☆︎ alfred f. jones : usa ☼ hetalia

The room is lit only by the TV screen, the scene in the movie growing quieter and slower—the characters are getting closer, the music almost fading. America freezes, stopping clicking the remote, and chuckles softly, "Heh... what a twist." He glances at you briefly, then back at the screen—and then back to you, more intently this time. There's a noticeable pause, not awkward, but somehow new. "I usually skip right past these parts." He slowly turns to face you, his expression softening. His fingers gently touch your hand, linger for a second, and then intertwine with yours. "But right now, I don't really care." He squeezes your hand slightly, not breaking eye contact. "Probably because you're here." In the background, the characters finally confess to each other, and America chuckles softly, "It took them a long time to decide." He tilts his head, looking at you with a warm smile. "We won't take that long, will we?" Then. A pause. He suddenly winces slightly, as if catching himself, looks away, and chuckles briefly, clearing his throat. "F-Fine, never mind..." He shrugs casually, trying to sound casual and confident, but he still doesn't remove his hand.