(no subject)
Title: A Cupful of Memories
Author: flamefox324
Characters/Pairings: America/England, (mentioning of Canada)
Ratings: G
Warnings: Uhm... Possible grammar mistakes, rusty and uncreative story writing, "wtf" moments xD;;
Summary: Finding a couple of old handmade mugs from his two colonial nations, England began to reminiscence his Imperial days... until America showed up.
It was 11:30 am on a Wednesday.
England sighed heavily as he watched outside the window from his living room. The view wasn’t at all pleasant from what he saw. The rain started to pour down madly; the sky looked grey and gloomy; and the wind began to wail like dying ghosts. He knew very well that the weather forecast mentioned that there would be rain showers but he never knew it would be this darn depressing.
It’s not like he planned any special arrangements today, but it would be nice if he could have some warm, sunny daylight to enjoy, instead of watching an unpleasant climate.
“Hmph. There’s no way in hell I’ll let a simplistic rain into ruining my mood,” said England out loud as he stood away from the window sill and sat onto his armchair. While he sat down, he reached out for a book he was reading and turned to the page where he left out. He silently read his book as the wind howled outside. This somehow set a perfect scary atmosphere since he’s reading one of Stephen King’s books: The Stand. In fact, he actually borrowed this book from America. He hated into admitting things, but this author is extremely superb! He had to say (for America’s author), that his stories were fantastically horrific and ingenious, and England loved it! As for America, he wasn’t fond in scary stories (as usual) and urged into lending his copies of Stephen King’s books to England.
America can be such a baby at times, thought England.
BAAAM!
England was taken surprise when a lightning struck down from the sky. He tried to calm himself down as his hand was clutching onto his shirt. He could feel his heart pounding madly from the shock. “Bloody hell,” grunted England as he broke a cold sweat. He felt in need of some warm drink to calm and enjoy his evening with his book. He rose from his armchair and left the room as he walked towards the kitchen to make a cup of tea.
As he entered, he went to the kitchen counter and took a kettle, filling it with water. He then set aside it and turned the gas on from the stove. He took out a flamer to set the fire and he placed the kettle onto the stove in initiating the boiling of the water. While he was at it, he laid out a tray and placed out all the necessary items he needed for the preparation of his tea.
With everything set, he walked face ward to the wall cabinet and opened the tiny door. In it where all sets of teacups and other fancy chinas. They were in different sizes, shapes, and colours. But that didn’t matter to England. All he wanted were the mugs. If he wanted to want his tea last longer, it was logical enough to use a much bigger drinking cup instead in using a tiny teacup. He searched into the cabinet were he placed the mugs.
While he searched for a suitable mug for him, something caught within his eyesight on the far corner.
A couple of dusty and old handmade mugs were facing him. England looked at them questionably as he grabbed onto both them.
“What the?! What are couple of mangy and old mugs doing in there? Why would I--“. His words were trailed off when he saw tiny words engraved on the bottom of the two mugs. He looked first at the smooth, aquamarine curved mug and read out the elegant cursive handwriting on the side of the mug.
Brother England is the best! Love Canada.
England smiled tenderly as he stroke at the mug, as if he just remembered something. This mug was surely made by Canada but it seemed England sensed he was missing important behind the mug. A faraway memory that was hard for him to grasp on.
His eyes shifted to the second mug. This mug wasn’t at all that elegant as the first one. In fact, it has this bumpy and rough shape and the colour texture looked woody. It has these little drawings of fuzzy animals on it: a white bunny, a squirrel, a grizzly bear, and lastly a deer. Same as the blue mug, there were words written on the mug.
However, the handwriting was unreadable and hard to figure out some of the words. The writing style looked ugly and squiggly. England took his time into figuring out the words. Luckily, it didn’t take him much longer until he understood what it said. He read the words out loud:
Happy B-day England! Wish I could be stronger as you are! Love America.
England began to choke himself after he mouthed out the words. After recovering from the most horrifying and “near-death-experience” from a saliva attack he was choking on (poor England, having hard time breathing for not being able to swallow properly -chuckles-), England went back to the handmade mug from America.
Now England knew what kept bothering him about these mugs. They were made for him, especially for his birthday. Both of them were from Canada and America. He has been wondering why he kept them.
England heaved a huge sigh. Recalling his old times wasn’t the pleasant thing for him. It made him looked old (and also SO tsundere). He set the two mugs back to the counter and messaged his fingertips against his temples, as if he was developing a migraine. Not wanting on letting himself down, he went back on baking some scones. With that decision, he tied his flowery patterned apron around his waist.
The doorbell rang.
England turned his head curiously. He never remembered inviting anyone at this time of the hour. The doorbell rang again.
“I’m coming,” yelled England. He removed his baking mittens and placed them on the table. The number of doorbell rings grew numerous as England approached to the door.
“Be patient, dammit! Didn’t I say I was comin-“. His words were broke off when he opened the door. Right in front of his face was a drenched, grinning young male with bright blue eyes twinkling with excitement.
“Hey there England! What took you so long in answering the door?”
The Englishman just stood frozen with a shocking expression on his face. The young nation looked back at England, noticing the apron he was wearing.
“Pfft. Nice apron you’re wearing. Hope I’m not interrupting to one of those imaginary friends tea party, aren’t I?”
“A-America?! The bloody hell you’re doing here?!” spattered England.
“Just walking pass by,” answered America innocently.
“There is NO bloody way you could just walk by in front of my house casually. Now bugger off!”
“Cooome ooon, Iggy. Just let me shelter in your house till the showers are over?” America gave out a pouty, baby face.
“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t make that face again. It creeps me out. And make sure you wipe your shoes under the entrance carpet and place your jacket on the clothing rack.”
“Aaaah, you’re so persistent England.” American showed his usual stupid smile as he stepped into the house. He took off his brown jacket and hooked onto the racket. He placed his hands into his jean’s pockets as he wondered aimlessly around the entrance. England was obviously not pleased for America’s constant poking into his things.
“Would you mind stop moving around like a dim-witted duck and just take a darn seat?” grunted England.
“My, aren’t you a very kind host,” said America jokingly. England gritted his teeth with anger as America comfortably sat down on the couch in the living room. An unsettling silent fell upon them.
“Would you like some tea?” asked England. Obviously, he wasn’t trying to be polite or offering anything to America. It’s more like a ‘make-fun-with-me-and-I’ll-kick-your-arse” statement.
“Tea? Seriously, England. Who wanted to drink something that tastes SO tasteless? I rather have something strong like coffee.”
America’s response didn’t helped England’s temper at all. His anger began to boil within him as he mumbled profane words under his breath. He stomped furiously towards the kitchen and went to one of the cabinets were he usually kept the coffee (in case America randomly shows up into his home). At the same time, the kettle was hissing in a high pitch. Forgetting about the water boiling, England rushed to turn off the gas.
-----------------------------
America exhaled heavily and looked out of the window frame. He had an obvious reason for him to drop by England’s house unexpectedly: his fears on horror movies. Ever since he was a small child, he would always read horror stories even though England told him not to. Every time he read those books, he would cry with fear and would have trouble sleeping alone. The only solution would have been sleeping with England to help him to feel safe.
Previously, America just watched a horror movie from the cinema. The story took place on a country town were strange things happened during the heavy rain falls. In fact, some people were traumatized mentally after their encounters of a mysterious black creature and after that those occurrences, they were-
America felt a cold shiver travelling down his spine (whether it was the cold weather or the movie, he wasn’t sure). He could feel the goose bumps crawling up onto his skin. Hoping to find some distraction to cheer him up, he looked his nearest surroundings in the living room area. He caught sight of the book on the armchair England was reading. America heaved himself from the couch and peeked at it curiously at the book’s cover.
America moaned. This was the book he lent to England since it was too scary for him to keep it. Just looking at the front cover of the The Stand is enough for him to shriek. He helplessly tossed the book back at the chair.
A sudden thought came up to him. He might as well go to the kitchen and just chill in there for awhile. He straightened his face, not wanting to give the impression to England that he got himself scared again and with that, he moved onward to the kitchen.
America poked his head out of the kitchen’s door to see what England was doing. He could see the Englishman setting up his own tea and taking out a trayful of scones from the oven.
“Hope those scones weren’t meant for me, are they England?”
The Englishman gave himself a jolt and turned around.
“Blimey hell America! Don’t scare me like that!” England’s face began to flush with red.
America snorted. “Geez England. You surely love to use those weird British slang words of yours.” America came out from his hiding spot and stepped into the kitchen, looking around. “Is the coffee done yet?”
“Does it look like its ready?” snarled England.
“What’s with the hold up? I thought you were making me the coffee.”
“Are you THAT daft?! I was busy making these scones! If you don’t want to wait, why don’t you just make the bloody coffee yourself?! The water is still warm. I already placed the filter and coffee out on the counter.”
He looked at the counter where England pointed him at. Sighing in defeat, he unscrewed the coffee container and took a spoonful amount of the brown powder into the filter. With his hand holding the filter, America looked around questionably.
“Hey Arthur. Where you usually keep the mugs?”
“They’re at that wall cabinet.” It seemed England wasn’t paying much attention to him. Knowing trying to draw his attention was useless, America simply moved on to the cabinet.
He reached out for the cabinet’s door and swung it open. His blue eyes traveled aimlessly inside the cabinet, as if there wasn’t really anything in there. He stopped his movements when he saw the two mugs lying on the counter.
“What’s this?” He went for the blue mug and looked at it curiously. England looked back at America to see what he was doing.
“Gah! Put that back America!” England became suddenly panicked. He didn’t want to give the wrong impression to America that he still kept those mugs. America made a strange face at England. He looked back at the mug again.
“Eh? Is this mug from Canada? When did you get it?”
It seemed America was clueless of the other mug. As long as America doesn’t see it, England was fine with that.
“Y-yes, it is! He actually made it for me as a birthday present,” spattered England.
“Eeh? A handmade mug made from Canada? Actually, I’m not at all that surprised. Making handcrafts are for sissy boys.... well, except for you England (even though you do those girly embroideries). You’re too violent and used to be a delinquent, hehe.”
America casually laughed. England, on the other hand, did not find it amusing. He glared bitterly at him. Sensing his glare, America’s laughter was cut off.
“Ah come. I was just kidding. I’ll just put this mug back where it belon-Hey! There’s another crummy-looking mug.”
“A-Alfred! Stop poking around! Leave it!”
Unfortunately, England’s words did not reach to America. For now, America was standing there, holding the brown mug, staring at it.
“Wait a second, England. This mug is also a birthday present for you, but it says it was made by me. I don’t remember doing any dumb handcrafting. But, it looks familiar with those drawings...”
His words stopped. America took his time re-collecting his thoughts. He turned his face at England, his expression looking stunned.
“Wasn’t this from long ago, when I was still a kid?”
England turned his face away from America, flushing with embarrassment. America widened his eyes with surprise.
“Seriously England. These presents are seriously cheap. I mean, I guess I understand why you would keep Canada’s since his is SOO nice-looking, but gezz. Mine’s?! Is someone being a bit TOO attached?”
England looked back at America dangerously. He has gone too far.
“Stop being such a damn prick and shut up already! I kept them because they meant something to me, got it you dumb, snotty-bastard?!” England’s yelling hurt America’s ears. He puffed heavily, trying to control himself. He could feel his throat unrestrained and hurtful for him to swallow.
“S-sorry England. It was just a joke.” America knew his excuse wasn’t good enough in asking forgiveness from England.
“Damn right you’re sorry. You made it mainly for me. You kept on asking back then on what sort of gifts I like and I replied anything from you will do. For Pete’s sake America, I did it for you!”
“F-for me?! It took me awhile on what present I should get for you. I mean.....I thought you wouldn’t like anything that weren’t handmade so I thought I might as well do mugs with Canada, since he was making one and I needed his help and all....”
America has put himself in an awkward situation. He scratched his head and smiled nervously. England gawked at him.
“Seriously Alfred, you should know by now that I don’t care how good or expensive the gifts are. Is the thought that counts. Just don’t give me something vulgar like France does in everyone’s birthdays. Then you’re asking yourself a ticket to ‘kick-in-the-arse’ land.”
This time England laughed all heartedly. America watched him as he was having his own fun time. The young nation let out a sigh of relief and smiled back.
“Yeah. You got a point there.”
Both the blond men spent their time in the kitchen, preparing their hot beverages and eating hot scones (which turned out to burnt, of course). The two men hadn’t realized the rain stopped moments ago as they spent their time together chatting away.
-------
The grandfather clock from the living room struck at 4:00 in the afternoon. The bell’s sound travelled to the kitchen.
“Blimey. Is it really that late? It feels we’ve been here for ages!”
“Haha, yeah. And look, the rain is gone too!”
“Well, you won’t have any problems in getting back to your house, do you America?”
“Eer, yeah.”
Both the two nations rose from the small kitchen table and went to the entrance door. America slowly reached for his jacket from the clothing rack.
“Uhm, well. This is goodbye then,” said America.
“Indeed it is,” replied England.
America slowly went for the doorknob. His hand stopped in midair.
“Erm, England?”
“What is it, Alfred?”
“Can I stay over here tonight?”
“Let me guess... You saw a horror movie.”
“H-how did you know?!”
“Sigh. I know you too well, America. I know you too well.”
THE END.
Author: flamefox324
Characters/Pairings: America/England, (mentioning of Canada)
Ratings: G
Warnings: Uhm... Possible grammar mistakes, rusty and uncreative story writing, "wtf" moments xD;;
Summary: Finding a couple of old handmade mugs from his two colonial nations, England began to reminiscence his Imperial days... until America showed up.
It was 11:30 am on a Wednesday.
England sighed heavily as he watched outside the window from his living room. The view wasn’t at all pleasant from what he saw. The rain started to pour down madly; the sky looked grey and gloomy; and the wind began to wail like dying ghosts. He knew very well that the weather forecast mentioned that there would be rain showers but he never knew it would be this darn depressing.
It’s not like he planned any special arrangements today, but it would be nice if he could have some warm, sunny daylight to enjoy, instead of watching an unpleasant climate.
“Hmph. There’s no way in hell I’ll let a simplistic rain into ruining my mood,” said England out loud as he stood away from the window sill and sat onto his armchair. While he sat down, he reached out for a book he was reading and turned to the page where he left out. He silently read his book as the wind howled outside. This somehow set a perfect scary atmosphere since he’s reading one of Stephen King’s books: The Stand. In fact, he actually borrowed this book from America. He hated into admitting things, but this author is extremely superb! He had to say (for America’s author), that his stories were fantastically horrific and ingenious, and England loved it! As for America, he wasn’t fond in scary stories (as usual) and urged into lending his copies of Stephen King’s books to England.
America can be such a baby at times, thought England.
BAAAM!
England was taken surprise when a lightning struck down from the sky. He tried to calm himself down as his hand was clutching onto his shirt. He could feel his heart pounding madly from the shock. “Bloody hell,” grunted England as he broke a cold sweat. He felt in need of some warm drink to calm and enjoy his evening with his book. He rose from his armchair and left the room as he walked towards the kitchen to make a cup of tea.
As he entered, he went to the kitchen counter and took a kettle, filling it with water. He then set aside it and turned the gas on from the stove. He took out a flamer to set the fire and he placed the kettle onto the stove in initiating the boiling of the water. While he was at it, he laid out a tray and placed out all the necessary items he needed for the preparation of his tea.
With everything set, he walked face ward to the wall cabinet and opened the tiny door. In it where all sets of teacups and other fancy chinas. They were in different sizes, shapes, and colours. But that didn’t matter to England. All he wanted were the mugs. If he wanted to want his tea last longer, it was logical enough to use a much bigger drinking cup instead in using a tiny teacup. He searched into the cabinet were he placed the mugs.
While he searched for a suitable mug for him, something caught within his eyesight on the far corner.
A couple of dusty and old handmade mugs were facing him. England looked at them questionably as he grabbed onto both them.
“What the?! What are couple of mangy and old mugs doing in there? Why would I--“. His words were trailed off when he saw tiny words engraved on the bottom of the two mugs. He looked first at the smooth, aquamarine curved mug and read out the elegant cursive handwriting on the side of the mug.
Brother England is the best! Love Canada.
England smiled tenderly as he stroke at the mug, as if he just remembered something. This mug was surely made by Canada but it seemed England sensed he was missing important behind the mug. A faraway memory that was hard for him to grasp on.
His eyes shifted to the second mug. This mug wasn’t at all that elegant as the first one. In fact, it has this bumpy and rough shape and the colour texture looked woody. It has these little drawings of fuzzy animals on it: a white bunny, a squirrel, a grizzly bear, and lastly a deer. Same as the blue mug, there were words written on the mug.
However, the handwriting was unreadable and hard to figure out some of the words. The writing style looked ugly and squiggly. England took his time into figuring out the words. Luckily, it didn’t take him much longer until he understood what it said. He read the words out loud:
Happy B-day England! Wish I could be stronger as you are! Love America.
England began to choke himself after he mouthed out the words. After recovering from the most horrifying and “near-death-experience” from a saliva attack he was choking on (poor England, having hard time breathing for not being able to swallow properly -chuckles-), England went back to the handmade mug from America.
Now England knew what kept bothering him about these mugs. They were made for him, especially for his birthday. Both of them were from Canada and America. He has been wondering why he kept them.
England heaved a huge sigh. Recalling his old times wasn’t the pleasant thing for him. It made him looked old (and also SO tsundere). He set the two mugs back to the counter and messaged his fingertips against his temples, as if he was developing a migraine. Not wanting on letting himself down, he went back on baking some scones. With that decision, he tied his flowery patterned apron around his waist.
The doorbell rang.
England turned his head curiously. He never remembered inviting anyone at this time of the hour. The doorbell rang again.
“I’m coming,” yelled England. He removed his baking mittens and placed them on the table. The number of doorbell rings grew numerous as England approached to the door.
“Be patient, dammit! Didn’t I say I was comin-“. His words were broke off when he opened the door. Right in front of his face was a drenched, grinning young male with bright blue eyes twinkling with excitement.
“Hey there England! What took you so long in answering the door?”
The Englishman just stood frozen with a shocking expression on his face. The young nation looked back at England, noticing the apron he was wearing.
“Pfft. Nice apron you’re wearing. Hope I’m not interrupting to one of those imaginary friends tea party, aren’t I?”
“A-America?! The bloody hell you’re doing here?!” spattered England.
“Just walking pass by,” answered America innocently.
“There is NO bloody way you could just walk by in front of my house casually. Now bugger off!”
“Cooome ooon, Iggy. Just let me shelter in your house till the showers are over?” America gave out a pouty, baby face.
“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t make that face again. It creeps me out. And make sure you wipe your shoes under the entrance carpet and place your jacket on the clothing rack.”
“Aaaah, you’re so persistent England.” American showed his usual stupid smile as he stepped into the house. He took off his brown jacket and hooked onto the racket. He placed his hands into his jean’s pockets as he wondered aimlessly around the entrance. England was obviously not pleased for America’s constant poking into his things.
“Would you mind stop moving around like a dim-witted duck and just take a darn seat?” grunted England.
“My, aren’t you a very kind host,” said America jokingly. England gritted his teeth with anger as America comfortably sat down on the couch in the living room. An unsettling silent fell upon them.
“Would you like some tea?” asked England. Obviously, he wasn’t trying to be polite or offering anything to America. It’s more like a ‘make-fun-with-me-and-I’ll-kick-your-arse” statement.
“Tea? Seriously, England. Who wanted to drink something that tastes SO tasteless? I rather have something strong like coffee.”
America’s response didn’t helped England’s temper at all. His anger began to boil within him as he mumbled profane words under his breath. He stomped furiously towards the kitchen and went to one of the cabinets were he usually kept the coffee (in case America randomly shows up into his home). At the same time, the kettle was hissing in a high pitch. Forgetting about the water boiling, England rushed to turn off the gas.
-----------------------------
America exhaled heavily and looked out of the window frame. He had an obvious reason for him to drop by England’s house unexpectedly: his fears on horror movies. Ever since he was a small child, he would always read horror stories even though England told him not to. Every time he read those books, he would cry with fear and would have trouble sleeping alone. The only solution would have been sleeping with England to help him to feel safe.
Previously, America just watched a horror movie from the cinema. The story took place on a country town were strange things happened during the heavy rain falls. In fact, some people were traumatized mentally after their encounters of a mysterious black creature and after that those occurrences, they were-
America felt a cold shiver travelling down his spine (whether it was the cold weather or the movie, he wasn’t sure). He could feel the goose bumps crawling up onto his skin. Hoping to find some distraction to cheer him up, he looked his nearest surroundings in the living room area. He caught sight of the book on the armchair England was reading. America heaved himself from the couch and peeked at it curiously at the book’s cover.
America moaned. This was the book he lent to England since it was too scary for him to keep it. Just looking at the front cover of the The Stand is enough for him to shriek. He helplessly tossed the book back at the chair.
A sudden thought came up to him. He might as well go to the kitchen and just chill in there for awhile. He straightened his face, not wanting to give the impression to England that he got himself scared again and with that, he moved onward to the kitchen.
America poked his head out of the kitchen’s door to see what England was doing. He could see the Englishman setting up his own tea and taking out a trayful of scones from the oven.
“Hope those scones weren’t meant for me, are they England?”
The Englishman gave himself a jolt and turned around.
“Blimey hell America! Don’t scare me like that!” England’s face began to flush with red.
America snorted. “Geez England. You surely love to use those weird British slang words of yours.” America came out from his hiding spot and stepped into the kitchen, looking around. “Is the coffee done yet?”
“Does it look like its ready?” snarled England.
“What’s with the hold up? I thought you were making me the coffee.”
“Are you THAT daft?! I was busy making these scones! If you don’t want to wait, why don’t you just make the bloody coffee yourself?! The water is still warm. I already placed the filter and coffee out on the counter.”
He looked at the counter where England pointed him at. Sighing in defeat, he unscrewed the coffee container and took a spoonful amount of the brown powder into the filter. With his hand holding the filter, America looked around questionably.
“Hey Arthur. Where you usually keep the mugs?”
“They’re at that wall cabinet.” It seemed England wasn’t paying much attention to him. Knowing trying to draw his attention was useless, America simply moved on to the cabinet.
He reached out for the cabinet’s door and swung it open. His blue eyes traveled aimlessly inside the cabinet, as if there wasn’t really anything in there. He stopped his movements when he saw the two mugs lying on the counter.
“What’s this?” He went for the blue mug and looked at it curiously. England looked back at America to see what he was doing.
“Gah! Put that back America!” England became suddenly panicked. He didn’t want to give the wrong impression to America that he still kept those mugs. America made a strange face at England. He looked back at the mug again.
“Eh? Is this mug from Canada? When did you get it?”
It seemed America was clueless of the other mug. As long as America doesn’t see it, England was fine with that.
“Y-yes, it is! He actually made it for me as a birthday present,” spattered England.
“Eeh? A handmade mug made from Canada? Actually, I’m not at all that surprised. Making handcrafts are for sissy boys.... well, except for you England (even though you do those girly embroideries). You’re too violent and used to be a delinquent, hehe.”
America casually laughed. England, on the other hand, did not find it amusing. He glared bitterly at him. Sensing his glare, America’s laughter was cut off.
“Ah come. I was just kidding. I’ll just put this mug back where it belon-Hey! There’s another crummy-looking mug.”
“A-Alfred! Stop poking around! Leave it!”
Unfortunately, England’s words did not reach to America. For now, America was standing there, holding the brown mug, staring at it.
“Wait a second, England. This mug is also a birthday present for you, but it says it was made by me. I don’t remember doing any dumb handcrafting. But, it looks familiar with those drawings...”
His words stopped. America took his time re-collecting his thoughts. He turned his face at England, his expression looking stunned.
“Wasn’t this from long ago, when I was still a kid?”
England turned his face away from America, flushing with embarrassment. America widened his eyes with surprise.
“Seriously England. These presents are seriously cheap. I mean, I guess I understand why you would keep Canada’s since his is SOO nice-looking, but gezz. Mine’s?! Is someone being a bit TOO attached?”
England looked back at America dangerously. He has gone too far.
“Stop being such a damn prick and shut up already! I kept them because they meant something to me, got it you dumb, snotty-bastard?!” England’s yelling hurt America’s ears. He puffed heavily, trying to control himself. He could feel his throat unrestrained and hurtful for him to swallow.
“S-sorry England. It was just a joke.” America knew his excuse wasn’t good enough in asking forgiveness from England.
“Damn right you’re sorry. You made it mainly for me. You kept on asking back then on what sort of gifts I like and I replied anything from you will do. For Pete’s sake America, I did it for you!”
“F-for me?! It took me awhile on what present I should get for you. I mean.....I thought you wouldn’t like anything that weren’t handmade so I thought I might as well do mugs with Canada, since he was making one and I needed his help and all....”
America has put himself in an awkward situation. He scratched his head and smiled nervously. England gawked at him.
“Seriously Alfred, you should know by now that I don’t care how good or expensive the gifts are. Is the thought that counts. Just don’t give me something vulgar like France does in everyone’s birthdays. Then you’re asking yourself a ticket to ‘kick-in-the-arse’ land.”
This time England laughed all heartedly. America watched him as he was having his own fun time. The young nation let out a sigh of relief and smiled back.
“Yeah. You got a point there.”
Both the blond men spent their time in the kitchen, preparing their hot beverages and eating hot scones (which turned out to burnt, of course). The two men hadn’t realized the rain stopped moments ago as they spent their time together chatting away.
-------
The grandfather clock from the living room struck at 4:00 in the afternoon. The bell’s sound travelled to the kitchen.
“Blimey. Is it really that late? It feels we’ve been here for ages!”
“Haha, yeah. And look, the rain is gone too!”
“Well, you won’t have any problems in getting back to your house, do you America?”
“Eer, yeah.”
Both the two nations rose from the small kitchen table and went to the entrance door. America slowly reached for his jacket from the clothing rack.
“Uhm, well. This is goodbye then,” said America.
“Indeed it is,” replied England.
America slowly went for the doorknob. His hand stopped in midair.
“Erm, England?”
“What is it, Alfred?”
“Can I stay over here tonight?”
“Let me guess... You saw a horror movie.”
“H-how did you know?!”
“Sigh. I know you too well, America. I know you too well.”
THE END.