Okay, to be precise, it smells like maple syrup but that goes on top of pancakes and so it makes sense that if something smelt like maple syrup it would therefore smell like pancakes.
So it smells like pancakes. Or maple syrup. The logic’s starting to get a little circular here.
America takes in a deep whiff, flares his nose and breathes in deeply. It smells really, really good. Like lazy Sunday mornings spent with Canada, covered in flour and laughing. Those mornings when the sun filters in through the windows just right and illuminates everything, lights everything up from the inside out and all the pieces just fit together, perfectly.
The smell is like coming home after a long day of work, beat up and tired, and laying down in a soft bed, the familiar comfort of the soft pillows and warm blankets. The smell feels like home.
America breathes in again.
Canada next to him shifts a little.
America turns to him and squints his eyes. “Canada,” he says, “do you smell that?”
Canada only turns a bright shade of pink and shakes his head. He looks uncomfortable and a little embarrassed.
“You don’t?” America asks. It can’t just be him. The smell has to exist.
Canada shakes his head again. “I-I…no,” he says quietly.
America shrugs his shoulders and frowns. Well, quest to find the mysterious smell of pancakes is ago.
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There's Something In The Air
(Anonymous) 2010-10-16 01:09 am (UTC)(link)Okay, to be precise, it smells like maple syrup but that goes on top of pancakes and so it makes sense that if something smelt like maple syrup it would therefore smell like pancakes.
So it smells like pancakes. Or maple syrup. The logic’s starting to get a little circular here.
America takes in a deep whiff, flares his nose and breathes in deeply.
It smells really, really good. Like lazy Sunday mornings spent with Canada, covered in flour and laughing. Those mornings when the sun filters in through the windows just right and illuminates everything, lights everything up from the inside out and all the pieces just fit together, perfectly.
The smell is like coming home after a long day of work, beat up and tired, and laying down in a soft bed, the familiar comfort of the soft pillows and warm blankets. The smell feels like home.
America breathes in again.
Canada next to him shifts a little.
America turns to him and squints his eyes. “Canada,” he says, “do you smell that?”
Canada only turns a bright shade of pink and shakes his head. He looks uncomfortable and a little embarrassed.
“You don’t?” America asks. It can’t just be him. The smell has to exist.
Canada shakes his head again. “I-I…no,” he says quietly.
America shrugs his shoulders and frowns. Well, quest to find the mysterious smell of pancakes is ago.