Chapter Text
There was something off about the world conference. Perhaps it was because a Friday. Perhaps because this was the first week-long meeting since the start of summer.
It could have been the fact that a bird had decided to build a nest on the roof, where three babies now tweeted incessantly. Or that the construction of the new wing of the building had been finished, and along with it, the constant drilling and hammering.
Whatever the cause, there was something noticeably unusual about the nations.
It was as if a breathe had been let out, one the countries of the world hadn't known they had been holding. Not the quiet before a storm, nor the horrific absence of noise that comes after.
Germany had tried in a couple of sordid attempts to redirect the attention to global issues. However, he was clearly unnerved by the strangely calm nations, who, instead of full fledged sparring, had drifted into quiet conversations with their neighbors. Germany's furrowed brow suggested he didn't know whether to be confused, frustrated, or thankful.
Yet, for all his fussing, even Germany couldn't resist the influence of the mysterious force. Instead of brushing off Italy's cooking and cries for pasta, Germany's ever present worry wrinkles faded away. His eyes stilled, focusing on his Italian friend with what could be called an almost soft look. To the shock of everyone, he had slid the bowl of spaghetti in front of him, and after taking a painfully slow bite, nodded glumly. Italy began sobbing, and let out a shaky 'Really, you like it?' before continuing to cry. Germany had pat his back solemnly, then resumed his eating with renewed vigor.
Though many nations found the stoic German's behavior somewhat odd, it seemed as if there was a unspoken agreement that nobody would mention it. It was a unfamiliar sort of peace, not invited but welcome all the same, and for once, nations could agree it was something worth being silent over.
Russia, instead of radiating a menacing aura, was chatting to Latvia about the various types of snow and their purposes. While the shorter nation still shivered, it wasn't the erratic trembling the Russian's presence normally induced. If one squinted, they could almost be mistaken for friends.
Light was streaming in from the windows, bathing the tables in a blue glow. It illuminated the form of China, who was slouching as he leaned over his paper. Japan sat next to him, offering him light compliments as they sketched.
The nations' sharp points had been softened, along with their moods.
England and America were not exempt from this magic. However, only so much could be done for those who wanted to bicker. Though neither would admit it, their conversations, masked as arguments, were a source of comfort to them both. A way of checking in.
Their fights had always started for the same reason: bold, clashing pride. And they would always end the same way: a sense of quiet satisfaction.
"Dude, I totally can work hard! How do you think me country got this big?" America gave England a wide smile.
"The obscene amount of hamburgers you eat? You are obsessed with superficial growth!" England rolled his eyes at the Americans boastful behavior.
"Super- wait, like superheroes? Oh, Artie, I'm so proud you've finally caught up! You had me worried there the last few decades." America wiped away fake tears as he gave England a smile that was somehow both proud and condescending.
"You git! I'll have you know I'm up to date on current events. The important ones at least. My interests sophisticated, which is why I'm treated with respect. " England's spine straightened at his comment.
"Are you saying I can't take things seriously?" America's eyes were blown wide in mock shock. England let out a snort.
"I think you've summed it up quite nicely. You couldn't behave yourself for a week!" England's smile twisted into a challenging smirk.
"You wanna bet?" America raised his eyebrow, now wearing a similar expression.
"You're on." England scoffed.
"If I win, you have to try a hamburger."
"Why not! I doubt you could make it past the first day anyway." England retorted.
America hummed at that, then went silent, turning his head downwards towards the blank notebook laying in front of him. England furrowed his brow. It was strange, to say the least. He had been prepared for a joke, or witty comeback, or sarcastic remark from the American. But he was greeted with a cold silence.
Well, I guess that it's over with. England set his eyes on his own notebook, a little miffed.
Well, I suppose, a bit of relaxation wouldn't hurt… this meeting is terribly boring, anyway. His pencil scratched on the paper, outlining mindless doodles. England was soon completely absorbed in his work, shading and smudging with the pads of his fingers.
His concentration was broken as France, peering over his shoulder, made a snide remark about his so-called art. All thoughts of the argument had quickly evaporated.
However, if England had been looking, he would have seen that America was also writing in his notebook. If England had been looking, he would have seen America was not silent at all, but muttering under his breath. If England had been looking, he would have seen America's cunning smirk, recognized the mischievous look in his eye, and felt his blood run cold. But England was not looking. A pity, really.