Usually, England's dreams were pure fantasy. Flying Mint Bunny, cursing his enemies with ridiculous results, and sailing the seven seas on an astounding pirate ship were the norm. Every time he woke up, he'd mentally laugh at his imagination, but in all his centuries spent alive, there was one dream that stood out from the rest.
It wasn't fantasy to him, but reality, as if it were a memory from long ago.
England was standing on Big Ben, the area right above the four clock faces, when he heard a shriek. He looked to his right and saw a red-haired teen on the edge of the walkway about to fall to her death. His eyes widened and he rushed to her, grabbing her hand and yanking her back to safety.
"What were you thinking, coming up here?!" England scolded. "You were about to die just now!"
"I'm so sorry," the girl apologized, blinking a few times in shock. "I just... appeared there. I was surprised, to say the least..."
The redhead wore bronze armour and a red miniskirt and her hair in a ponytail. Her vivid green eyes stared at the ground in embarrassment.
England raised a thick eyebrow. "What? Appeared?"
"Yeah." She nodded before her eyes grew wide. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself. I'm Pyrrha Nikos."
"Arthur Kirkland." England shook her hand, which he was still holding, before letting go.
"What are you doing on this building, anyway?" Pyrrha asked.
"I own this clock tower."
"Own it? What are you, rich?"
England looked away sheepishly. "It's hard to explain, really."
Pyrrha smiled warmly. "I'll try my best to understand, then."
England's head snapped back in her direction, utter shock clear on his face before he sighed and sat on the edge of the tower.
"Alright. Sit."
Pyrrha silently obeyed and looked at the moon before staring at the Englishman.
"I'm England."
The girl blinked. "I don't follow."
"The country we're in is called England. I'm pretty much the human-ish version of it. I'm the country and everything in it belongs to me," England explained. "Understand so far?"
"So far?"
"Well, yes." England pressed the tips of his index fingers together. "I... thought you'd want to hear my story. I guess not..." He whispered the last part.
"N-no, I do!" Pyrrha exclaimed earnestly. "I'm ready to listen."
England frowned. "I just realized I don't know where to start."
"Well, what's your country like?" Pyrrha asked with a smile.
"It's really nice, but it rains a lot." England smiled sadly. "It's fitting for me, I guess..."
"What do you mean?" Pyrrha asked concerned.
"I'm a pretty lonely guy, you know." The country laughed bitterly. "Nobody actually wants to be friends with me. I remember when I used to raise America when he was just a little guy. It's like he grew overnight and the next thing I know, he practically wants me out of his life. We had a war for eight long years... and I lost. I lost the only bloody country that cared about me. I even offered to be his friend and he said no and laughed at me, that wanker! He's broken my heart and thrown it in a shredder after running it over wih a truck! He just laughs it off like it's a joke! On top of that, no one likes me. I can't be friends with anyone. If I do, they end up using me and casting me aside like a wet towel. That's why I'm so lonely, and no one understands what it's like."
He didn't know when, but somewhere along the line he'd started to cry. He covered his face with his hands while he sobbed lightly. "I'm sorry, I just... I can't..."
Pyrrha wrapped her arms around him tightly. "I know what it's like. I've always been put on a pedestal and everyone thinks I'm too good for them. No one bothered with me at all, so I had no friends. I was lonely, too."
England turned and hugged her back, crying into her shoulder. "It's been centuries. I'm over a thousand years old. I've always been like this, Pyrrha. How old are you, eighteen?"
"Seventeen." She corrected him.
"I'm immortal! This pain, the heartbreak, my sadness, it's eternal." England squeezed her harder. "It'll never end..."
Pyrrha just held him as he poured his heart out to her, spilling tears on her bare shoulder. She feared up a little as well, pulling back to look him in the eye.
"What, are you going to leave me too?" England cried, looking at her with puffy red eyes.
"I'll be your friend, Arthur."
Her words stopped his tears and anger. She was giving him that warm, sweet smile, despite the tears in her own green eyes. He quickly wiped away the wet stains on his cheeks and looked at her in astonishment.
Was she really willing to be his friend? His genuine friend?
"Are... are you serious?" England asked.
"Of course. We could both use a good friend, after all." Pyrrha giggled.
To say England was flustered was an understatement. He was blushing, tripping over his words and looking at everything that wasn't Pyrrha Nikos.
"O-of course," he finally said, "but you're obviously not f-from around here. How would we talk to each other?"
"I don't know, but knowing there's a friend out there somewhere is enough, right?" Pyrrha's smile grew. "As long as we never forget about each other."
England never forgot Pyrrha, even after a century and a half. He was certain she'd long passed, but was also sure she'd never forgotten about him.