A Hitman's Miss

Chapter Five

or, The Impossibility of Return to Status Quo

America was draped across his armchair, almost falling off as he loosely flipped through a magazine. The printed eyes of the scantily-clad women bore into his own exposed ones. He was struggling to find one that he liked, well, one that he liked enough to retreat into his room with.

He finally peeked over the edge at Canada and Mexico, a stark contrast to the pin-ups. They leaned on one another's shoulders as they watched a talk show on television. Their fingers were loosely intertwined, and they looked as content as any two people in the world, just happy to be in each other's presence.

If they were out in public, America would have been on the opposite side of the room, telling them to take their debauchery else-where, to not infect the good Christian men and women who lived normal lives and had normal families.

But in private, it wouldn't mean a thing. There was no one here to join in the jeering. There was no one else to convince. So, he ignored them and went back to staring at the printed girls with a furrowed brow.

"Hey, Meri, are you upset?" Canada leaned away from Mexico just enough to face his brother.

"I'm fine," America mumbled.

"He's just mad 'cause we're showing our love, Maple," Mexico said snidely, before giving Canada a peck on the cheek.

America let his face fall onto his hands. The fact that he could even touch his eyes was a stinging reminder. "It's not your disease for once."

Canada's eyes softened, and he frowned. Such an expression on a face like his was enough to make a painter or poet weep. "Is it about your sunglasses? We can get you a new pair! Let's go now, eh?" He rose, his feet already pointed at the door, but America waved him back onto the love seat.

"I appreciate that, but new shades wouldn't be the same, Cans. I'll find my old pair later." He gave Canada a reassuring and appreciative smile. As much as he could come to expect Canada's serving attitude, he was always thankful for it.

Canada sighed and fell back onto the couch. "You're stubborn." Silence drifted back into the room, with only the hum of the television to challenge its reign.

America still found no stirring of lust from the magazine, and he drummed his heel against the floor in his dull frustration.

Suddenly, Mexico jumped up, slapping his forehead. "It's happy hour! We forgot! Maple, let's go!" Canada got up, laughing at Mexico's panic and/or enthusiasm as he had to run across the room to catch up. Mexico was already shrugging on his coat and partly out the door.

Canada paused, turned back to look at his brother. "You wanna come? It'll be good for you to get out."

America sighed.

"It will be good for you. Don't give me that!"

Then, he heaved his ass out of his chair. "Fine. Just so you stop worryin' 'bout me, Cans."

His brother grinned, grabbing America and pulling him outside. "Mex, Meri's coming with us!" he called down to Mexico, who was already down the first flight of steps.

Mexico paused and looked back up at them questionably. "Does he know about Lavender?"

"Oh, hush," Canada said, waving off the question.

America was completely lost. "What?"

"It's not important, don't worry." Canada just grinned and kept walking, and America shrugged it off. He trusted his brother. Cans was one of the only people he let his guard down on. Canada wasn't a threat. Besides, he was probably too fucked up in the head by his lustful mental illness to even read into America's eyes, and even if he could, America would still trust his brother. Mexico fell under the same diagnosis, so America was safe from his gaze as well, at least while Canada was around to distract him.