Tennessee Whiskey

Chapter 1: Arc 1 - Passions

Remind me why you called a meeting at four-in-the-morning…?" A thick Chinese accent contends, followed by a soft yawn shielded by his palm. Although it was so early in the morning, the sun still expecting to rise within hours, the meeting differed none than any other one they'd propose, "It's far too early to deal with all of this."

"I couldn't sleep 'cuz of all the shit goin' on, and it was bothering me so I wanted to hurry up n' get it off my chest!" The American of the diverse group of nations flashes a wide toothy-grin, bags under his eyes as he watches the British and French men squabble at each other.

The Russian takes his normal role in the meeting, polishing his pick-ax as he obliviously crushes the whimpering Canadian below him upon the chair he was sitting on. Wait – is there anything really there … ?

A sigh escapes Yao's pale lips; too weary to put up a fight. He groggily makes his way to the far-corner of the table, reclusing himself from the other arguing younger nations. Since he is already awake, he places his backpack upon his lap and scrounged through it, searching for his file folder in order to complete some paperwork. He takes a sip of coffee before starting, taking the ear-muffs out of his pocket and inserting them into their assigned lubes, and proceeds with his assignments.

As time goes by, he must've gotten too involved with his paperwork, for when he completes and takes his ear-muffs out, the room looks as if it were a ghost town. Yao suddenly fixates his gaze towards the direction of a loud snort, Alfred sitting across from him; sound asleep. His head is burrowed into his arms, drool leaking from the corner of his grinning lips and trickles down his chin. Yao lets out another sigh and massages his temples, placing his folder back into his sack.

He suddenly looks back at Alfred. For some reason, he has the urge to awake him, but another side of him wants to … watch him? Yao folds his hands, letting his chin recline upon them. His eyes remain fixated on a slumbering Alfred, his back rising and falling as he snores silently, Yao biting his bottom lip to stifle a small grin. He couldn't help it; he really did look adorable, and he was all for aesthetically-pleasing things. But this time … why was it Alfred?

He proceeds to observe the American's face. It radiates with charisma and determination, which is a given – it's what his nation stands for, after all. From the plastered grin on his face to the slight freckles scattering his body, it was enough to make Yao want to cuddle him all the more. He stares at the transparent lenses on his glasses for a moment, pondering if he should remove them. He breathes a sigh through his nose and cautiously leans over the table barricading them, gently removing the accessory, before folding them neatly and placing them to his right.

Alfred stirs a bit at this gesture, but remains in a deep sleep. Yao shakes his head,
"What am I going to do with you?"

As he prepares to leave and organize his belongings, another quite loud snort comes out of Alfred, causing Yao to jump slightly and take him out of his trance. The American mumbles incoherent words for a second, clenching his fists, causing his knuckles to whiten. Yao observes this, jumping a bit more once growls escape his mouth.
"Le'm go … y'asshole …" He begins to pound the desk vigourosly, "… y'r g'na hurt 'em…! Yao'z g'na GET HURT! LET HIM GO!"

A nightmare.

Yao is stunned by his words, but takes action immediately. Since the table separating them is too far to run around, he jumps across instead, almost samurai-like. He kneels down beside the screaming Alfred and massages his knee, trying to shush him and draw him out of his nightmare.