EngCan

America England and Canada fighting nowadays

America: Shut up! One Direction was your fault!

England: They’re better than Justin Bieber.

America: True.

Canada: Two words. “Miley. Cyrus.”

England: Nicki Minaj.

Canada: NOW BACK TO THIS BITCH-

England: -WHO HAD THE NERVE TO COMMENT ON OUR MUSIC ARTISTS.

Canada and England: AMERICA, WHAT’S GOOD???!

America: ….wow…..cut me deep.

America: I just came out to have a good time and I am feeling so attacked right now.

Canada: *starts twerking*

England: *iggy azalea noises*

America: *cri*

Warmth

“It’s cold.”

Matthew didn’t speak for a moment, staring up at the twinkling sky of stars from the school roof. He tried counting them, but always lost count around one hundred as someone always bothered him, like now. For the longest time he’d been silent, but now, not so much.

“Then go home,” Matthew said firmly, not tearing his gaze from the sky. “And it is not, it’s relatively warm, actually.”   

“Right, I forgot you were from the bloody artic,” Arthur snapped back, turning opposite ways and leaning on the chain link fence wrapped around the rooftop for safety reasons.

Matthew scowled. “I’m not from the artic, I’m from Canada. I’d appreciate it if you got it right. After all, saying that to me is like me saying to you that you’re from Wales.”

“Wales and England are two different places, thank you,” Arthur’s gaze narrowed, and he didn’t even have to be looking at him to realize this.

“So are Canada and the artic.”

Arthur scoffed, but didn’t say another word for the given time. The silence fell over them again, and Matthew stole a glance at his rather begrudged “friend” of sorts.

Arthur looked a lot different in the moonlight, he realized. His pale features were illuminated brightly, almost the color of snow. His emerald eyes were vibrant, shimmering like the stars overhead. Tangled, golden locks looked soft and particularly shiny, and his expression, surprisingly, seemed calm, and almost content despite their argument moments ago.

To be honest, Matthew had never actually gotten a good look at Arthur. They were always bickering, fighting, and even though he’d pick up on certain things like how his eyes seemed to miraculously darken when he was severely irritated, or how his long, slender fingers would clench into a fist, or how he always narrowed his gaze slightly, but yet he’d never looked at him for Arthur. Now that he had the chance to, he realized he was, well, rather dashing.

Matthew let out a dry laugh as the thought crossed his mind. He leaned his head onto the cold links of the fence, hearing it jingle a bit under the sudden movement. He closed his eyes, trying to banish the thought, but was unable to fully erase it from his mind.

Unknown to him at the moment, Arthur glanced him over as well. To Arthur, Matthew had always had this beautiful sort of glow, no matter what lighting. His fair skin looking white in the moonlight, his blond hair like faded sunshine. Arthur was an observer, always noticing small details for what they were, and what they were, were parts of Matthew. Arthur never looked at anyone without looking at them for them, unlike Matthew.

Arthur shivered again, shifting in his step a bit as he pulled his thin jacket tighter around him. He swore under his breath, knowing it was far too cold to be outside in this sort of weather, at least for him. He gazed at Matthew almost bitterly for being resistant to the cold, until Matthew turned suddenly and met his eyes.

For a moment, the gaze was held firmly, neither one choosing to look away. It was almost like a battle, a challenge, or maybe they were reading something in the other’s look. Either way, finally, Matthew sighed, and tugged off his own jacket, and draped it around the Brit’s shoulders.

Arthur stared at him, slightly shocked, but brought his hands up to grip it tightly.

“Don’t ruin it,” he said simply, turning his attention to the stars again. “I really like that jacket.”

Arthur felt himself at a loss for words, still gripping the jacket, and blatantly curious for his actions.

“I won’t…” he finally said coolly, and then added, nearly silent, “Thank you.”

Matthew hummed in response, turning now to lean on the fence. Slowly, Arthur shifted again and put the jacket on, wrapping it tightly around himself as he was hit with the faint but distinct smell of syrup, ice, and what may have been coffee.

His gaze wandered to him again, lingering as a small smile traced his lips, as the warmth enveloped him in his body, and for once, in his heart.