From Nothing (Hetalia fanfic, FrUK)

Chapter 5

A few hours of silence. That was all Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's “A Study in Scarlet” provided.

“That actually was pretty good,” Francis said, looking exhausted. “I can see why you read it.”

“And I can see you're lying,” I replied, barely glancing at him as I put my kettle on the stove to boil. He looked fatigued. No one looks fatigued after completing something they enjoy. Except—er, well, no looks looks tired after reading a good book, usually.

“No, I really did like it!” he insisted. “I'm just a little tired because I'm not used to reading.”

“Uh-huh. Right.” I shuffled through my rather extensive selection of teas, deciding to do something a little different and have country peach tea. I placed a tea bag into the delicate cup and extracted a small spoon from the silverware drawer.

“Honest!” he said. “I never would've suspected the carriage-driver.” He looked at the cover. “Although I did find his description of Mormons offensive.”

“Why, are you a Mormon now?” I asked. Where was the sugar jar? Oh damn, all out. I opened a cupboard and reached for more sugar; why did it have to be on the top shelf? I'm such an idjit. “Or do you secretly have a slew of wives? Actually, don't answer that. I don't want to know.”

He touched my side gently, and I stopped to glare at him. As he smiled softly, not his usual scary one but a warm, comfortable one, he nudged me to the side. Before I could protest, he was reaching up and getting the sugar I was too short to reach. God, he's so tall...

The sugar was handed to me, and I didn't respond for a second. Warmth. Not just “happy,” though, it was the first in-depth one that filled a void inside even if I wasn't sure what it was. “This was what you wanted, right? And non, I don't have a 'slew of wives,' as you put so eloquently.”

He ran his fingers through my hair, and I smacked his hand away and didn't respond. Instead, I filled my small sugar jar and managed to put the bigger sugar container back on its shelf without the assistance of Francis. I could hear him laugh at my efforts.

“What kind of tea are you having?” he asked, then took the box which I had left helpless on the kitchen counter. “Country peach?” he read, and I must admit, his accent shaped the words beautifully.

“Yeah. You want a cup?”

“Sure.” He walked away with my book, then came back without. “I'm going to take a break from reading for a while.”

“Okay.” I leaned against the counter, watching the kettle, waiting for it to boil. He took a place very close next to me. Very close. Involuntarily, I moved away just a tiny bit—I'm not used to contact.

“So, what do you do in your spare time?” I asked to cover up the awkward silence. Awkward because he just sort of openly stared at me. Also awkward because I realized that, although I've spent my entire life with him, I didn't know what he did when we weren't fighting. Was I really that self-centered, that detached?

“Drink wine. Seduce people. Hang out with Gilbert and Antonio.” A shrug. “Not much.”

“Right.” So basically what he did not in his spare time.

“What about you? You can't possibly read all the time. Your eyes would bleed.”

I looked down to the floor and closed my eyes. “Reading takes up most of my time. But I also practice lots of witchcraft. I'm a well known wizard in some circles.”

There was a wave of mild, watered-down anger as he laughed at me. But then he said something I never expected of him or anyone, really. “Could you teach me some witchcraft?”

Warmth. Dusting and depth. “Y-you really want to?”

A smile. “Sure, why not? It can't be that bad.”

I smiled back. It felt weird, because I hadn't done it in so very long. But it also felt...natural. Like faces were meant to smile. Yes, this was happiness, joy, delight, I remembered that much now. There was something else too though. I couldn't place it. It was a lot like happiness...but not quite.