PT: I'm following that meme where you listen to your music on shuffle and write a drabble depending on each within the duration of the song.

Disclaimer: If Hidekazu Himaruya was me—not the other way around, of course—I would totally have more PruHun UST.

...

えいえんのせつな– On/Off

We are brothers forever.

Nothing can change that.

These thoughts run through America's mind as he stares after England.

And suddenly, America is young again. Younger than he is. Fresh-faced and blue-eyed, his new uniform already worn by wind and snow.

His hair is blond, like England's.

His eyes are blue; he is white.

And he is the one walking away, not England. He can feel the familiar green eyes, apple green eyes, grazing his back, and can almost hear the slight whimpering. Those are all familiar to him, and he feels sorry. Sorry to let go of him like this.

But he could not take anymore, and England should've known.

He, America, would let no one obstruct the life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness of his people; because now, they are his people.

His roots are British.

But he is American.

And let this be how it is from now on.