America oneshots

A bad hair day pt.2

"Francis...?"

America hadn't meant to intrude, he really hadn't; but he had seen the other running through the car park just as he was about to get out of his truck and couldn't help but worry. At first he was going to greet him and offer to walk together under his umbrella (as he had noticed that the sprinter appeared to lack one) but France had gotten inside before he could actually act upon his thoughts. After that he got the sinking feeling within the depths of his gut as he usually did when he thought something was wrong. He didn't know what, but it just didn't feel right. So like any sane and caring person, he headed inside and politely asked the receptionist where the meeting was to be held, before leaving to go track down Francis in order to find out the reason of his unknown sorrow (even if that meant forcing the truth out of him).

Alfred had reached the floor of the meeting room, and was about to hook a left before abruptly halting to a stop. His instincts were practically sneering at him, demanding that he used his common sense and took the other direction. He peered behind him, wondering why every inch of his body was so keen on going in that direction instead of the meeting roo-
Ah.
The meeting room.
How could he be so stupid?! Why on Earth would France go to the meeting if he was upset? He wasn't the type of country to be able to completely hide everything when he was upset. Honestly, he swore that he was getting dumber by the day...
Turning by the heel, he cautiously walked down the dimmed hallway, searching for any sign of the other man. His eyes lingered on the paint that covered the walls, somewhat surprised to find it in such good condition, however his pupils stopped on a sign.
'Bathroom'
It's toilet. Not bathroom.
He was about to enter when his ears caught a piece of noise. A hiccup. However that hiccup soon evolved small sniffles, which then lead to full on sobs. He sucked in a breath, it definitely sounded like the person he was looking for. Mentally preparing himself for the next few moments, he gave three gentle knocks on the door. He awaited for an answer, listening out for the probable 'please go away' however nothing was given in turn. Anxiety rumbled in his stomach as he pushed the door to.

"Francis...?"

It wasn't hard for America to see the visible flinch. Nor was it hard to see the absolute shit state France was in. The other country had immediately began to harshly wipe at his tears, trying desperately to act as if nothing had happened.

"Ah America! I hadn't realised you were there, toutes mes excuses,"

The independent country scanned the other, a frown engraving itself deeper into his usual grinning face. There were twigs and leaves settled in his knotted hair, and his clothes were drenched, hanging to pale skin; resulting in violent shaking that he hadn't appeared to notice himself just yet.

An exhausted sigh left his dry lips as Alfred finally left his frozen figure, stepping forwards towards the other.

"Ah Amérique, I'll leave now, I'm sorry for the bother."

He stumbled up to his feet with wobbly knees. His eyes seemingly stuck to the ground, as if trying to zone everything else out, while he attempted to walk away. However, before he could reach the door to pull down the handle, a gentle hand was placed on his shoulder; guiding him back into the room. Francis stared at the other in confusion, having of wanted to leave the uncomfortable atmosphere by now.
In turn, America pinched the bridge of his nose, eyebrows furrowing, and for a moment, France thought that he was in pain. However that thought was swiftly erased when the country placed his hand on the smooth counter and hoped onto the surface with ease.
The blonde gazed at the other was a dumbfounded expression scrunched up upon his tear stained face. He didn't exactly know what to do, which was the first in awhile. Does he stay and await the others explanation, or does he just walk out of the room, out of the building and go home to pretend as none of this had ever even happened? And he had to admit, the latter was sounding much more pleasing.
His eyes wondered to the door, and back to an expectant face.

"Well then?"
"Pardon?"
"Are you going to let me fix your hair or not?"

Puzzles began forming in his mind, the pieces unable to fit together. Was this a prank? How was he going to fix his hair? No offence to America of course, however he didn't seem the type of person to be able to fix the mess currently lazing on the top of his scalp. And yet that mindset changed once again when he opened his suitcase and pulled out a small obsidian bag. He pulled the zip back and began to take out the residents within it. Soon, a hair brush, detangle spray, and a few other pieces of equipment even Francis couldn't label were scattered between the sinks, prepared to be used for...
well for whatever America was planning on doing with them.
The dirt blonde seemed to at last take notice of his baffled expression and finally delivered an explanation.

"China's and a few of the girl's hair sometimes gets knotted in the rain, so I started bringing some of my own stuff and detangled their hair for them. Oh and don't worry, I'm not gonna cut all of your hair out or something if that's what you're worried about."

I small snicker evaded his lips from the last bit of the statement, and again, Francis didn't know whether to feel somewhat grateful or terrified.

"Sooooooo...."

His head snapped up, eyes glued to the other for what felt like the hundredth time that day. His eyes lingered down to Alfred's hands, which were giving a small gesture to the counter he was rested on. A stressed sigh escaped from him, and he looked back up to the hopeful look on the blue eyed boy.

"Gah fine! But I swear Amérique, if you mess up my hair than I will never help you with anything again."

So he hopped up onto the marble and crossed his legs into a more comfortable position as the blonde threw another radiant grin his way. Although despite the welcoming smile, Francis couldn't help but feel the need to bawl his eyes out again as he prepared for Alfred to destroy his once beautiful hair even more so.

But he didn't. He didn't at all.
He sat behind him for what appeared to be decades, sectioning his hair off and gently detangling each and every strand of gold; softly apologising when he accidentally tugged a tad to hard. He picked out twigs and leaves along the way, simply putting them to the side as he continued on with the job. He started small conversations when he felt as if the atmosphere was getting to tense, however that was a rarity as it remained calming and tranquil. He had used the warm water from the sink to persuade the small clumps of mud out of his curls. In the end, France had to admit that he had never had such a peaceful and relaxing time before, even with the all the hairstylists that he had hired before.
It was... nice. Although a small voice interrupted his trail of thoughts.

"How about we ditch the meeting today? They've probably already started by now anyway. I saw this really cool cafe down the road too! We could sneak off and grab some warm hot chocolate and cake if you want."

A small smile graced his pink lips.

"That sounds quite lovely Amérique..."

And it was.

Sorry that it's so rushed and took me forever to update- I'm currently sick :/
Some fluff between France and America for all of you, I hope it was okay :]
Word Count: 1354