Cozy

Well.

I can definitely say that this had never really happened to me before. Here I am, Canada, the Great effing White North, standing next to none other than America and totally freezing my ass off six times as bad as he was.

At least. Maybe more.

Grrrr…

And he had even asked me before we left, "You sure you don't wanna bring a coat? It is pretty cold…"

To which I replied haughtily that no, I was fine, and, please Mr. I-Hibernate-During-The-Winter; I live in this weather every day! I'm totally alright, hahaha~!

Dammit…

For once I should have… actually listened.

…

Hgggrrrffll…

I was so full of being in my element what with the hockey game and the crowds and we'd be inside most of the time, and it really isn't THAT cold for Canada I had promptly left the house with a scarf, a jersey and my favourite maple leaf tuque, confident that I could survive the Shit, damn, it's freezing, how do you LIVE in this crap!?! that America so eloquently described.

… His words, not mine.

…

… Of course, I hadn't planned on it snowing. Or the bus being forty damn minutes late.

Frrrggllmmm…

…

So I stand (barely, what with my legs shaking so badly) and chatter my face off and glare hateful daggers of death at that bomber jacket slung casually over my brother's shoulders, like a best friend.

… It's mocking me, I swear. That huge white "50" is laughing its ass off at me.

Haha, Canada, you're cold and America's noooot~!!

…

My whole face is aching from clamping my jaw together that even if I wanted to throw back a snarky retort, I wouldn't have been able to get the words out.

… I don't even have a pair of gloves…

Sob.

I think I hate that coat…

America puffs out a sigh, his breath misting in the coldcoldDAMN air, raising his eyes to the darkened sky. He watches the snowflakes float down like innocent little puffy cotton balls that aren't making me want to tear my face off. "Where d'you think the bus is?" he asks, oblivious to my little hatefest next to him, and completely comfortably warm in his little jacket.

"I h-h-have no f-f-f-fucking clue," I growl out between clenched teeth (only slightly sarcastically). "I-i-i-it's a hockey game. It p-p-probably got s-s-stuck in traffic."

He raises an eyebrow, turning towards the shivery, pissed off mass of shivery coldness that is the nation of Canada.

"Something wrong?"

…

"N-n-n-no, of c-course not, what g-g-gave you th-th-th-that idea?"

He stares at me for a second and then questions quite bluntly, "Are you cold, Canada?"

"A-a-abso-fucking-lutely not," I mutter. The hateful jacket of spite laughs harder at my misery.

Damn thing.

…

America cocks his head at me. "You sure…?"

"D-d-does it look like I'm c-c-cold, America?!" I practically shriek.

He is quiet for a minute.

And then, "Yes, actually," he says, with finality. "It does look like you're cold."

I mutter angrily, turning away from him and the stupid frrgglrjd jacket. "Way t-t-t-to go, c-c-captain oblivious."

We lapse into silence again, he looking at the sky, and I imagining all the torturous ways I could get back at the coat of hatefulness and atrocity for mocking me so furiously.

…

Before you ask, yes, it did actually occur to me that I could just ask America if I could borrow his coat to warm up.

Here's why I didn't…

Ahahahaha Canada, I so totally TOLD you so that you'd be cold!! Now you must acknowledge that I am the HERO for saving your frozen ass from your OWN WEATHER!!

…

That's why.

… Sigh…

There's a crunch of snow behind me and a hand lands on my trembling shoulder. And suddenly I'm spun around in a whirl of biting wind and snow and yanked into something warm and soft and ooohhh mon Dieu that's niiice…

… America has unzipped his jacket and pulled me… into it…

Haaaa… aahh…

"Jesus Christ, your hands are freezing!" he yelps as I wrap shaking arms around his muscled waist, burying myself in the warmth. The jacket is zipped up again around my back and his arms go around my shoulders.

"I know…" I reply with a sigh, closing my eyes and pressing my chilled cheeks to his neck. He whimpers and shivers at the contact, but doesn't push me away.

And he's so warm… and he smells good… like…

Pine woods, and salty seas, and wood smoke, and corn fields, and snowy mountains, and… and…

Like…

America.

Ahhhh~

"You make me poetic," I murmur and feel his answering chuckle.

"Poetic?"

"Mmmmm…"

…

Pride be damned… this is glorious~

There is silence again as we stand, snuggled together. I tighten my arms around him, feeling the chill seep away into delicious, fuzzy warmth and he rests his chin on top of my head, still watching the sky.

… He always was a stargazer, America.

"So Canada…" he says after a while.

I hum sleepily against his neck – now that I'm no longer chilling my ass off, I feel the effects of the strenuous game work over my tired body.

America looks down at me, a smile quirking the corner of his mouth. I furrow my brow. "Any chance of me ever saying I told you—"

"Absolutely not," I interrupt, pinching his side. He squeals and twists away from my fingers. "You're ruining the moment, America."

He laughs anyways and hugs me tighter.

And I decide right then and there that I love this coat~