Hold Me Close [8/?]
anonymous
May 4 2009, 03:00:28 UTC
America turns and he picks up the toast. Quickly, he takes a small bite out of and drops it onto the plate, and his hands go for the other parts of the breakfast as well, all know having a small bite taken out of, and then a swig of tea; “There! I even took a bite myself! They're fine, England.” America huffs and crosses his arms.
England narrows his eyes, but... it's food, and truth be told, he's starving, and... well, the man's not going to eat poison, so... England stands, and he moves to the chair. America goes back to his, and England sits, beginning to eat.
“Do you like it?” America asks, cheery in voice. England looks down, but nods, and America's smile grows wider; “Great! Do you want this again tomorrow, or do you want me to try making something different?” England pauses.
“You're making this... tomorrow to? For me?” He asks, and the words sound as if they'd be happily curious, but they sound like a simple question, which England's voice still empty. America nods; “Of course! I'm taking care of you now, so I got to do a good job!” For humor's sake, he wanted to add that China and France will come beat him up other wise, but England would probably take that the wrong way.
England isn't sure what to say. Why is this guy being so nice anyway? It feels so familiar, but he doesn't know, “... I'll... have the same thing. Thank you.” England says, and America frowns inside. He knows he isn't expecting results right now, but he thought he'd gained a smidgen of England's trust, but his voice sounds like England still thinks he has to be polite and good-willed, or else he's going to get hurt.
England, I'd never hurt you. America thinks, but he wants to say it out loud; it'd probably throw England into a fit of distrust again, so he stays quiet.
“Are you sure?” America asks, and England nods. Figures; England is just scared of asking for something else because he's worried he's going to get hit for being spoiled.
“All right! Then after this, we'll have an important lesson, so be ready, okay?” America tells him, positive and bright, but England flinches, and America knows he's thinking of some sort of horrifying and traumatizing lesson instead of something simple as England's identity.
“Don't worry, it's nothing bad. You said so yourself; you don't know who you are! I'm going to help you remember!” America explains, and England looks up at him, his eyes... just a little less dull. Just a little, and America's soaring. England nods, and sips the last of his tea. He ate pretty fast, America notes, and with a smile; “Do you want more?”
“... N-No, thank you...” England sputters out, and America pouts. He's probably lying and he's probably still hungry, “Are you sure? I have plenty of food! You can eat all you want! It's really okay.”
England shakes his head, and he stands. His plate in his hands with the tea cup balancing carefully on it, and he heads into the kitchen. Oh well, America figures he can just make England eat once his stomach winds up growling again. How can he be in that state and have one plate fill him completely?
The older nation headed to the sink to wash his dishes; “Hey, I can do it for you if you want.” America calls from the dining room, but England, busy looking around, has his eyes fixated on one object, so much that he doesn't reply. It's a knife; there's a knife piled with the utensils.
It's sharp, and all of a sudden, England can see the blood on it, his blood, his reflection, he can see Russia, he can remember his screams and he can recall it all and the plate falls from his hands and shatters and England is brought out of his horrific reverie with the sound and America runs in.
Re: Hold Me Close [8/?]
anonymous
June 15 2010, 09:23:03 UTC
I really do like how his trying to give England space and let him be independent and not be all like sit there Ima do it all for you you cant do anything etc etc (or looking over his shoulder constantly cause that make him nervous) with him because this is america so he would be like that buuut...god america you cant live him alone (w sharp things around) like that ; . ;
England narrows his eyes, but... it's food, and truth be told, he's starving, and... well, the man's not going to eat poison, so... England stands, and he moves to the chair. America goes back to his, and England sits, beginning to eat.
“Do you like it?” America asks, cheery in voice. England looks down, but nods, and America's smile grows wider; “Great! Do you want this again tomorrow, or do you want me to try making something different?” England pauses.
“You're making this... tomorrow to? For me?” He asks, and the words sound as if they'd be happily curious, but they sound like a simple question, which England's voice still empty. America nods; “Of course! I'm taking care of you now, so I got to do a good job!” For humor's sake, he wanted to add that China and France will come beat him up other wise, but England would probably take that the wrong way.
England isn't sure what to say. Why is this guy being so nice anyway? It feels so familiar, but he doesn't know, “... I'll... have the same thing. Thank you.” England says, and America frowns inside. He knows he isn't expecting results right now, but he thought he'd gained a smidgen of England's trust, but his voice sounds like England still thinks he has to be polite and good-willed, or else he's going to get hurt.
England, I'd never hurt you. America thinks, but he wants to say it out loud; it'd probably throw England into a fit of distrust again, so he stays quiet.
“Are you sure?” America asks, and England nods. Figures; England is just scared of asking for something else because he's worried he's going to get hit for being spoiled.
“All right! Then after this, we'll have an important lesson, so be ready, okay?” America tells him, positive and bright, but England flinches, and America knows he's thinking of some sort of horrifying and traumatizing lesson instead of something simple as England's identity.
“Don't worry, it's nothing bad. You said so yourself; you don't know who you are! I'm going to help you remember!” America explains, and England looks up at him, his eyes... just a little less dull. Just a little, and America's soaring. England nods, and sips the last of his tea. He ate pretty fast, America notes, and with a smile; “Do you want more?”
“... N-No, thank you...” England sputters out, and America pouts. He's probably lying and he's probably still hungry, “Are you sure? I have plenty of food! You can eat all you want! It's really okay.”
England shakes his head, and he stands. His plate in his hands with the tea cup balancing carefully on it, and he heads into the kitchen. Oh well, America figures he can just make England eat once his stomach winds up growling again. How can he be in that state and have one plate fill him completely?
The older nation headed to the sink to wash his dishes; “Hey, I can do it for you if you want.” America calls from the dining room, but England, busy looking around, has his eyes fixated on one object, so much that he doesn't reply. It's a knife; there's a knife piled with the utensils.
It's sharp, and all of a sudden, England can see the blood on it, his blood, his reflection, he can see Russia, he can remember his screams and he can recall it all and the plate falls from his hands and shatters and England is brought out of his horrific reverie with the sound and America runs in.
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Oh no, England having flashbacks. D8
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