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valmora"jitaku", Japan and America, not shippy, slight fun made of anime fans, slight politics and less-slight cultural references, not my characters no money made please don't sue.
Japan hears America coming from the front gate, where he slammed the doors open before him and is slamming them shut, too excited to treat them gently. Benkei, indeed, if Benkei had won the battle at the Gojobashi…
America clomps in his workboots up to the front door of Japan’s house, but there is a pause, as though he has not yet hopped up onto the raised floor of the house in preparation for bursting through the shoji screen into the room.
The screen slides open, and America, tongue sticking out in concentration as he treats the wall gently, is wearing only socks on his feet.
Japan busies himself with his web surfing, but America notices his momentary stare anyway.
“I, uh,” he mumbles, scratching his chin, “figured it would be polite.”
“It is,” Japan says. “Thank you.”
They sit in silence for a few moments while America fidgets. Finally he bursts out, “A lotta my kids are reading your comic books, you know? It’s good. Cultural exchange. After, you know, I really fu– screwed up, you know, with my Issei.”
“Of course. I have given you my children; why should you not grant me the thoughts of yours,” Japan murmurs. He doesn’t comment on America’s difficulties with his Japanese immigrants; Japan is not the one who can grant him forgiveness. Only America himself can do that.
“So I think I’m starting to remember a little Japanese,” America said. “I mean, I forgot it all right after the war, obviously, but I think maybe –”
Japan clicks out of a browser window. “I am flattered.”
“So say something, say something!” America cries.
“ いづれの御時にか、女御、更衣あまたさぶらひたまひけるなかに、いとやむごとなき際にはあらぬが、すぐれて時めきたまふありけり。”
The smile melts off America’s face. “That was a little…I mean, maybe someday. But…”
Japan sighs. “You just want me to say ‘Omae o korosu,’ don’t you.”
“Like that, yeah, all scary and everything,” America says, grinning.
Japan hears America coming from the front gate, where he slammed the doors open before him and is slamming them shut, too excited to treat them gently. Benkei, indeed, if Benkei had won the battle at the Gojobashi…
America clomps in his workboots up to the front door of Japan’s house, but there is a pause, as though he has not yet hopped up onto the raised floor of the house in preparation for bursting through the shoji screen into the room.
The screen slides open, and America, tongue sticking out in concentration as he treats the wall gently, is wearing only socks on his feet.
Japan busies himself with his web surfing, but America notices his momentary stare anyway.
“I, uh,” he mumbles, scratching his chin, “figured it would be polite.”
“It is,” Japan says. “Thank you.”
They sit in silence for a few moments while America fidgets. Finally he bursts out, “A lotta my kids are reading your comic books, you know? It’s good. Cultural exchange. After, you know, I really fu– screwed up, you know, with my Issei.”
“Of course. I have given you my children; why should you not grant me the thoughts of yours,” Japan murmurs. He doesn’t comment on America’s difficulties with his Japanese immigrants; Japan is not the one who can grant him forgiveness. Only America himself can do that.
“So I think I’m starting to remember a little Japanese,” America said. “I mean, I forgot it all right after the war, obviously, but I think maybe –”
Japan clicks out of a browser window. “I am flattered.”
“So say something, say something!” America cries.
“ いづれの御時にか、女御、更衣あまたさぶらひたまひけるなかに、いとやむごとなき際にはあらぬが、すぐれて時めきたまふありけり。”
The smile melts off America’s face. “That was a little…I mean, maybe someday. But…”
Japan sighs. “You just want me to say ‘Omae o korosu,’ don’t you.”
“Like that, yeah, all scary and everything,” America says, grinning.
