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They should have known better than for all three of them to go out to dinner together. The fighting started before they had even decided on the restaurant, continued as they got dressed, remained consistent the whole walk there, throughout the entire meal, and was only starting to taper off on the walk back because of the alcohol induced buzz softening the moods of Francis and Arthur. Normally Alfred did not mind their bickering, in fact, part of him was convinced it was some form of foreplay for them, but over the course of hours they had managed to wear down his resolve. His restaurant suggestion had gone unacknowledged, his clothing choices had been criticized by Arthur, the meal he ordered had been questioned and nitpicked, and his lack of alcohol consumption meant that unlike his partners, he did not have the comfort of intoxication to dampen his emotions. In fact, as they began their walk back to Francis' home, he was finding himself unusually irritated with them. With Francis on one side of him and Arthur on the other it was difficult to tune out their bickering and focus on the video on his phone, but Alfred gave it a go anyway, hoping to create some sort of peace for himself. But even then, their agitated voiced still filled his ears.
"We are in Paris," Francis said, "I do not see why you insisted on Italian food."
"I would rather suffer through Italian food that has been ruined by French hands than English food that had undergone the same treatment," Arthur responded in a tone that indicated he felt his reasoning was perfectly obvious.
"Oh please! Everything we French touch is improved by us," Francis laid his hand that was not holding onto Alfred's arm daintily onto his own chest, "unlike your kind who ruin everything."
"That is simply not true!" Arthur snapped back. Alfred continued scrolling through videos.
"It is! It is true! Name one thing that the French have ruined. I bet you cannot do it."
"America."
Alfred sighed and kept his eyes locked on his screen.
"Non! I did not ruin Amérique, that was you!"
"No way, Frog." Arthur's grip on Alfred's arm tightened. "You're the one that spoils him!"
"I do not. Amérique, do I spoil you?"
Alfred did not remove his attention from his phone. "Sure."
"Amérique!"
"Hah! Take that, Frog!"
"I am simply trying to give him the love and affection that you continually fail to provide."
Alfred furrowed his brows as he tried to focus on a funny cat video compilation, the fuzzy creatures' ridiculous antics hitting his eyes but not reaching his brain. They were almost back to Francis' house, then Francis and Arthur could choose to take the space they clearly needed from each other, or they could continue arguing. They would probably continue arguing.
And they did continue arguing. Both men headed to the kitchen to increase their blood alcohol levels, and without a word Alfred stormed off to the guest room where he and Arthur had put their things. He changed from the unpleasant outfit he had been coerced into, grabbed his gameboy from the nightstand, and burrowed into the blankets of the guest bed. If he was lucky, they would drink and argue themselves to sleep, and he would at least get some quiet once they were both unconscious.
He was not so lucky.
Almost two hours had passed before the door to the guest room slowly opened. Alfred barely spared a glance in the direction of the motion. He laid on his side with the covers pulled around him, cradling his head, and with his socked feet sticking out of the bottom, clearly not in the mood for company.
"Mon amour," Francis spoke softly, his words far more slurred now than they had been earlier.
"He's asleep like I said, isn't he?" Arthur's voice echoed in from the hall, suffering much of the same struggle in annunciation as his husband's.
"If he was, he is not anymore," Francis snapped. "Why must you always be so loud!"
"You're the one yelling!"
"Only because of you!"
Alfred closed his eyes and sighed in defeat. Of course they would bring the fighting to him. Of course. Despite his inebriation Francis seemed to notice and removed his attention from their argument to focus on Alfred once more. He stepped into the room and sat on the edge of the bed.
"Mon amour, Amérique, what is wrong?"
Alfred shook his head, afraid to speak as the tightness in his throat warned him his words would be accented with tears. It was not fair that they could be so annoying and horrible all evening, ignoring him and making him feel bad, only to check on him as if they had done no wrong.
"Amérique, if you do not tell us what is wrong, then how can we make it better, hm?" Francis rubbed Alfred's back through the comforter.
"Are you feeling ill, lad?" Arthur's voice came out clearer, as if the sudden realization that something was wrong had sobered him slightly.
"If he is ill, it is probably because of that awful restaurant you picked."
Arthur groaned. "Shut it, frog!"
"Stop!" Alfred's voice cracked as he broke his silence to make his demand. "Stop it! Both of you! Stop fighting or get out!"
"Mon amour…" The hand rubbing Alfred's back froze, before continuing in its circular motions once more. "Is it us? Are our… passionate disagreements upsetting you?"
"It's normally fine, but…" Alfred attempted to burrow deeper into the blankets.
"But what? C'mon, America, spit it out."
"Be nicer to him, "Francis snapped. "Any difficulty he has with sharing how he feels is some he picked up from you." Alfred pulled the comforter over his face and rolled onto his stomach, holding it tight around him in an attempt to create a barrier from their bickering.
"Now look at what you've done."
"Moi? I am only trying to help him. Amérique, do you want me to make you something to eat?"
"Don't offer him food! We just got back from dinner!"
"I do not know if you can see past those giant eyebrows of yours, but in case you did not notice, he hardly touched his food."
"So? Maybe it'll do him so good. Heaven knows-" Alfred felt the mattress shift as Francis got to his feet, and nearly instantaneously he heard the ringing smack of hand hitting flesh. Francis had absolutely slapped Arthur.
"You bloody wanker!" Arthur shouted.
A struggle ensued outside of Alfred's blanket cocoon. He could hear the grunts of effort and hissed swears as his two drunk boyfriends wrestled in the guest room until their legs got tangled together and they both went down with a thump. Then there came only the sound of their heavy breathing. Concern and curiosity overcame Alfred's desire to be left alone, and slowly he emerged from under the comforter, before crawling to the edge of the bed and peering down at Arthur and Francis, who were lying on their backs, panting from the effort of their struggle. Despite his weariness, Francis' face lit up when he saw Alfred above him.
"Amour!" Francis reached up towards Alfred. "Come to me. I want to hold you."
Alfred hesitated, but Francis' smile and pleading eyes won him over. Without a word he climbed off the bed and laid between Francis and Arthur on the ground, though to keep the distance he had wanted, he laid in the opposite direction as them, so his head was between theirs, but his body was not. Francis reached up and pulled Alfred's arm down to hold, encroaching on his space anyway as he snuggled up to the arm and held it against his chest. Both men were red faced and drunk, and both were staring at the young nation between them.
"You're a good lad." Arthur reached out and patted Alfred's head. "I know I give you a hard time, but you're good, America."
"You're only saying that because you're drunk," Alfred said with a pout.
"You're right," Arthur agreed, "but that doesn't mean I'm not telling the truth."
Alfred did not respond, he simply stared at the ceiling. It was not fair that Arthur was only sweet to him like this when he had the help of booze to loosen his lips.
"Amour~" Francis hummed, scooting closer to Alfred so he could press a kiss to his cheek. "I am sorry if we upset you." Francis reached up, his hand trailing down Alfred's shirt. "You should let me make it up to you." He started to fumble with Alfred's belt, struggling with the clasp while drunk and using only one hand.
"Not right now, Franny," Alfred said. "You don't have to do that. I'll be fine." Francis relented in his struggle, despite making surprising progress in removing Alfred's belt and unbuttoning his jeans.
"Okay, amour," he said softly, pressing another kiss to Alfred's cheek before settling into a comfortable position once more, still clinging to Alfred's arm.
For the first time in hours, Alfred finally got the peace he had wanted, and it was after he turned his head to look, first at Francis and then at Arthur, that he understood why. The pair had fallen asleep on either side of him on the floor. Alfred sighed, knowing they would be complaining about various body aches in the morning. That would be their problem, and as much as he hated to admit it, their pain would be his problem too.
"Goodnight, guys," Alfred said, and with a small, endearing smile he added, "dorks."