knew his way to and from this spot without any help. A few streets up, then a right, then a left at the convenience store (but only after stopping to buy a few late night snacks to split between them), and then there he was!
The rain was noisy against America’s umbrella as he waited. It was coming down a lot harder than he’d expected it to, but he hadn’t really paid attention to the weather forecast today… or any day since he’d gotten here, given that it was in Japanese and he did not speak it. Japan had told him he didn’t need to meet him this evening, which should have tipped him off, but it didn’t really matter. After all, what kind of a guy would he be if he let his friend walk home alone in this rain?
A distant flash followed by a rumble of thunder suggested the worst of it might still be yet to come, but they’d be home before then.
It was late, and between that and the weather, there wasn’t anyone else out nearby, which added to the strange feeling… It was almost as if the air itself had some substance to it, and America shifted on his feet beneath his umbrella and took a look around him.
The spot where he’d chosen to wait was off of a side street — more of an alley, really — near the bottom of some stairs that led up to a much busier road, which led to the train station a little further ways down. Houses lined one side of the little street, with trees in their gardens that hung over and blocked some of the rain. On the other side, where the stairs were and where Alfred waited, was a little park with more trees and a small shrine tucked back into it.
If he turned he could see it there, the small wooden structure lit with a single lightbulb beneath the eaves. A pair of fox statues flanked the little path the led up to it and the gate stood a short distance out from that. America didn’t think of himself as someone who was particularly superstitious, but out in the rainy night by himself like this, it was easy to feel like there really was something otherworldly about it.
It was warm despite the rain, and the smell of the wet sidewalks and the wet earth in the park was familiar but different — a summer rain smelled very much the same in parts of his own land, and yet somehow not at all…
Because there he was home, and here he was a guest, and there was that awareness of being separate from this place in a way that was strangely fascinating. Here, when he breathed the humid summer air, when he smelled the freshness of the damp earth, when he heard the rolling thunder out over the sea and the drops of the heavy rain against his umbrella, it was all Japan, and he’d been welcomed in to feel it all.
There was a time he might have found that unnerving, but tonight there was something almost thrilling about it. With each moment that passed the wet air of a rainy summer night draped over him, enveloped him like an embrace, and he almost wanted to drop the umbrella and let the rain soak him through, wet his clothes and his hair and his skin and touch every part of him. He wanted to fill his lungs with the night air, let himself drown in the sound of the rain all around him…
It was a good thing he was alone, or he might’ve been embarrassed by just how much it was affecting him to stand in the night in his friend’s land and breathe in his air and the scent of his earth, to dream of letting his rain soak him to his skin.
It was difficult to hear at first, but there were footsteps coming down the stairs, which shook America from his reverie. He leaned forward to look, and sure enough, only a moment later Japan appeared there with his own umbrella. He’d taken his suit jacket off and draped it over one arm, his tie loose and his sleeves rolled up. He always looked so put together otherwise, but who could blame him at this hour, in this muggy weather?
“Hey!” America called, and Japan looked up in surprise.
“America! I told you you didn’t need to meet me today,” he said, but he seemed to be smiling anyway, just a little. “It’s pouring.”
“Yeah, well, I have an umbrella,” America said, pointing at it. “And I know you always do, but what if you forgot? I couldn’t let you walk home in this rain like that. Besides, you worked late, I thought you could use some snacks.” He lifted his arm with a grin to show him the bulging shopping bag that hung there.
“How thoughtful,” Japan said as he stopped in front of America. “I’m sorry I worked so late after inviting you over, but—“
“Bro. You’re Japan. Working late is like, a national pastime,” America said dismissively. “Here, hang on.” He reached into the shopping bag and pulled out a can of beer, practically dripping with condensation and luckily still cold from the refrigerator at the convenience store, which he offered to Japan. “Got you this!”
Japan took the beer with a sigh and a fond smile, then, to America’s private delight, closed his umbrella and shook it out to step under America’s with him.
“Thank you,” he said, and given that they were on a deserted street in the middle of the night, didn’t hesitate to open the can and take a sip as they headed off towards his home. “I was thinking I could use a drink tonight. How did you know?”
“Nobody works this late and doesn’t need a drink after,” America answered easily, which earned him a soft laugh from his friend.
They walked in relative silence most of the way back to Japan’s house. Ordinarily America would have been eager to talk, and on some level he supposed he still was — there was always so much to say, and to Japan especially, who listened so well — but in that moment it felt unnecessary.
He’d relished the feeling of standing there in the dark, feeling Japan all around him, in the air and the rain and the ground beneath his feet, but now he had the man with him, too, and it was hard to shake the feeling still of wanting to feel himself wrapped up in Japan. In the humid air he’d felt the night drape over him and it was easy to imagine Japan’s arms there instead, or the beat of his heart in the steady pounding of the rain, or the faintest brush of his lips in the few raindrops that met his skin.
“…Thanks for inviting me,” America said, once they reached the gate of Japan’s home. Japan seemed almost surprised by it, but he smiled that soft smile of his, his dark eyes just as deep as the night that surrounded them.
“Of course,” Japan said, opening the gate to let him in. “You’re always welcome here.”