American Symphony

Would It Matter?

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America stood on the balcony of his hotel room, overlooking the French city below. The lights shone softly beneath him as he leaned against the ivy-covered railing, looking up at the stars. They shone brightly overhead and he smiled up at them, taking a deep breath.

The July night was warm, but not anything like the ones at his house. a breeze flowed through his hair, making Nantucket wobble. He ignored it in favor of watching the people below, his bright blue eyes dark as his thoughts swam.

The day had been long- too long. The G8 meeting (the reason he was in France in the first place) had dragged on all day, and he's constantly been dismissed by the other nations. This had been the time he had gotten his act together and actually prepared something— only for Iggy and the rest to dismiss him before he could really get into it.

"America you git, I swear if I have to listen to another of your idiotic plans" the British nation had said— ouch, Iggy.

"Oui, Amerique Don't embarrass yourself more than you already do..." France had chimed in. Really?

"Alfie...come on don't do this..." he heard his brother say quietly— et tu, Matt?

The American let out a breath as he gripped the iron railing. Sometimes the joyful, dopey persona he put of for the others came back to bite him in the ass. He did it because Italy was too scared to often speak out and lighten the mood when things got tense, so the task fell on his shoulders.

He had to be the one to lift spirits, to be 'the hero' as he put it, because if he didn't— who would?

"America, you useless twit, why don't you contribute something useful for once?!" England's voice rang through his head. it happened often...he'd gotten used to it.

"It's idiotic things like this that makes me think the burger bastard shouldn't be here..." that was Romano's voice, America thought.

"Will someone get him down from the podium before he starts talking about robots or superheroes or something, aru?" That one's China's.

"I can't be the only one who thinks this is a waste of time, da?" the commie.

Alfred pushed himself away from the rail, shaking his head and walking back into his hotel room. He took a seat on the edge of the bed, flopping back with his arms spread. He stared at the ceiling, not allowing himself to think of their words.

He blinked, choking tears back as he sat up quickly. He took a deep breath and shook himself, standing up.

No reason moping around in his room when he could go get some food to cheer himself up!

America grabbed his bomber jacket from where he'd deposited it (the back of a chair) and slipped it on, grabbing his keycard and phone before darting out the door.

He practically skipped down the hall, thinking to himself about just what kind of fast food France had. He paused at the sound of a yell, glancing at the room beside him. This was the room England was in if he remembered correctly.

He shrugged and was about to continue on when he heard France and Mattie's voices. He paused, standing before the door. His curiosity got the better of him and he put his ear to the door, ignoring the voice in his head telling him it was a bad idea.

"Honestly, Matthew, I don't know why you're sticking up for him." He heard England's voice say.

Alfred furrowed his brow in confusion. Who were they talking about?