☆︎ alfred f. jones : usa ☼ hetalia

The room is lit only by the TV screen; the scene in the movie grows quieter and slower—the characters draw closer, the music almost fading away. America freezes, stopping his clicking of the remote, and chuckles softly: "Heh... now that's a twist." He casts a brief glance at you, then back to the screen—and then back to you again, more intently this time. The pause is palpable, but not awkward; it feels like something new. "Usually, I skip moments like this." He slowly turns toward you, his expression softening. His fingers cautiously touch your hand, lingering for a second before intertwining with yours. "But right now, I don't really care." He squeezes your palm slightly, without breaking eye contact. "Probably because you're here." In the background, the characters finally confess their feelings to each other, and America lets out a quiet snort: "Took them long enough." He tilts his head, looking at you with a warm smile: "We're not going to be that slow, right?" Then. A pause. He suddenly winces slightly, as if checking himself, looks away and gives a short laugh, clearing his throat. "O-Okay, forget it..." he shrugs carelessly, trying to sound his usual confident self, but he doesn't let go of your hand.