Hello everyone! This is a sequel to my other oneshot, 'Memories and Ear Piercings'. You don't really have to read that other oneshot before reading this one, I think that you can easily read it without being confused. Although I would appreciate it if you checked out my other story as well!
I apologize for any grammatical errors. I'm not perfect!
And of course, enjoy!
England sat in one of his armchairs by the fireplace as he quietly flipped through the pages of a poetry book. This was the only quiet day he had gotten in the past week, due to America constantly showing up at his door and causing a scene. It had only been a week ago that America had suffered his ear piercing incident, which still baffled the British man, and England was a little less than uneasy to witness what America's next spontaneous decision would be. Quite frankly, one could say that the mere thought of what he was capable of scared him.
He just didn't understand why he was doing this. Was it a relapse of his adolescence stage? England hoped not, he didn't think that he could handle another Revolutionary War, but neither did he want to watch America make such rash decisions.
As if by the summoning of England's black magic, a knock at the door was heard and England had no doubt as to who it might be. He didn't even bother to open the door; America had a reputation for barging into people's houses.
Just as he was putting a bookmark into place he heard the sound of his front door being kicked in. "Hey, dude!" He heard America call loudly from the doorway. "I have a totally boss-awesome idea!" His boots clomped noisily against his hardwood floors as he stomped into the living room.
England sighed as he set the book down beside him. "Please tell me that this isn't as careless as your decision to get your ears pierced," England said with a voice that seemed to plead against an idea that he already knew was true. "And just so you know, I'm sending the bill for a new door to your place," he added.
"I'm just going to ignore that last part, but to answer you, it's a way better idea! It's-" he was broken off by England's next remark.
"Or as stupid as the belief that eating twenty hamburgers before riding a roller coaster at Disney World was a smart idea."
"Okay, so that might not have been the smartest idea, but-"
"Or-"
"Shut it limey!" This time it was America who was cutting England off, surprising him slightly. "I get that I kind of screw up a lot. But this time I promise that my idea is a good one."
England crossed his arms and his legs as he waited. "I'm listening," he said, his voice sounding tired and irritated.
America smiled brightly before continuing his explanation. "I have decided to get a tattoo!" he declared proudly.
England's jaw dropped open in shock and for a moment the Brit was too shocked to manage a proper reply. But even when he could speak, he sounded bewildered. "But why on earth would you do that?"
"Because I want to, that's why! What other reason do I need? I think that's a pretty good reason, dude."
England thought back to when he was telling America the stories of when he was a pirate. He remembered when he told him about the time he had gotten a tattoo. Surely he wasn't doing it just because of an old memory.
"Look, America," England started, his voice softening as it tried to move past confusion and into some sort of understanding, "I don't understand why you are doing this, but if it's because of me, I… I want you to stop it. I want you to stop throwing caution to the wind and drop the absurd stunts before you do something extremely reckless."
America's face transitioned into a distorted mask of hurt and anger. He was furious at the British man for doubting his capability to make his own decisions. "No, I'm not doing because of you, I'm doing it because I want to." By now his voice was rising and his hands were clenched into angry, trembling fists at his side.
The two didn't speak for the next few minutes and America finally decided to take his leave for the door. "I'm really getting tired of this, man- of you bossing me around. That's why I wanted my independence, so that I could stop living under your control." With that last stinging insult, he slammed the door behind him, leaving England alone with his thoughts.
America plopped down on a barstool at the nearest bar he could find. He didn't know what it was called and to put it simply, he didn't really give a damn what it was named. It made no difference to him. It was as dark as a bat cave inside and heavy metal blasted at top volume from the speakers hanging above him.
"What'll ya have?" asked the surly bartender.
America asked for the first thing that came to mind, which was surprisingly, "Tequila."
"Gotcha," the bartender answered, turning to make the drink.
Heavy metal and tequila, an interesting combination, America thought.
When he returned with the drink, America drank half of it on the first swig. He couldn't believe what had happened. He couldn't believe the way England had treated him, like he was a five-year old all over again. But then again, he couldn't believe the way that he had treated England. It wasn't like him to burst out with insults like that, not at anybody. All of the things that he had said to him kept haunting America.
When he thought back to the conversation, he drunk the rest of the drink and payed again before walking out into the cool, nighttime air. He scanned the area before his eyes settled on a particular building. With a look of determination clear on his face, America sauntered into the tattoo parlor.
It was one in the morning when England was woken up by a slight tugging at his sleeve and by the sound of someone crying quietly. He groggily forced his eyes open, and he could very faintly make out the figure of America standing at his bed. Forgetting their previous argument or the fact that he had been abruptly aroused from his slumber at ungodly hours of the night, he sat up fully alert and concerned.
"What's wrong?" he asked, flicking on the lamp sitting beside him. Rather than answer the question, America latched onto England in a tight bear hug as he cried. "Bloody hell, what did you do, America?" England asked quietly, gently rubbing his back. "You smell like a mixture of the tropics and cheap cologne."
America promptly broke the embrace and muttered, "I'm about to smell like something else," before clamping a hand over his mouth and dashing for the nearest bathroom. England had to run after him so that he was there in time. He rubbed his back as he was doubled over the toilet, hideous retching noises coming from him.
After he was finished (and after England forced him to clean himself up), America summed up the chain of events that had occurred after he had stormed out of the house. America blushed as he adjusted his clothes so that England could see the eagle with outstretched wings printed clearly above his ass.
"You got a tramp stamp?!" England cried, laughing loudly in spite of his shock.
America pulled his shirt back down and stood up, turning away in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. "Yeah whatever. At least it looks badass."
England just shook his head. "You git...what are we going to do with you?
The two walked into England's living room. America had things ready to sleep on the couch, but he paused before lying down. "Hey, England?"
England turned. "Yes?"
"I'm sorry about, you know, kinda acting like a douchebag earlier."
England was shocked to hear him apologize. "Y-yeah, don't worry about it. Good night."
"Good night."
England kept thinking about him even after he had crawled back into bed and was waiting for sleep to find him. He hoped that America wasn't on some kind of pathway to self-destruction; hopefully this wasn't setting up a trend for future events. England sighed. Even though he had become independent, he was still dealing with his problems. As he yawned and rolled over, he thought that maybe that wasn't always such a bad thing. It kept things interesting.
What did you guys think? Please let me know so I know if I did good or bad. Reviews and critique are always appreciated.
Thank you for reading!