Father's Day
It was Father's Day, and I was quiet in America's home. America was sitting on the ground, holding his legs to his chest, staring at the phone. He usually sent a card but America swore this year he'd call but he couldn't even lift the phone off the receiver; as time passed America's determination dropped more and more.
"C'mon America, you're the brave hero, just pick up that phone and call him. He'll be happy, he won't hang up on you," America pep talked.
America took a deep breath and reigned in his emotions before standing up and walking over to the phone. Before his resolve could drop, he quickly dialed the number and held the phone to his ear; taking deep breaths. Three rings later, the phone was answered.
"Arthur Kirkland speaking; who is it?" a polite voice asked, "Hello?"
"It's America," America quickly said.
"Oh, it's you. Was there something you wanted?" the voice was slightly harsh and annoyed with the very slightest hope.
"I-I wanted to say," –deep breath- "Happy Father's Day," he said and paused.
England paused too. "*Fathers?* Oh yes, that is today isn't it. Thank you Alfred, though we're more like brothers today than father and son," he replied, though America could hear the slight happiness.
America gave a breathy chuckle. "I know but there isn't exactly a 'Happy Brother's Day'," he joked.
England chuckled too. "No, I suppose there isn't," he replied.
America signed while closing his eyes, "I just… want you to know how much I appreciate you and I… I love you," he said hesitantly.
England paused. "I love you too brother," he replied quietly.