Eight Mortal Secrets [Hetalia Drabbles] (Completed, to be Edited)

CVII. Nyotalia: Men don't cry

"Speennnncccceeerrrrrr." Amelia called from the living room. Spencer, who was in his room, attempting to finish the fourth book of Harry Potter, rolled his eyes and put down the book, trudging into the living room.

"Ye?" He asked as he reached the living room, and before he knew it, Amelia's lips were smashed onto his. His face instantly turned red, and he turned his head away. "What are you doing?" He asked in a breathless voice. She smelled strongly of wine coolers and pudding shots. Spencer realized that Julchen and Mette were present. It had completely slipped his mind that it was Amelia's turn to host the Awesome Trio party.

"I'm trying to get you to love me." Amelia giggled, tugging at his clothes as she placed sloppy pecks on his cheeks. "Why don't you ever kiss me?"

"Well, I'm not really comfortable with lips. And I'm definitely not comfortable kissing someone who's drunk." He stated, attempting to put some space between the two of them.

"Yeah, but it's all the time you are this way." Julchen slurred. "You are a really sucky guy, you know that? You are like the girl in the relationship."

Spencer paused. "What?"

"Yeah, you are so timid with Amelia. You didn't even ask her out- she asked you out!" Mette laughed. "Try putting some pants on."

Amelia, though she wasn't really in the right state of mind, was cognitive enough to comprehend that this was going no where good. "Okay, guys. Stop." She hiccuped. Spencer had ceased breathing, his throat had tightened far too much to be used.

"Nein, I will do no such thing." Julchen hissed. "Spencer is the girliest guy I have ever met. I do not know a single man who grooms his eyebrows."

"Or moistures twice a day." Mette sneered.

"How did you know that?" Spencer flushed.

"You don't think Amelia talks about it?" Julchen raised a brow. "Ever since she met that Shelby chick, she said all she's sees when she looks at your face is that girl! And it makes since, with all the stuff you and how you act."

"You have a girly face!" Mette fell down she was laughing so hard.

"And the Chapstick- name one other guy who uses Chapstick." Julchen looked around at her friends for input.

"Guys, cut it out." Amelia said, but Mette's voice overlapped her's and was far louder.

"Probably Neil Patrick Harris." She snickered from her spot on the ground.

"That is so sad." Julchen stuck out her lower lip in mock sympathy. "Maybe if you grew a pair-"

"SHUT UP!" Spencer cried, his body shaking. "I get it, okay? You can shut the fuck up!"

Mette gasped, "Why, Shelby, that was not very lady-like!"

"Haha, Shelby!" Julchen swayed slightly, and even Amelia seemed to be trying to stifle a laugh. "That is gold."

At that, Spencer yanked his arm out of Amelia's grasp and stormed into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He could hear Amelia calling his name, but it sounded like a slight murmur, drowned out by the pounding in his ears. He stared into the mirror, tears already streaking his red cheeks.

"So what if I use lotion?" He whispered shakily to himself. "It's not hurting anyone... Or if I use Chapstick or do my eyebrows?"

Maybe if you grew a pair-

Doing those things weren't feminine, right? Using lotion wasn't exclusive to the female sex. He was allowed to do these things. It didn't make him any less of a man.

Ever since she met that Shelby chick, she said all she's sees when she looks at your face is that girl!

Spencer shuttered. The truth was, ever since he had seen Shelby on the other side of that mirror, he started seeing how similar their faces were. Their noses, facial structure; the only real difference was that Spencer had a sharper jaw. Spencer pulled one of his curls down towards his chin. He imagined that if his hair was a bit longer he'd actually could pass as a girl.

His lip trembled, a new wave of tears spilling over onto his cheeks as he covered his mouth.

They were right.

He really was the sorriest excuse for a man he had ever seen.

He clenched his jaw, trying to block the sobs and suck them in, but they kept breaking through. "Stop it." He scolded himself, glaring at his watery blue eyes in the mirror. The lashes were so long- it looked like he was wearing mascara.

His lip curled. "Stop. Fucking. Crying!" He snapped at himself, a surge of anger causing his fist to fly forward into the mirror, splintering it below his knuckles and sending large cracks out, spider-webbing the surface. He lifted his hand away, his knuckles split open and already starting to bleed as he stared into his broken reflection.

"Men don't cry." He told himself firmly, leaning against the wall. He slid down til he was sitting on the ground. His face was a deep red in an effort to stop his tears. "Men..." He sobbed once, biting his lips.

"Men don't cry..."