The first time England showed up unannounced at America's house and cooked dinner, America was more amused than upset.
The second time England showed up unannounced and cooked dinner, America was a bit less amused and a lot queasier.
The third time England showed up unannounced to cook dinner, America tried to hide. England found him anyway, and America was not only forced to eat the burnt roast, but he found himself wearing some of it.
The fourth time England showed up unannounced, America wouldn't let him into the kitchen. He offered to cook for the older Nation, but England only glared at him before pushing him out of the way. America still had no idea what it was England tried to make.
The fifth time it happened, America had had enough. "Why are you so determined to cook dinner, England?" Once again, America was blocking the door to the kitchen, constantly moving in an attempt to stop England.
"Move out of the way, America," England growled. America shook his head, and England felt ready to throttle him. "You have no sense of taste. You're always eating those damn hamburgers. You need to introduce some variety!"
"Then why not send France? I hear he has wonderful cuisine," America snapped. No one was allowed to insult his diet, not even the ex-empire.
England saw red before lunging at America. The other Nation quickly put an end to the attack, much to England's despair. Scowling, England turned away from America. "You know what, America? Fuck you!" And with that, he stormed out the door, slamming it shut behind him.
America watched as his front door shut, only feeling a little guilty…but he managed to avoid having to eat England's food for the time being.
Of course, England was stubborn. There was a sixth time the he showed up unannounced with the intention of cooking. This time, however, America had beaten him into the kitchen, and was already in the middle of cooking. "Take a seat, England, I'm almost done," he said, gesturing to a table in the kitchen with his fork.
Suspicious, England took a seat, watching America at the stove. He was frying meat, but England was surprised to see that there were no hamburger patties in sight. "What are you making?"
"It's a surprise," America told him, his full attention on the browning meat in the pan.
England watched as America moved the pan over the sink to drain the grease. His ex-colony was silent, his attention focused fully on making dinner, something which surprised England. America put the pan back on the stove before opening a can of something and dumping it over the meat, mixing it carefully then putting a lid over the pan.
America let out a soft sigh and took a seat across from England. "So, what were you going to make tonight, England?"
"Steak and kidney pie." At America's shudder, England's scowl increased. "What is with you? It's delicious! You just have no taste!"
America opened his mouth to retort but, remembering the third visit, shut it again. "Whatever you say, England." He stood up and returned to the stove. "It's done."
"Great," England said dryly. "What is it?" It looked and smelled like tomato sauce, but England hadn't seen America boil noodles or anything, and was therefore perplexed.
"I told you, it's a surprise," America told him, spooning some of the meat onto a hamburger bun. "Here," he said, putting the plate in front of England.
England stared at the sandwich on his plate. It was in a hamburger bun, but was clearly not a hamburger. It looked like Bolognese sauce, but that made no sense having on a bun. He looked up from the plate, and saw America watching him intently, his own sandwich untouched. England reached down and picked up the sandwich, frowning when half the meat fell out and landed with a squelching sound on the plate. Rolling his eyes at the mess, England took a bite. The taste of tomatoes was strong and there was something else…onions maybe? It was an odd combination having the sauce and bread together, but all in all, it wasn't that bad.
America took England's silence as a mark of approval and, grinning, took a bit of his own sandwich. The two Nations ate quietly for a moment when suddenly, England let out a growl. "What's wrong?" America asked.
England glared at America, throwing the rest of the sandwich on the plate. "Some of the sauce got on my clothes. This is so messy! What is it, America?"
Grinning, America took another bite of his. "It's a Sloppy Joe. One of the companies has a jingle…" America trailed off for a moment, lost in thought. "You don't have to be a man…something. You don't have to be a witch…blah blah…and wearing some of that dinner on you. Or something. But it's good, don't you think? Nothing like a hamburger, of course, but it's different, right?"
England rolled his eyes as he reached for a napkin. "I guess."
America grinned, slamming his hand down on the table. "Great! And for dessert, we're making s'mores. I hope you didn't like that shirt, England."
America had already bounced off when England turned around in shock. Shaking his head, England went back to cleaning his hands with the napkin. Maybe he would stop showing up to America's house for dinner. Perhaps breakfast would be a better choice.