Category: Axis Powers Hetalia / Hetalia World Series
Genre/Rating/Warnings: friendship, general/G/no names :D
Summary/Excerpt: Prussia and Hungary are in London for a day trip.
A/N: Happy Birfday highboyssssss! ♥♥♥ Enjoy your fish ice cream~ :'3
He laughs uproariously when she tells him how she had fallen asleep on the dentist chair and punched the assistant when the dental drill poked her gums.
They take turns walking down Abbey Road in slow motion, crossing and re-crossing just enough to take the perfect shot, never together because one has to hold the camera while the other has to smile. They could have invited his brother or Roderich, she says, but neither of them is up for extra company, not today.
Today is blue and London is quaint and grey, the people still square and the leaves a smoky red as they fall on park grass and fountain tops.
"Remind me what we came here for," he asks not a question in that grin.
"A haircut and a cake," she answers playfully and doesn't take his hand to say walk a little faster. "Take a picture of me there."
It's his brother's camera, given by his brother's boyfriend's friend. He snaps amateur shot after shot of her, tree and architecture, lingering in the viewfinder longer than he should. He winds her scarf tighter around her neck and she straightens his coat, flicking dust off with the back of her hand.
An awkward turtle swims in the silence before they decide to go to the café by their hotel.
"We could've gotten West to bake for us," he tells her as the waiter serves them a slice of overpriced cheesecake. "Or him," he adds as an obligatory afterthought.
She steeples her fingers together in anticipation before reaching for the fork. "A change of scenery. You don't like it?"
"Didn't say I didn't."
He gives her a lopsided smile and looks out the window while she digs in. They've seen sceneries for many years. Sceneries they liked, sceneries they would rather forget, sceneries they would have stayed in forever, sceneries in their minds and hearts, sceneries they imagined when they weren't busy being something bigger than themselves.
She's looking out the window too and her hand is on the table, her fork on the edge of the cake plate while his was still on his napkin. He stares at them for a moment and feels something swell and die in his throat. It comes out as a painful sigh while he clenches and unclenches his fist under the table.
Their fingertips touch after fourteen minutes of indecisiveness and he thinks it's not awesome, until after three when she doesn't pull away.
They both look out the window and London is quaint and grey.