Don't own Hetalia, the deed blew up with the letter bomb. Also, the Netherlands were the first to use a tricolor flag with red, white, and blue (but obviously not the last).
"Hey Artie!" The boy, no man, he's grown hasn't he, shouts, and runs over, waving that flag of his. Red. White. Blue. They were mine before they were yours, he thinks, and is pulled into the bo-the man's wake. "Well, aren'tcha going to congratulate me or something?" He whines, and England almost wants to scold him for it.
"First off, that's not a word. It's 'aren't you' or, to be proper, 'are you not'." He smirks, his point having been made.
The-the man pouts, and glares. "God, why do you have to be such a stick in the mud! C'mon, loosen up, it's my birthday!"
England sighs. "I already told you, your birthday makes me feel sick." Because you left. You left, you left, you left, and it's always been about you.
America looks at him, and the teasing, happy grin goes away, and the blue eyes sadden, and his arms come up, tugging England in to protect him from some unknown peril, pulling him close, along with his flag.
"What are you doing, you bloody git!" England is sputtering, and the flag pole is trapped between him and America's arm. Red, white, and blue. Mine before yours. But not mine first, were they? No, the Netherlands had the colors first. And now everyone uses them.
America slowly releases him, and England almost wants to beg him not to. He, of course, fights down the urge until it shuts the hell up. "Sorry, I just thought you were upset or something. Hey, look, if you're feeling sick or something, you can just hang out in one of the guest rooms, you know… I mean, it's not like I-we, wouldn't miss you or anything, I just thought that if you needed rest or something…" He trailed off, willing the blush off his face, and the rambling to cease.
England looked up at him. Red cheeks. White shirt. Blue eyes. "Your flag looks good on you."
"Huh?"
England smirked. "Come on, Alfred. The "hero" can't be missing at his own party."
"YES! You finally acknowledge my awesomeness!" America grabbed his hand, and ran back to the main room, all the while waving his flag.
"Not so fast! Argh!" England was dragged along behind, stumbling, as he tried to keep up. "And that's only for toda-ow!" America had stopped suddenly, and England found himself wishing that he had had the sense to send France over with his gift and stay at home with a nice cup of tea. "Do you have any good reason for nearly killing me?"
"Yeah! What'd you get me?" America, grinning again, cheekily this time, was asking for a present after causing England's life to flash before his eyes. England was contemplating just locking the man into a closet for a few hours, with his only food being England's cooking. Which was amazing. According to England.
"I would ask who the bloody hell raised you to be such a savage if it weren't for the fact that would insult my child-rearing skills."
"What child-rearing skills? You tried to poison me and, um…MATT! Yeah! Food poisoning is totally un-heroic!" England just stared at him. By now, America had reached a whole new level of Iggy-Annoyance, and England was at a complete loss for words.
"I…here." He shoved the present at America's chest, and turned to leave. This just wasn't worth it. Even though he loved seeing his former colony this happy, the pain and misery he got whenever he thought about this day was not worth it.
"Hey, Arthur, wait!" A jacket was dumped unceremoniously on his back. "I, um, know the plane ride back ought to be kinda long and boring, so you could use this as a blanket or something, okay? Just bring it back when you visit. That jacket is important!"
England looked at America. He had grown tall, far taller than him, far stronger than he had been, and he almost missed the days when he was the thing that made America happiest. "I, um…" Blushing, England stood on tiptoe and pressed his lips to America's cheek. "Thanks." Then, being the kind of person he was, England sprinted off in the other direction. "AND DON'T TAKE THAT THE WRONG WAY!"
America stood dumbstruck, absently rubbing the spot England had kissed. "Wow… Maybe I should lend Artie stuff more often…"
***
England sat in the cab on the way home, blushing. He had worked hard to embroider the flag so that every single star was perfect, and it would probably be one of his better presents to America. Red, white, and blue. If it's you, Alfred, I don't mind sharing.