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everythingismagicTitle: Hero Frequency [FF.NET Chapter Two] [Writing Journal Chapter One]
Pairing: AmericaxEngland
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance/Humor/Drama/Alternate Universe
Word Count: 3,993
Summary: America’s sure that his band has all it needs to be the winners of his high school’s Battle of the Bands competition. Well, almost everything. That is, if only he could convince England to loosen up a bit from his student council position and play guitar for them; then perhaps not only would their band be back on track, but so would be his relationship with England. [USxUK- Gakuen AU]
Author's Note: Chapter two! Thank you SO much for the amazing feedback on part one. This is for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dawn_crescendo at the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
usxuk Secret Santa. The prompt was essentially 'battle of the bands, Hetalia style.' There were a lot more specifics to the prompt, but to list the whole prompt would be spoilery. ;)
America held the microphone tight in his hands, the cool metal of the handle having grown warm with contact and sweat as they practiced. He found that his grin was wider than it even usually was, and he was enjoying this practice far more than he generally enjoyed singing (which was a lot, because he really loved doing it). It must have been the way they all gelled together. Japan and Canada had known the songs in advance, and Belarus was skilled enough to pick it up quickly. Already, America thought they sounded pretty damn good!
And then there was England, who took to the songs America had chosen like the natural that he was. He’d discarded his blazer near the beginning of practice, and it was easy to see why he needed to. When England had played for America back during their freshman year, he’d been sitting in a chair, holding the guitar in his lap, and playing for a private audience. His expression would be calm and the songs he played mellow.
This England was completely different.
It was like seeing a whole new side of him. His jacket had been discarded because within mere minutes, England had grown too sweaty and hot to wear it. He moved with the guitar, and there was fervor to the way his body shifted in tune with the rise and the fall of the music he was playing and it was… intense. And America found his eyes straying over to England’s fingers, as they splayed across the strings and played with such ease in a manner that somehow bequeathed both gentleness and harshness.
He’d never really noticed England’s fingers before, because really… why the hell would he pay attention to England’s fingers? But they were slender but strong and his knuckles were slightly too knobby for them, but America kind of thought it worked, as opposed to looking awkward.
America turned away with a flush, once he fully registered that he was staring at England’s fingers, but he found himself doing it several more times throughout the practice.
And at England’s face as well, which scrunched up in concentration at points, his large eyebrows furrowing. Sometimes he’d smirk, usually when he’d finished an impressive riff or at the end of a song. Every once in awhile, he’d throw his head back slightly, his sandy blonde hair becoming more and more tousled as the practice went on. And always, his cheeks were flushed high, and he looked so like he was in his element, that America found himself caught up in his enthusiasm, and he sang a little harder and a little better than he had been before.
When practice was over, every single one of them was panting and breathing heavily, and America congratulated them all, reassuring them that this really was the best band ever. A quirk of a smile appeared on even Belarus’s face at this.
Then there was England, who was unhooking his guitar from the amp. America hopped over to him and tapped him on the shoulder, causing the other boy to jump, startled at the sudden contact.
“What is it America?” His normal countenance was firmly in place now, all prim and proper and irritated, as if the England America had seen minutes before was a figment of his imagination. America sighed and shook his head, biting his lip.
“I uh--- just want to say.” He shifted, scuffling his feet back and forth and staring at the ground. Scratching the back of his neck, he shook his head. “Ah, never mind. Just… it’s cool that you decided to join, okay?”
You were amazing. I knew you could play the guitar, but not like that. It’s so, so awesome that you joined my band.
England blinked, his cheeks pinking. “It’s--- not a problem. I just know beating France will be worth the trouble.”
America nodded, gesturing in front of him. “Y-yeah, of course, and for me, it’s just… we need a guitarist, so you’ll work, you know.”
“Yes…”
“Practice again on Thursday, England!” America proclaimed.
England rolled his eyes. “Idiot. I know. I’m the one who made the schedules.” He reached over to grab his blazer, slipping it back on.
“You’ll be there then?”
“Of course.” England nodded and slung his guitar over his shoulder, leaving America behind in the room with a backward glance.
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Practice continued in much the same way for the next week, the band’s enthusiasm growing with each day. Canada, Japan, and America would sit together every afternoon in the cafeteria, discussing the competition with genuine excitement. Even Belarus usually joined them, sitting next to America and shooting backwards glances at Russia as if to make sure he was watching her hanging out with his least favorite person in the school.
England didn’t eat with them, and a part of America sort of kind of wished he could, but his lunch was during another period.
And he and England actually still weren’t talking much. America spoke to the entire band before and during practices, and England would often provide input. After practices, clipped and short conversations between them would ensue. But nothing… big. He frowned and sighed at this, a cafeteria French fry half hanging out of his mouth.
Belarus was resting her hand on America’s forearm, and he barely registered her presence. She’d grown increasingly more intimate as the days had passed, in hopes that Russia would finally confront her.
“Are you all right, America?” Japan asked, taking a sip from his bottle of tea.
America darted up, eyes wide, as he was snapped out of his reverie. “Huh? Oh yeah, I’m cool.”
Canada poked at his slice of pizza. “You know, eh… have we actually decided what song we’re performing in the first round?”
America grinned. “Yeah well, we’ve been practicing a few, you know? I’m kind of leaning toward one but…”
“What is it, America?” Japan queried.
“I’d need backup vocals in one part,” he explained, running a hand through his hair as he did so.
“Oh for Christ’s sake, ask ENGLAND, eh.”
He gestured wildly with his arms, knocking Belarus away in the process. “C’mon Canada, are you serious? It’s enough that he’s agreed to do what he did. England will probably go ballistic if I ask him for anything else…”
Japan leveled him a calm but serious stare. “You did mention that he was a good singer at one point, and if he sings anything like he plays the guitar, I imagine he is excellent.”
America shifted in his chair, twitching a bit as Belarus resumed holding his forearm. “I’ll think about it. Song could still be awesome without backup vocals though…” He paused, pointing out in front of himself with a fry as he continued. “Anyway, am I the only one totally weirded out by England?”
Canada made a slurping sound with his straw, and Japan was silent. “Really! He’s so fucking uptight, but when we start to practice he just… I don’t know.” He flushed as he recalled England’s movements on the guitar, his expressions as he played, the way in which he--- “It’s like he becomes a totally different guy.”
Japan rested his hand under his chin. “It’s his hobby, America. People do have different sides to them.”
“But---“
“And if you’ll excuse me for saying this, I am wondering if perhaps he’s trying to catch your attention?”
America barked out a short laugh. “Seriously, Japan?” He attempted to quell his subconscious, which was trying to finish the rest of that statement with he already has.
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America fisted his hands at his side, clenching his eyes shut and breathing deeply. He shouldn’t have been nervous about something so stupid. Asking England to sing backup in one part of the song? It was no biggie, but England’s intense reaction the last time he’d asked him a favor rose in his mind.
And he just didn’t want to risk England’s anger again, didn’t want to risk him leaving the band.
Okay! So if England said no, he’d just leave it at that. He wouldn’t press, and he’d tell him it was cool with him that he didn’t want to do it.
England was packing up his guitar, and although he had already reverted back to his standard stodgy old self, America saw something in his expression remaining; something rebellious, a spark of the side of him that emerged when he played his guitar. This was not the first time America had noticed this. He had in fact, for the last few days. And America imagined what it would be like if that edge of something kept taking longer and longer to vanish after each practice. Maybe it would result in England lightening up a bit, becoming more like the person America had been friends with before. Oh sure, England had always been uptight. But he’d gotten worse, so much worse… really. That was probably an idle hope though, America concluded, as he approached England and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Hmm, America,” England responded, standing up straight and turning to look at the taller boy.
America smiled, a bit sheepishly, and rubbed the back of his head. Okay seriously. It had been almost a week since he’d talked to Canada and Japan about asking England to do this. He was being lame, not awesome. This needed to be remedied, and fast. “I have a favor to ask, England.”
England stiffened. Possibly a bad word choice. Oops.
“What is it?”
America cringed inwardly. “I think I’ve decided on our song for the first round!”
England cocked an eyebrow. “Oh really? Because we have been practicing several, and I was wondering when you were going to actually choose one.”
He forced a smile. “Yeah! I really like how we do A Praise Chorus. I think we rock it pretty hard. Sounds really awesome…”
The other student nodded. “Yes, it does sound quite decent.” He blinked. “That’s settled then. What’s this favor?”
America laughed shortly, nervously rubbing his forearm as he did so. “Well it’s just that the song has one part with backup vocals, and… I know you’re playing the guitar and everything and that’s a lot of work but…”
“I can do it,” England interrupted. “Just the crimson and clover bit, right?”
“Y-yeah that’s it!”
“All right, that’s not a problem.” America deflated in relief. Just… that easy. He just had to ask him, and England agreed without a second thought? He felt a bit, what was the word England would use? Daft, that’s it.
“Great! That’s great!” America proclaimed, beaming with enthusiasm.
“You should know though that---“
“Yeah, yeah, it’s just to beat France. I know.”America waved his words away. “Anyway, do you wanna grab a bite to eat?” The words were out of his mouth before he even registered the thought, and his eyes widened. Did I actually just ask…
His cheeks flushed red, but England’s glowed even brighter. “Y-you’re asking me out to eat?” He clarified, his voice quiet.
America bit his lip, staring at his sneakers as if they were deeply fascinating. “Well you’re probably busy, and I have homework so--- “
“All right.”
“Wha---“
“I don’t see why not,” England continued. “I’m a tad famished, honestly.”
America’s grin widened, and he practically bounced over to retrieve his backpack. “Awesome!”
England coughed, turning away to hide a blush as he did so. “R-right. Well I need to take my guitar back to the dorm, so perhaps we could meet up?”
America shrugged. “I’ll just walk back with you. S’no problem.”
“Fine enough then,” he replied, his green eyes growing large in surprise.
“Great!” And the two departed the room together, England with his guitar slung over his shoulder and America with his backpack over his.
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“And then France, moron that he is, says ‘I thought we were celebrating freedom of expression.’” England’s eyes crinkled at the corners in mirth, stifling laughter.
America grinned. “So let me get this straight. He comes to the student council meeting, takes off his clothes because you told him it was ‘freedom of expression day,’ and you…”
“We lock him out of the office, and he’s stuck without them. Which would have been dandy for him, because as if he cares, the bloody pervert… but the principal walked right by and well…”
America busted out laughing. “Oh man, oh man…”
“He was unfortunately, not kicked out of student council. He managed to fashion a decent enough excuse.” He sighed at this. “But he wasn’t allowed at meetings for two weeks, and he nearly shrivels up and dies anytime he sees the principal now.”
America leaned back in his booth, taking a bite out of his burger and smiling softly to himself. This was the third day of this. England had been coming to grab a bite to eat with him after every practice since the first time he’d asked, and it was… really sort of cool.
The first night had been awkward, and the conversation had been stilted and forced. But by the end of their meal, they’d loosened up a bit. And the next practice, America had the wonderful idea of asking him again, because why not? He was hungry, and who liked going out to eat by themselves?
And as it went on, they grew more at ease with each other, and their discussions grew more natural, and on dinner three (always fast food, because it was the awesomest), they were laughing together and--- his heart beat a little faster. Dinner three. It had been six days since he’d first asked England to join him to eat.
“Concert is tomorrow. You ready?” America took a gulp from his Coca-Cola.
England shrugged. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.”
America grinned. “I really think we’re gonna nail this England. Hero Frequency sounds so amazing…”
He chortled. “I admit. You’re a bit more competent than I’d anticipated. Just as long as we’re good enough to beat France…”
The other boy tossed a fry up in the air and caught it. “Beat France? We’re gonna win this whole damn thing!”
England finished swallowing a chicken nugget. “Prussia’s band isn’t the only one. I’ve heard here and there that some of the others are quite talented. Finland’s band in particular…”
“Oh, Northern Cross?”
“Yes, that’s them. They’ve got an interesting set of players…”
“Hmm?” America leaned forward curiously.
England held up a finger, as if counting. “Finland is the lead vocalist, also doing some guitar, with Sweden as lead guitarist and Denmark on drums. Iceland is in charge of keyboard…”
“Who is their bassist, Norway?”
He shook his head. “Norway is their violinist.”
“Huh?”
England shrugged. “They’re going for a kind of metal with a splash of classical sound. That’s what I’ve heard, at least.”
America tapped his chin. “Hm. Well what else is there?”
He took a sip of his sweet tea (which America remembered, he’d complained about at first, but he suspected that England secretly loved it). “Well there’s Seychelles, Zimbabwe, Kenya, and Cameroon. They’ve got a pop thing going on, mostly vocals and dancing. Korea managed to drag China, Taiwan, and Hong Kong into something. I have no idea what they’re up to. With Korea, there’s really no guessing…”
America chuckled at this. “Yeah, that’s true.”
“Lithuania is a good friend of yours, so I’m sure you know about Poland’s band…”
“Drastic Fabulous?” America snorted. “Yeah, Poland got Lithuania, Estonia, and Latvia in on it. I think Poland’s the only one that’s really into it…”
“Not surprising.” England leaned back in the booth, glancing outside. America followed his gaze. The sun was setting, painting rich purples and oranges across the sky. “Looks lovely…”
“Mhmm…” America adjusted his glasses. “Hey, who is in Prussia’s band anyway?”
England started. “Oh, yes. At first it was just France, Prussia, and Spain, but the tossers managed to convince Austria and Hungary to join at the last minute…”
“Eh, no big deal.”
“Git. Austria is a trained classical pianist,” England retorted, his expression sour. “He’s certainly a big deal.”
America smiled, genuine and aimed directly at England. “Hey, don’t worry about it. We’ve practiced a lot, plus we’re awesome as is.”
England’s eyebrows raised at this, and his cheeks flushed. “We’re awesome?”
At this, America’s face bloomed red, and he motioned wildly in front of him. “I meant well--- Hero Frequency, the band. I mean, I’m the lead!”
He rolled his eyes, but barely concealed a smile. “You’re so daft.”
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America paced back and forth, practically bouncing on his feet between steps. They were backstage in the school’s theatre, and it was the day of the first round. We’re going to be awesome, we’re going to be awesome, he told himself as a mantra. Japan was sitting calmly behind him, snacking on a bento box he’d brought along. Canada was doing the same, and Belarus was picking at hers. Speaking of…
He sat down next to them. Japan had brought bento boxes for the entire band, and they were sort of um… cute. Japan really liked cute things, but the fact that he’d organized the food in their respective bento boxes to look like their instruments of choice, was… really kind of funny. He picked at his microphone made of food, nestled in the middle of a bed of white rice.
“England’s gonna be cutting is close getting here…” America spoke in between bites. “He called me.”
“You’ve told us this three times, eh,” Canada replied as he bit into a drumstick made of cooked vegetables.
Japan smiled, munching on his keyboard. “Indeed.”
“You guys all look ready. We’re on fifth by the way, after Northern Cross.”
Canada nodded. “And Glorious Awesome is after us, right?”
America confirmed this with a shake of his head. “And Russia is definitely in the audience, I saw him.” He glanced to Belarus.
Belarus was decked out in a pretty damn amazing dress, black with red ruffles and a corset. There were belts hanging from the corset, in accordance to her tall black boots that bore several straps and buckles. She sucked on the top of her vegetable guitar and smiled. “I’m ready then.”
Japan was wearing a pressed black suit with a bright pink dress shirt, and Canada, in contrast, a far more casual favorite old hockey jersey and jeans. America had told everyone to wear what they deemed appropriate.
He’d spent days trying to find the perfect t-shirt to wear under his black jacket and plaid hoodie. It had to say hero on it! They were Hero Frequency, and he was the lead, which meant he was the hero of course. It said, Who is Your Hero, which he figured could be some kind of cool rallying cry when they came out to accept after they won the competition.
Speaking of, within minutes, the competition was beginning. Seychelles and the Rainbows were up first, and he thought they were solid, but he was barely listening. England still wasn’t there, and he knew he said he was going to be getting there at the last minute, but as the first band led into Korea and the Battery Powered Wonder, band number two, he began to fret.
England should be here by now… What if he’d decided at the last minute to back out? He had always been shy about performing publicly, and America didn’t know if he’d ever even played in front of a large audience before. They might be able to pull this thing off without someone else, but England was essential.
“I’m sure he’ll be here,” Japan comforted, noticing America’s discomfort.
He nodded. “Y-yeah…”
Korea and the Battery Powered Wonder took their leave off the stage, and Drastic Fabulous went out there to queue up.
Only two more songs, and still no England…
Maybe France participating wasn’t enough to get him to do it in the end. Maybe all the time we’ve spent together was… just… He cut his thoughts off. Maybe he just can’t handle Hero Frequency’s awesome!
“Are you ready to get fabulous?” Poland shouted from onstage, although America still wasn’t really listening. The crowd erupted into applause, and Poland yelled “THINK PINK!” as Latvia kicked off the song with a short drum solo.
He wanted to tune in, because Lithuania was one of his best friends, but America didn’t register the entirety of the song. And by the time Poland, Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia stepped backstage, America was panicking.
America felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up. “Lithuania?”
The other boy smiled. “Good luck, America. Truthfully, I don’t expect to make it past this round…”
“What are you talking about?” America grinned. “You were awesome,” he lied, because he hadn’t even heard them, really.
Lithuania flushed a bit. “Thank you, America.” He leaned down, whispering, “Poland just really wanted to do this…”
America had kind of figured that out on his own. It honestly did sound like one of Poland’s infamous whims.
“Ah yeah, makes sense,” he replied. “Hey I’ve got to---“
“I apologize for being late,” a very British voice interrupted him.
“England?” He exhaled in relief, his nerves ebbing, as he darted his eyes from Lithuania to the backstage door.
Immediately though, his eyes widened, and his cheeks bloomed bright crimson.
England was---
What the hell.
England had his precious guitar slung over his front, as usual. But instead of wearing a well pressed suit, as America had anticipated, he was wearing….
A leather jacket, a relieved green t-shirt, a red kerchief around his neck and…
Tight leather pants.
Tight black leather pants, which fit to the curve of his legs and ended only to reveal a pair of shiny red skate shoes.
It was like America had fallen into some weird twilight zone. First, England was totally hardcore when he played the guitar, rocking out with more vigor than any of his other band members. Then, he shows up at the concert dressed in the least stodgy thing America could possibly imagine.
America’s mouth was as dry as the Sahara desert as he attempted to formulate words. The ones that came to mind, in between gaping like a fish, were something like ‘wow,’ ‘what the hell,’ ‘awesome,’ and most bewilderingly ‘hot.’
Yeah, he didn’t know what that one was. “England, what are you wearing?” was what he finally managed, although he was aware of the fact that it came out in almost a rasp.
England flushed. “Clothes, you git.” He’d entered the room fully, and was standing just a few feet away from America, who had yet to tear his eyes away from him. “You told us to wear what we’d like to.”
America nodded. “Y-yeah but…”
England glanced down, and his shoulders slumped slightly. It looked off; clothing that required such confidence to wear, in contrast to his actions, which evoked embarrassment and anxiety. England was so contradictory. “I can change, if it’s a problem. I brought something else…”
America gestured wildly. “N-no, it’s fine! Just… did you buy that?”
England leveled him a look, standing up straighter. “Idiot, do you think I was going to spend money for this thing? I already owned this.”
America kind of felt like maybe his brain had shattered into a hundred pieces, or perhaps turned into goo and dripped out of the side of his ear. It was blank, filled only with the image of England in leather pants and… more England in leather pants, to be honest. Just a lot of… tight black pants and a Union Jack emblazoned guitar, and imagining him holding it over those pants and playing and his fingers and---
A loud voice interrupted his musings, thank god.
“Ladies and Gentleman,” came Finland’s voice, and it was brazen and bold, nothing like the sweet-mannered voice he usually spoke in, “are you ready to Hard Rock Hallelujah?”
America kind of thought, that he was ready to do just that.
Pairing: AmericaxEngland
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance/Humor/Drama/Alternate Universe
Word Count: 3,993
Summary: America’s sure that his band has all it needs to be the winners of his high school’s Battle of the Bands competition. Well, almost everything. That is, if only he could convince England to loosen up a bit from his student council position and play guitar for them; then perhaps not only would their band be back on track, but so would be his relationship with England. [USxUK- Gakuen AU]
Author's Note: Chapter two! Thank you SO much for the amazing feedback on part one. This is for
dawn_crescendo at the usxuk Secret Santa. The prompt was essentially 'battle of the bands, Hetalia style.' There were a lot more specifics to the prompt, but to list the whole prompt would be spoilery. ;) America held the microphone tight in his hands, the cool metal of the handle having grown warm with contact and sweat as they practiced. He found that his grin was wider than it even usually was, and he was enjoying this practice far more than he generally enjoyed singing (which was a lot, because he really loved doing it). It must have been the way they all gelled together. Japan and Canada had known the songs in advance, and Belarus was skilled enough to pick it up quickly. Already, America thought they sounded pretty damn good!
And then there was England, who took to the songs America had chosen like the natural that he was. He’d discarded his blazer near the beginning of practice, and it was easy to see why he needed to. When England had played for America back during their freshman year, he’d been sitting in a chair, holding the guitar in his lap, and playing for a private audience. His expression would be calm and the songs he played mellow.
This England was completely different.
It was like seeing a whole new side of him. His jacket had been discarded because within mere minutes, England had grown too sweaty and hot to wear it. He moved with the guitar, and there was fervor to the way his body shifted in tune with the rise and the fall of the music he was playing and it was… intense. And America found his eyes straying over to England’s fingers, as they splayed across the strings and played with such ease in a manner that somehow bequeathed both gentleness and harshness.
He’d never really noticed England’s fingers before, because really… why the hell would he pay attention to England’s fingers? But they were slender but strong and his knuckles were slightly too knobby for them, but America kind of thought it worked, as opposed to looking awkward.
America turned away with a flush, once he fully registered that he was staring at England’s fingers, but he found himself doing it several more times throughout the practice.
And at England’s face as well, which scrunched up in concentration at points, his large eyebrows furrowing. Sometimes he’d smirk, usually when he’d finished an impressive riff or at the end of a song. Every once in awhile, he’d throw his head back slightly, his sandy blonde hair becoming more and more tousled as the practice went on. And always, his cheeks were flushed high, and he looked so like he was in his element, that America found himself caught up in his enthusiasm, and he sang a little harder and a little better than he had been before.
When practice was over, every single one of them was panting and breathing heavily, and America congratulated them all, reassuring them that this really was the best band ever. A quirk of a smile appeared on even Belarus’s face at this.
Then there was England, who was unhooking his guitar from the amp. America hopped over to him and tapped him on the shoulder, causing the other boy to jump, startled at the sudden contact.
“What is it America?” His normal countenance was firmly in place now, all prim and proper and irritated, as if the England America had seen minutes before was a figment of his imagination. America sighed and shook his head, biting his lip.
“I uh--- just want to say.” He shifted, scuffling his feet back and forth and staring at the ground. Scratching the back of his neck, he shook his head. “Ah, never mind. Just… it’s cool that you decided to join, okay?”
You were amazing. I knew you could play the guitar, but not like that. It’s so, so awesome that you joined my band.
England blinked, his cheeks pinking. “It’s--- not a problem. I just know beating France will be worth the trouble.”
America nodded, gesturing in front of him. “Y-yeah, of course, and for me, it’s just… we need a guitarist, so you’ll work, you know.”
“Yes…”
“Practice again on Thursday, England!” America proclaimed.
England rolled his eyes. “Idiot. I know. I’m the one who made the schedules.” He reached over to grab his blazer, slipping it back on.
“You’ll be there then?”
“Of course.” England nodded and slung his guitar over his shoulder, leaving America behind in the room with a backward glance.
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Practice continued in much the same way for the next week, the band’s enthusiasm growing with each day. Canada, Japan, and America would sit together every afternoon in the cafeteria, discussing the competition with genuine excitement. Even Belarus usually joined them, sitting next to America and shooting backwards glances at Russia as if to make sure he was watching her hanging out with his least favorite person in the school.
England didn’t eat with them, and a part of America sort of kind of wished he could, but his lunch was during another period.
And he and England actually still weren’t talking much. America spoke to the entire band before and during practices, and England would often provide input. After practices, clipped and short conversations between them would ensue. But nothing… big. He frowned and sighed at this, a cafeteria French fry half hanging out of his mouth.
Belarus was resting her hand on America’s forearm, and he barely registered her presence. She’d grown increasingly more intimate as the days had passed, in hopes that Russia would finally confront her.
“Are you all right, America?” Japan asked, taking a sip from his bottle of tea.
America darted up, eyes wide, as he was snapped out of his reverie. “Huh? Oh yeah, I’m cool.”
Canada poked at his slice of pizza. “You know, eh… have we actually decided what song we’re performing in the first round?”
America grinned. “Yeah well, we’ve been practicing a few, you know? I’m kind of leaning toward one but…”
“What is it, America?” Japan queried.
“I’d need backup vocals in one part,” he explained, running a hand through his hair as he did so.
“Oh for Christ’s sake, ask ENGLAND, eh.”
He gestured wildly with his arms, knocking Belarus away in the process. “C’mon Canada, are you serious? It’s enough that he’s agreed to do what he did. England will probably go ballistic if I ask him for anything else…”
Japan leveled him a calm but serious stare. “You did mention that he was a good singer at one point, and if he sings anything like he plays the guitar, I imagine he is excellent.”
America shifted in his chair, twitching a bit as Belarus resumed holding his forearm. “I’ll think about it. Song could still be awesome without backup vocals though…” He paused, pointing out in front of himself with a fry as he continued. “Anyway, am I the only one totally weirded out by England?”
Canada made a slurping sound with his straw, and Japan was silent. “Really! He’s so fucking uptight, but when we start to practice he just… I don’t know.” He flushed as he recalled England’s movements on the guitar, his expressions as he played, the way in which he--- “It’s like he becomes a totally different guy.”
Japan rested his hand under his chin. “It’s his hobby, America. People do have different sides to them.”
“But---“
“And if you’ll excuse me for saying this, I am wondering if perhaps he’s trying to catch your attention?”
America barked out a short laugh. “Seriously, Japan?” He attempted to quell his subconscious, which was trying to finish the rest of that statement with he already has.
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America fisted his hands at his side, clenching his eyes shut and breathing deeply. He shouldn’t have been nervous about something so stupid. Asking England to sing backup in one part of the song? It was no biggie, but England’s intense reaction the last time he’d asked him a favor rose in his mind.
And he just didn’t want to risk England’s anger again, didn’t want to risk him leaving the band.
Okay! So if England said no, he’d just leave it at that. He wouldn’t press, and he’d tell him it was cool with him that he didn’t want to do it.
England was packing up his guitar, and although he had already reverted back to his standard stodgy old self, America saw something in his expression remaining; something rebellious, a spark of the side of him that emerged when he played his guitar. This was not the first time America had noticed this. He had in fact, for the last few days. And America imagined what it would be like if that edge of something kept taking longer and longer to vanish after each practice. Maybe it would result in England lightening up a bit, becoming more like the person America had been friends with before. Oh sure, England had always been uptight. But he’d gotten worse, so much worse… really. That was probably an idle hope though, America concluded, as he approached England and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Hmm, America,” England responded, standing up straight and turning to look at the taller boy.
America smiled, a bit sheepishly, and rubbed the back of his head. Okay seriously. It had been almost a week since he’d talked to Canada and Japan about asking England to do this. He was being lame, not awesome. This needed to be remedied, and fast. “I have a favor to ask, England.”
England stiffened. Possibly a bad word choice. Oops.
“What is it?”
America cringed inwardly. “I think I’ve decided on our song for the first round!”
England cocked an eyebrow. “Oh really? Because we have been practicing several, and I was wondering when you were going to actually choose one.”
He forced a smile. “Yeah! I really like how we do A Praise Chorus. I think we rock it pretty hard. Sounds really awesome…”
The other student nodded. “Yes, it does sound quite decent.” He blinked. “That’s settled then. What’s this favor?”
America laughed shortly, nervously rubbing his forearm as he did so. “Well it’s just that the song has one part with backup vocals, and… I know you’re playing the guitar and everything and that’s a lot of work but…”
“I can do it,” England interrupted. “Just the crimson and clover bit, right?”
“Y-yeah that’s it!”
“All right, that’s not a problem.” America deflated in relief. Just… that easy. He just had to ask him, and England agreed without a second thought? He felt a bit, what was the word England would use? Daft, that’s it.
“Great! That’s great!” America proclaimed, beaming with enthusiasm.
“You should know though that---“
“Yeah, yeah, it’s just to beat France. I know.”America waved his words away. “Anyway, do you wanna grab a bite to eat?” The words were out of his mouth before he even registered the thought, and his eyes widened. Did I actually just ask…
His cheeks flushed red, but England’s glowed even brighter. “Y-you’re asking me out to eat?” He clarified, his voice quiet.
America bit his lip, staring at his sneakers as if they were deeply fascinating. “Well you’re probably busy, and I have homework so--- “
“All right.”
“Wha---“
“I don’t see why not,” England continued. “I’m a tad famished, honestly.”
America’s grin widened, and he practically bounced over to retrieve his backpack. “Awesome!”
England coughed, turning away to hide a blush as he did so. “R-right. Well I need to take my guitar back to the dorm, so perhaps we could meet up?”
America shrugged. “I’ll just walk back with you. S’no problem.”
“Fine enough then,” he replied, his green eyes growing large in surprise.
“Great!” And the two departed the room together, England with his guitar slung over his shoulder and America with his backpack over his.
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“And then France, moron that he is, says ‘I thought we were celebrating freedom of expression.’” England’s eyes crinkled at the corners in mirth, stifling laughter.
America grinned. “So let me get this straight. He comes to the student council meeting, takes off his clothes because you told him it was ‘freedom of expression day,’ and you…”
“We lock him out of the office, and he’s stuck without them. Which would have been dandy for him, because as if he cares, the bloody pervert… but the principal walked right by and well…”
America busted out laughing. “Oh man, oh man…”
“He was unfortunately, not kicked out of student council. He managed to fashion a decent enough excuse.” He sighed at this. “But he wasn’t allowed at meetings for two weeks, and he nearly shrivels up and dies anytime he sees the principal now.”
America leaned back in his booth, taking a bite out of his burger and smiling softly to himself. This was the third day of this. England had been coming to grab a bite to eat with him after every practice since the first time he’d asked, and it was… really sort of cool.
The first night had been awkward, and the conversation had been stilted and forced. But by the end of their meal, they’d loosened up a bit. And the next practice, America had the wonderful idea of asking him again, because why not? He was hungry, and who liked going out to eat by themselves?
And as it went on, they grew more at ease with each other, and their discussions grew more natural, and on dinner three (always fast food, because it was the awesomest), they were laughing together and--- his heart beat a little faster. Dinner three. It had been six days since he’d first asked England to join him to eat.
“Concert is tomorrow. You ready?” America took a gulp from his Coca-Cola.
England shrugged. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.”
America grinned. “I really think we’re gonna nail this England. Hero Frequency sounds so amazing…”
He chortled. “I admit. You’re a bit more competent than I’d anticipated. Just as long as we’re good enough to beat France…”
The other boy tossed a fry up in the air and caught it. “Beat France? We’re gonna win this whole damn thing!”
England finished swallowing a chicken nugget. “Prussia’s band isn’t the only one. I’ve heard here and there that some of the others are quite talented. Finland’s band in particular…”
“Oh, Northern Cross?”
“Yes, that’s them. They’ve got an interesting set of players…”
“Hmm?” America leaned forward curiously.
England held up a finger, as if counting. “Finland is the lead vocalist, also doing some guitar, with Sweden as lead guitarist and Denmark on drums. Iceland is in charge of keyboard…”
“Who is their bassist, Norway?”
He shook his head. “Norway is their violinist.”
“Huh?”
England shrugged. “They’re going for a kind of metal with a splash of classical sound. That’s what I’ve heard, at least.”
America tapped his chin. “Hm. Well what else is there?”
He took a sip of his sweet tea (which America remembered, he’d complained about at first, but he suspected that England secretly loved it). “Well there’s Seychelles, Zimbabwe, Kenya, and Cameroon. They’ve got a pop thing going on, mostly vocals and dancing. Korea managed to drag China, Taiwan, and Hong Kong into something. I have no idea what they’re up to. With Korea, there’s really no guessing…”
America chuckled at this. “Yeah, that’s true.”
“Lithuania is a good friend of yours, so I’m sure you know about Poland’s band…”
“Drastic Fabulous?” America snorted. “Yeah, Poland got Lithuania, Estonia, and Latvia in on it. I think Poland’s the only one that’s really into it…”
“Not surprising.” England leaned back in the booth, glancing outside. America followed his gaze. The sun was setting, painting rich purples and oranges across the sky. “Looks lovely…”
“Mhmm…” America adjusted his glasses. “Hey, who is in Prussia’s band anyway?”
England started. “Oh, yes. At first it was just France, Prussia, and Spain, but the tossers managed to convince Austria and Hungary to join at the last minute…”
“Eh, no big deal.”
“Git. Austria is a trained classical pianist,” England retorted, his expression sour. “He’s certainly a big deal.”
America smiled, genuine and aimed directly at England. “Hey, don’t worry about it. We’ve practiced a lot, plus we’re awesome as is.”
England’s eyebrows raised at this, and his cheeks flushed. “We’re awesome?”
At this, America’s face bloomed red, and he motioned wildly in front of him. “I meant well--- Hero Frequency, the band. I mean, I’m the lead!”
He rolled his eyes, but barely concealed a smile. “You’re so daft.”
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America paced back and forth, practically bouncing on his feet between steps. They were backstage in the school’s theatre, and it was the day of the first round. We’re going to be awesome, we’re going to be awesome, he told himself as a mantra. Japan was sitting calmly behind him, snacking on a bento box he’d brought along. Canada was doing the same, and Belarus was picking at hers. Speaking of…
He sat down next to them. Japan had brought bento boxes for the entire band, and they were sort of um… cute. Japan really liked cute things, but the fact that he’d organized the food in their respective bento boxes to look like their instruments of choice, was… really kind of funny. He picked at his microphone made of food, nestled in the middle of a bed of white rice.
“England’s gonna be cutting is close getting here…” America spoke in between bites. “He called me.”
“You’ve told us this three times, eh,” Canada replied as he bit into a drumstick made of cooked vegetables.
Japan smiled, munching on his keyboard. “Indeed.”
“You guys all look ready. We’re on fifth by the way, after Northern Cross.”
Canada nodded. “And Glorious Awesome is after us, right?”
America confirmed this with a shake of his head. “And Russia is definitely in the audience, I saw him.” He glanced to Belarus.
Belarus was decked out in a pretty damn amazing dress, black with red ruffles and a corset. There were belts hanging from the corset, in accordance to her tall black boots that bore several straps and buckles. She sucked on the top of her vegetable guitar and smiled. “I’m ready then.”
Japan was wearing a pressed black suit with a bright pink dress shirt, and Canada, in contrast, a far more casual favorite old hockey jersey and jeans. America had told everyone to wear what they deemed appropriate.
He’d spent days trying to find the perfect t-shirt to wear under his black jacket and plaid hoodie. It had to say hero on it! They were Hero Frequency, and he was the lead, which meant he was the hero of course. It said, Who is Your Hero, which he figured could be some kind of cool rallying cry when they came out to accept after they won the competition.
Speaking of, within minutes, the competition was beginning. Seychelles and the Rainbows were up first, and he thought they were solid, but he was barely listening. England still wasn’t there, and he knew he said he was going to be getting there at the last minute, but as the first band led into Korea and the Battery Powered Wonder, band number two, he began to fret.
England should be here by now… What if he’d decided at the last minute to back out? He had always been shy about performing publicly, and America didn’t know if he’d ever even played in front of a large audience before. They might be able to pull this thing off without someone else, but England was essential.
“I’m sure he’ll be here,” Japan comforted, noticing America’s discomfort.
He nodded. “Y-yeah…”
Korea and the Battery Powered Wonder took their leave off the stage, and Drastic Fabulous went out there to queue up.
Only two more songs, and still no England…
Maybe France participating wasn’t enough to get him to do it in the end. Maybe all the time we’ve spent together was… just… He cut his thoughts off. Maybe he just can’t handle Hero Frequency’s awesome!
“Are you ready to get fabulous?” Poland shouted from onstage, although America still wasn’t really listening. The crowd erupted into applause, and Poland yelled “THINK PINK!” as Latvia kicked off the song with a short drum solo.
He wanted to tune in, because Lithuania was one of his best friends, but America didn’t register the entirety of the song. And by the time Poland, Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia stepped backstage, America was panicking.
America felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up. “Lithuania?”
The other boy smiled. “Good luck, America. Truthfully, I don’t expect to make it past this round…”
“What are you talking about?” America grinned. “You were awesome,” he lied, because he hadn’t even heard them, really.
Lithuania flushed a bit. “Thank you, America.” He leaned down, whispering, “Poland just really wanted to do this…”
America had kind of figured that out on his own. It honestly did sound like one of Poland’s infamous whims.
“Ah yeah, makes sense,” he replied. “Hey I’ve got to---“
“I apologize for being late,” a very British voice interrupted him.
“England?” He exhaled in relief, his nerves ebbing, as he darted his eyes from Lithuania to the backstage door.
Immediately though, his eyes widened, and his cheeks bloomed bright crimson.
England was---
What the hell.
England had his precious guitar slung over his front, as usual. But instead of wearing a well pressed suit, as America had anticipated, he was wearing….
A leather jacket, a relieved green t-shirt, a red kerchief around his neck and…
Tight leather pants.
Tight black leather pants, which fit to the curve of his legs and ended only to reveal a pair of shiny red skate shoes.
It was like America had fallen into some weird twilight zone. First, England was totally hardcore when he played the guitar, rocking out with more vigor than any of his other band members. Then, he shows up at the concert dressed in the least stodgy thing America could possibly imagine.
America’s mouth was as dry as the Sahara desert as he attempted to formulate words. The ones that came to mind, in between gaping like a fish, were something like ‘wow,’ ‘what the hell,’ ‘awesome,’ and most bewilderingly ‘hot.’
Yeah, he didn’t know what that one was. “England, what are you wearing?” was what he finally managed, although he was aware of the fact that it came out in almost a rasp.
England flushed. “Clothes, you git.” He’d entered the room fully, and was standing just a few feet away from America, who had yet to tear his eyes away from him. “You told us to wear what we’d like to.”
America nodded. “Y-yeah but…”
England glanced down, and his shoulders slumped slightly. It looked off; clothing that required such confidence to wear, in contrast to his actions, which evoked embarrassment and anxiety. England was so contradictory. “I can change, if it’s a problem. I brought something else…”
America gestured wildly. “N-no, it’s fine! Just… did you buy that?”
England leveled him a look, standing up straighter. “Idiot, do you think I was going to spend money for this thing? I already owned this.”
America kind of felt like maybe his brain had shattered into a hundred pieces, or perhaps turned into goo and dripped out of the side of his ear. It was blank, filled only with the image of England in leather pants and… more England in leather pants, to be honest. Just a lot of… tight black pants and a Union Jack emblazoned guitar, and imagining him holding it over those pants and playing and his fingers and---
A loud voice interrupted his musings, thank god.
“Ladies and Gentleman,” came Finland’s voice, and it was brazen and bold, nothing like the sweet-mannered voice he usually spoke in, “are you ready to Hard Rock Hallelujah?”
America kind of thought, that he was ready to do just that.
