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valmoraI confess that I've done zero research on this time period and just wrote it while waiting for things. Please do not take particularly seriously.
Title is a bilingual pun. "Mansion" (マンション) in Japanese refers not to the American meaning of the word but rather a family apartment, which by US standards would be fairly small.
Title: Mansion
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters: Japan/America
Disclaimer: not mine, no money made.
Summary: America pays a visit, and is jet lagged. Early 90's.
Not for the kink meme, no sex.
America wasn't sure where Japan was taking him, through the subways of Tokyo on the way to his house from Narita.
America fell asleep on his shoulder, woke when Japan touched his hand to indicate that they should get off.
A five-minute walk in an uncomfortable neighborhood, concrete apartments with plants growing at the cracked edges of the pavement, and they stopped at a building that was just as soulless as the pavement. Off-brown brick and small windows with bars shading them for the balconies.
"I usually stay here," Japan said, unlocking the door at the bottom and mounting the stairs up towards the apartments.
"Like instead of in the Imperial Palace?"
"Yes." Japan stopped at the fourth floor, unlocked the door, stepped inside and shed his shoes.
His apartment was two rooms - a bedroom, a kitchen - and two cubbies for the toilet and shower. Not capacious, and America had expected that because he knew his East Asian geography, but smaller than even America had anticipated.
"You're not living in the house I remember," America said. "The one with the paper walls, and the table, and the garden..." He had good memories of that house; the first time he and Japan kissed had been under the blankets next to that table. During the Korean War.
"It was necessary to sell it and move here," Japan murmured. America watched the sad set of his eyes and knew Japan hadn't wanted to move.
The window looked out on a streetlight, an empty street, a matchingly soulless apartment building on the other side. America, sweating in his jeans and white dress shirt and socked feet, stood in front of it and wondered what Japan thought of this new place, and if he ever could return to the old house again.
Japan came up beside him at the window, tucked his hands into his sleeves.
"It's cozy," America said, because he didn't know what to say otherwise.
"You are over-generous," Japan said, and America flinched a little at the bitter note in his voice. "It is cramped and ugly. Would you like something to eat?"
"No, the plane kept me pretty well-fed. I'm just ready to collapse."
Japan nodded, turned away from the window and went to a closet. There he pulled out a lump of comforter and sit it down next to the wall. "I am a little hungry, so I will cook something. Please use the shower in the meantime."
America laughed a little - hinting that he smelled from the flight, hardly subtle - and in the rising darkness began stripping.
Japan ignored him - he was good at that - and started filling a pot with water.
America managed to get himself clean enough that Japan might be able to handle sitting down to a meal in the same room as him, or maybe even better sharing the bed. It took a while. When he got out of the shower, he fished around in his suitcase for some boxers and a t-shirt to use as pajamas, put them on - threw his towel over a rack on the porch - and waited for Japan to finally defeat whatever it was he was cooking.
It didn't take too long, maybe only five minutes. And then Japan tossed whatever it was he'd been cooking in a bowl and brought it to the low table in the corner of the room, where he'd pushed it to make room for America's futon.
"Smells good." America leaned an elbow on the table and smiled over at Japan, who looked at him in a sort of thawed-soft way and tapped the back of America's other hand with his chopsticks as gentle warning.
"It's nothing special," Japan said, "and vegetarian. I do not think you would like it."
America had to concede that. "What is it, then?"
"Just noodle soup."
America thought about that and couldn't decide if that would be tasty or not, and figured since he'd already brushed his teeth and was way too wiped to let Japan fuck him that he'd pass on the opportunity for food, too.
"Bon appetit," America said.
Japan's mouth twitched. "Very."
Title is a bilingual pun. "Mansion" (マンション) in Japanese refers not to the American meaning of the word but rather a family apartment, which by US standards would be fairly small.
Title: Mansion
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters: Japan/America
Disclaimer: not mine, no money made.
Summary: America pays a visit, and is jet lagged. Early 90's.
Not for the kink meme, no sex.
America wasn't sure where Japan was taking him, through the subways of Tokyo on the way to his house from Narita.
America fell asleep on his shoulder, woke when Japan touched his hand to indicate that they should get off.
A five-minute walk in an uncomfortable neighborhood, concrete apartments with plants growing at the cracked edges of the pavement, and they stopped at a building that was just as soulless as the pavement. Off-brown brick and small windows with bars shading them for the balconies.
"I usually stay here," Japan said, unlocking the door at the bottom and mounting the stairs up towards the apartments.
"Like instead of in the Imperial Palace?"
"Yes." Japan stopped at the fourth floor, unlocked the door, stepped inside and shed his shoes.
His apartment was two rooms - a bedroom, a kitchen - and two cubbies for the toilet and shower. Not capacious, and America had expected that because he knew his East Asian geography, but smaller than even America had anticipated.
"You're not living in the house I remember," America said. "The one with the paper walls, and the table, and the garden..." He had good memories of that house; the first time he and Japan kissed had been under the blankets next to that table. During the Korean War.
"It was necessary to sell it and move here," Japan murmured. America watched the sad set of his eyes and knew Japan hadn't wanted to move.
The window looked out on a streetlight, an empty street, a matchingly soulless apartment building on the other side. America, sweating in his jeans and white dress shirt and socked feet, stood in front of it and wondered what Japan thought of this new place, and if he ever could return to the old house again.
Japan came up beside him at the window, tucked his hands into his sleeves.
"It's cozy," America said, because he didn't know what to say otherwise.
"You are over-generous," Japan said, and America flinched a little at the bitter note in his voice. "It is cramped and ugly. Would you like something to eat?"
"No, the plane kept me pretty well-fed. I'm just ready to collapse."
Japan nodded, turned away from the window and went to a closet. There he pulled out a lump of comforter and sit it down next to the wall. "I am a little hungry, so I will cook something. Please use the shower in the meantime."
America laughed a little - hinting that he smelled from the flight, hardly subtle - and in the rising darkness began stripping.
Japan ignored him - he was good at that - and started filling a pot with water.
America managed to get himself clean enough that Japan might be able to handle sitting down to a meal in the same room as him, or maybe even better sharing the bed. It took a while. When he got out of the shower, he fished around in his suitcase for some boxers and a t-shirt to use as pajamas, put them on - threw his towel over a rack on the porch - and waited for Japan to finally defeat whatever it was he was cooking.
It didn't take too long, maybe only five minutes. And then Japan tossed whatever it was he'd been cooking in a bowl and brought it to the low table in the corner of the room, where he'd pushed it to make room for America's futon.
"Smells good." America leaned an elbow on the table and smiled over at Japan, who looked at him in a sort of thawed-soft way and tapped the back of America's other hand with his chopsticks as gentle warning.
"It's nothing special," Japan said, "and vegetarian. I do not think you would like it."
America had to concede that. "What is it, then?"
"Just noodle soup."
America thought about that and couldn't decide if that would be tasty or not, and figured since he'd already brushed his teeth and was way too wiped to let Japan fuck him that he'd pass on the opportunity for food, too.
"Bon appetit," America said.
Japan's mouth twitched. "Very."
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no subject
Date: 2009-09-17 05:08 pm (UTC)I actually heard Japan and Germany were coming out of the recession, but I don't know if thats been confirmed or not.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-17 08:55 pm (UTC)So, if this had come out from any other characters mouth, I wouldn't have thought about it. But Japan saying it... yeah.
...now I'm thinking that it would make a hilarious fanfic if some other character (preferably America, of course) told Japan to take a shower and he took it that way :D
Oh, right. Nice little fic you wrote there :D
no subject
Date: 2009-09-17 10:24 pm (UTC)Then feel free to consider this an example of America-the-Nation being clever and catching a hint but, like many Americans visiting the nation of Japan, missing the real hint.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-26 01:52 am (UTC)I also love the awkwardness between them. It feels very real.