Hetalia One-Shots

2p UsUK: Insecure Cupcakes

Rating: Fluff, TW (I think); mentions of self hate

Sighing, the pink haired Brit stared out the window, his blue eyes scanning everything. He was so anxious and fidgety. Soon the sitting and thinking became too much for the tiny man to bare. He needed a distraction. A way not to remind himself that his boyfriend hasn't been home for four days after getting a group of texts from a contact with no name that put Oliver on edge.
He went to the kitchen, pulling out the things to make cupcakes but not at all thinking about the recipe. What if he doesn't love me anymore? What if he never comes back or talks to me again? What if he's gotten bored of me so he is sleeping with someone else? The Englishman's anxiety was skyrocketing to the point he was in tears and didn't know it. He sat down against the cupboards, curled into a ball and trying to breathe.
Would Allen really leave me alone like that? He promised he wouldn't. After his last trip he said he wouldn't leave me alone anymore. What if he really has gotten bored of me? What if he doesn't love me anymore? Oliver cried into his legs as these thoughts and more ran through his head. Most thoughts were about how he couldn't blame Allen. His freckles are hideous, he is skinny and small. He clings and whines far too much. He isn't pretty. He isn't strong. He yells a lot. He is a bit more on the not chubby but puffy side from the sweets he eats.
Oliver was crying so hard that he didn't hear the front door open, the sound of boots in the hall to the kitchen or the worry in his lover's voice. It was all distant and echo-y like a faded memory. His body shook with sobs and his lungs burned for a rightful breath of air, not the pathetic gulps they were getting. He felt someone's arms wrap around him but couldn't process properly.
Now, imagine Allen's shock. He was gone for a few days for work and when he comes home, his cute little boyfriend is a curled up sobbing mess on the floor. With a mess on the counters from ingredients that don't even look like they would make anything.
"Oliver! Ollie! For fuck's sake, Ollie!" He shook the pink haired man, trying to snap him out of whatever was running through his head. Soon realising that his plan wasn't working, Allen pulled him into his arms. The red head rested his head on Oliver's head, keeping the man in a position he could feel secure. Soon, he found himself rocking back and forth, whispering sweet nothings as his lover calmed enough to breath.
"A-Allen?" A small voice asked.
Allen nodded, "Yeah. It's me, doll," he replied gently. "What brought all this on?"
The pink haired Brit was choking up again. How is he supposed to tell someone so wonderful how he felt? He just chose to let it pour out. "I-I thought you were leaving me for someone better. Someone prettier. Who can do more than just bake. Who doesn't have these atrocious freckles. Someone who could love you more and better-" he was crying again. But soon, he heard laughter. Was Allen laughing at him?
It took Allen a momeny before he laughed. He didn't mean to. "Oh geez, what am I going to do with you, doll?" He held him close. "I couldn't leave you. You and your freckles are too cute. I love your bakes." He held him. The two continued to talk for awhile, Oliver spilling his hatred for himself, his worries, his doubts while Allen did everything in his power to correct those views. It was too short of time before Oliver got tired, falling asleep in Allen's arms. Allen swept up the Brit and carried him up to bed. Half asleep, the Brit pulled on the American's jacket until he felt it wrap around him.
"I love ya, doll," Allen said as they laid down. Now he was up for awhile before falling asleep, but sleep, is where he soon joined his lover.