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Japan enjoyed his moments of solitude, rare as they might have been. And, to his abject horror, the instances where he was left to his own devices had started to become increasingly sporadic.
And that was because America just wouldn’t stop visiting.
Why? Japan had no idea. There wasn't the faintest sign of a logical clue, either.
Following his surrender, the Western power seemed to have taken the ‘duty’ of getting Japan out of his recluse upon his shoulders, excitedly gabbling about everything from a fortune-telling game to his… somewhat concerning alcoholic tendencies. The attempt was quite ironic, considering America barely ever went outside during the winter months. Or so he’d heard, anyway.
All things noted, this solidified Japan’s impression of America. That he was, well… ‘impressive’. He supposed that wasn’t just in terms of military might, either.
This time wasn’t any different.
It must have been… what, ten in the evening? He was just sitting down with a cup of hot, fresh, steaming tea and turning on his futon, when someone knocked at his door. Whoever it was, they had done so in an incredibly loud and obnoxious manner. They even cleared their throat, as if knocking wasn’t already enough to declare their presence.
At the time, Japan remembered being clad in nothing more than a yellow shirt and grey pants, so he sincerely hoped that it wasn’t an official, or anybody of a similar importance. Then again, he highly doubted that was the case. Nobody in the government would be so horribly ostentatious.
Japan enjoyed his moments of solitude, and the cabinet respected his privacy.
So, confused, Japan opened the door…
… only to be greeted by— “Mr. America?” Japan asked, raising a dubious eyebrow. By virtue of sheer determination, he managed to keep his voice at its usual low volume. But seriously… America? It wasn’t that he was particularly surprised to see him. It was just that visiting at this time was practically unheard of. Unconventional at best, and rude at worst. Although, Japan held firm in his belief that America never meant to give that impression.
“Oh, please.” Gesticulating wildly with his hands, the taller man let out a huff of air. Japan had barely opened the door, and America was already squeezing his way inside.
Okay, maybe not rude, but definitely imposing. As Japan had discovered before, their cultural differences had a berth as wide as the Mariana Trench was deep. Perhaps this was normal back home?
“Y’know you can call me Alfred, right, dude?”
America’s casual speech patterns had been one-hundred-percent alien to Japan until fairly recently. That, and his outlandish amount of skinship. Kiku tried not to flinch when America—no, Alfred—clapped a hand onto his shoulder. “R–right…” He stared solemnly at the tea still resting on the coffee table. Steam curled from the brim of the cup and slowly faded into the air. It was almost as if even the tea had left him to fend for himself. By the time America—ah, sorry, Alfred—was done with him, it would most likely be cold.
“Anyway…” Dragging out his a’s, Alfred thrusted a case into Kiku’s hands. “Do you wanna watch a movie with me? It’s really short!” He would offer him some tea, but he doubted Alfred would drink it. After all, he’d heard horror stories about how he lived exclusively on a diet of cheeseburgers and soda.
Maybe he’d take one sip and spit it out. In that case, he’d rather not offer him any at all.
“It’s not another scary movie, is it?” Tentatively, Kiku turned it over and cast his eyes across it. Most of it was black, but the title was written in a bright, scarlet red. Though he wasn’t sure what screamed ‘scary’ to him, Kiku presumed it was the fact that the text looked eerily similar to the colour of blood. Coupled with Alfred’s intense shaking—of which he was desperately trying to hide—Kiku had all the context clues he needed.
“It’s so freakin’ scary that there’s no way I’m watching it alone!” And so, Alfred’s bravado disappeared as quickly as he had attempted to conjure it.
Of course, Kiku was still skeptical. While Alfred never seemed to be downright malicious, he did have an extensive history of pulling—what he insisted to be—’harmless’ pranks. This could very well be another one of them.
And yet… surely Alfred was smarter than to pick him. If Alfred’s intention was to leave his target shaken by the movie, Italy would have been easier prey. Kiku honestly doubted that he’d be able to sleep. Or even make it through a minute of the movie without running out of the room at full speed.
Giving him one last look, Kiku sighed in resignation, turned off the lights and slotted the video tape into his TV before sitting down on the sofa. Reluctantly patting the spot next to him, he watched with exasperation as Alfred practically launched himself onto the soft canvas. Luckily for Kiku, he had chosen the opposite side to where he was sitting, but he had a sinking feeling that would change at some point over the course of the movie.
Fear, logically, would take over Alfred’s pride in a heartbeat, and Kiku had already seen that for himself.
Seemingly out of nowhere, Ameri—Alfred—procured a hot pink pillow, which he then clutched close to his chest. In the dark, his fingers looked deathly pale, and the couch shook with the weight of the blonde man’s trembling.
That’s strange.
“Thanks a bunch… With you and this pillow, it’s only half as scary.” Wait— Was that… was that a sniffle he just heard?
For Alfred to think he was being forced into watching this movie was equally as concerning as his alcohol tolerance. He wasn’t being forced to do anything at all. What gave him the impression that he was? Kiku himself knew it definitely wasn’t him. It was Alfred who had shown up on his doorstep!
“You don’t have to watch it at all you know—”
“Say that again and I’ll kill you.”
The threat might have been a lot more convincing had Alfred not sounded like a kicked puppy.
With a trembling hand, Alfred picked up the TV remote. “O–okay, let’s watch it…” Eyes squeezed shut, he didn’t look very excited to watch the movie. Although Kiku wasn’t exactly delighted, either, at least he had confidence in the movie’s length. Though… if Alfred was this shaken up, perhaps it was something to be worried about.
While the movie scrolled several content warnings across the screen, Kiku took the time to stare at Alfred’s face. Even in the dark, his fear was palpable. If Kiku’s moments of solitude were rare, this scene was even more so.
America, reduced to such insecurity? The movie must be truly terrifying.
The first thing Kiku heard was the crack of lightning. A man with greyed hair was illuminated in the flash. He wore some sort of cape, and deep creases were etched into his forehead and cheeks. “The horrors you are about to witness will burn your brain until damnation day. I hope you enjoy your stay…” Silently, Kiku watched, eyes wide and mouth set in a thin line.
Alfred was being anything but silent. And that bit was normal. What wasn’t, was the noise itself. As the man on screen laughed evilly, Alfred gripped the pillow tighter and let out a quiet whimper.
The movie hadn’t even properly started, and he was clearly already on the verge of tears.
Now, the old man was pointing at a photograph pinned to the wall. Kiku squinted at the screen. It looked to have been taken in some sort of American desert—he wasn’t sure which one, there were too many to count—and there was a guy standing there, clad in a cowboy outfit. “Well then… why don’t I give you your first taste into the darkness that awaits you?” the man spoke slowly. Deliberately. Bracing his arms against his knees, Kiku leant forward, eyebrows furrowed.
Where exactly… is this going? It was starting to feel more like a documentary than a movie. Or the sort of thing he imagined American kids watching in their free time. So far, it seemed like anything but what Alfred had claimed it to be.
“Your mind can’t grasp the horror staring you in the face.”
What is he… talking about?
“It’s hard to have your picture taken, when you’ve been…” the man paused for dramatic effect, “...dead for a hundred years!” That certainly was an interesting conclusion to have come to. Kiku’s eyebrows furrowed even more, then. Not out of curiosity. It was more like confusion. Or sheer dumfoundedness. Or shock in its purest and rawest form.
This was what had scared Mr. America? Surely, this must have been one of his pranks!
But no. Alfred’s fear—despite his talent for faking every emotion on the human spectrum—was genuine. Kiku could hardly believe his eyes. He knew Mr. England would pay a handsome sum of money to see this live.
As polite as Kiku normally was, that all flew out of the window in the spur of the moment. “This is so dumb…—” he cringed away from the screen. Where on Earth had Alfred even picked this tape up? For it to be so… so—
“AAAAAAAAHHH!” Next to him, Alfred was screaming to his heart’s content. Not that Mr. America’s heart was at all pleased with what he was doing to it. “Real life ghosts in a real life picture?! That’s brutal! Make it stop!” He paired his overdramatic outcry with another series of cries and whimpers, this time a lot louder than when the VCR had first fired up.
He spoke to such length about the movie that one would think it had a deeply enriching plot. Apparently not. Much to Kiku’s chagrin, Alfred simply had a tendency to rattle on and on when he was scared.
Of course, he spoke a lot normally but this? Whatever this was? Kiku couldn’t even fully understand what he was saying, and they weren’t even five minutes in yet!
And if this movie wasn’t even scary, then was Alfred’s concept of time warped too? Kiku felt his blood freeze over. What if this movie wasn’t thirty minutes, but instead, thirty hours?
Oh dear.
“Please tell me he’s just making it up! Please tell me he’s making it up! There’s no way that’s a real ghost, I’m just gonna have to pretend that didn’t happen—”
Now Kiku was incredibly patient. But even he felt like he was at his wit’s end when Alfred started reciting children’s rhymes like he was back in pre-school instead of in someone else’s home.
And just when he thought it couldn’t get worse…
America threw himself at Japan at the speed of a bullet. Wrapping his arms around the shorter man’s waist, he sobbed into his shoulder. Through the thin fabric of his shirt, Kiku could feel the hard metal frames of Alfred’s glasses pressing into his skin. They were close, so close that Alfred’s body heat seeped through him in no time. Kiku felt his face warm up at an alarming rate.
He was too close. Not a little. A lot.
He wasn’t sure if he liked it, but this… he wasn’t used to it. Whatever it was. Everything was so complicated, and his blank drew a blank while Alfred squawked and screeched and shrieked. All he could do was extend a limp hand and pat him on the knee. The whole time, the nerves had crept up his spine like vines at the prospect of touching another person in a gesture that wasn’t a handshake or other kind of formal appreciation.
It made them feel more like… friends, though Kiku was unsure whether that was the appropriate stance to take. But then, surely Mr. America coming to him—and not one of the Allies like England, or France, or China—meant something, right?
For someone as loud as boisterous as America, seeing this side of him was a nice escape from the usual constraints of meeting with the other nations. So he appreciated it. Whether or not this was an act—which was becoming increasingly less likely the longer this played out—he would still continue to appreciate it.
Kiku could only hope and dream that America felt the same about him. Was it tiring, playing the hero all the time?
“AHHHHH!” Alfred screamed again, shoving his face further into the crevice between Kiku’s chin and clavicle. The sound was a little muffled since his hands had now snaked up and found purchase in the hem of Kiku’s shirt, “Ghosts are scary! This was a bad idea! Bad VCR! This is so scary! I think I’m gonna—”
“Um… Alfred?” Clearing his throat, Kiku pointed at the next scene, which looked as presumptuous as the last. “Try to calm down and look at this next scene. It’s not so bad.” ‘Not so bad’ was still a massive understatement—since it wasn’t scary at all when one applied sound logic—but he was trying his best to be sympathetic.
All the show Kiku received for his efforts was Alfred seizing his free hand. Squeezing it so hard Kiku feared the bones might break, he found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. The room wasn’t particularly hot, but Alfred’s breath against his skin was making him feel dizzy. His heart pounded in his chest so much that it ached when he drew in a deep sigh. Coupled with how Alfred smelled—sandalwood and vanilla—it made the atmosphere almost unbearable. Uncomfortable. It was his room and yet…
… it felt like America was just a part of it. It was weird, and alien, and odd. And yet, he couldn’t even kick Alfred out. He couldn’t.
Alfred had come to him to watch the movie. No one else.
So he was going to sit this through, whether he liked it or not. Whether he hated himself afterwards or not. Whether he would have to spend the next week and a half over trying to cleanse his room of the sweet scent of sandalwood and vanilla or not.
“There’s two ghosts in that one, so it’s twice as scary!”
Stiffly, Kiku made to stand up. For all his failure to grasp the VCR’s sheer stupidity, he seemed to get the cue. His hands fell from where they had grabbed the fabric of Kiku’s shirt back onto his lap. A twinge of something briefly flashed across Alfred’s face. Perhaps, if Kiku had not been so absorbed in his own thoughts at that moment, he would have seen it for its true colours.
But of course, it was misinterpreted for fear at the ‘horror’ flick they were watching.
Standing up, Kiku frowned, pausing the tape, “Take the time to examine it closer.” To illustrate his point, he pointed at the blonde man on screen, “Stare deep into those pools of blue nothingness…” His voice trailed away into the distance.
Alfred sniffled, “... I–I’m scared!”
Now, for the difficult part…
Inhale, exhale. He could do this. With a soft smile, Kiku took Alfred’s hands in his own, and gently squeezed. “There is nothing to be afraid of.”
“What the Hell is wrong with you?!”
Sitting up in indignation, Kiku only chuckled when he saw the pink dusting America’s cheeks.
He supposed the tea, and his solitude, could wait a little longer.