England lay on his bed, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets. Even though the temperature outside was nearly 100ºF, and the air conditioner was defective, he couldn't stop himself from shivering so much. Stupid fever, he thought.

It figures. He felt well enough on the day of his trip to the United States, but that night, he had started coughing. England thought it was the only time he wouldn't get sick on America's birthday, so that's why he planned the trip. But here he was, lying under a dozen layers of blankets and even wearing a large robe underneath.

England wanted to call up America to come to his place instead because he obviously wasn't in a good state to move around much. But he didn't even tell America that he was even visiting because he wanted to have it be a nice surprise. Obviously, that wasn't going to happen this year.

He called Canada instead. England knew he needed someone to take care of him whilst he was sick, and Canada, strangely, was the first person that came into his mind. (Well, actually, France was, but England didn't trust him enough to leave him in his house with him alone. Who knew what that perverted frog would do to him in his current state?)

Anyway, that was a while ago—an hour or two to be more precise—and Canada said he'd be there right away, but there was no sign of him. England started wondering what was taking him so long, and he jerked upward as he had a random coughing fit. He sighed and plopped his head back down on the pillow and looked up at the ceiling with his eyes halfway closed. He kept thinking to himself how miserable he must have looked at that moment: pink eyes; red, irritated nose; messy hair even more unkempt than usual; mouth halfway open because he couldn't even breathe through his nostrils; and the blankets tucked up just beneath his chin. It appeared as though he'd been like that for days.

Unexpectedly, someone entered his bedroom and said very quietly, "Hi, England." The voice startled him, but he kept still in his bed and tried to open his eyes a little wider to see who had come in. It was probably Canada. He'd probably entered the house during England's most recent spasm of coughs, so he hadn't heard the door open or close.

He just sighed and tried to mumble something that sounded like, "You're finally here."

Canada moved closer to the bed, paused, and asked, "Do you need anything?"

England mumbled, "Hot tea, please."

A few minutes passed after Canada retreated to the kitchen, and he came back with a steaming cup of tea in one hand and a cup of sugar in the other. "I wasn't sure what kind you wanted," he said with a shrug, "so I just picked Earl Grey." He handed England the tea cup and held out the cup with sugar in it. "Sugar?"

England carefully sat up and rested his head on the headboard after a small nod. Canada poured a small amount of sugar in his tea at a time, and England held up his free hand when it was the right amount he wanted. Canada quietly stirred the tea with a silver spoon, took it out, and brought it to his mouth to taste it. He gave a tiny shudder as the liquid travelled down his throat. "I don't know why you like that stuff so much, but..." He shrugged after he let his sentence trail off and stayed silent whilst England began sipping the tea.

It actually wasn't too bad. It probably could have been steeped for a little longer, but he didn't want to say anything, not after Canada had come all this way just to care for him. England couldn't help adding to his thought: when they were supposed to be at America's birthday party right now.

England hadn't realised when Canada had sat on the edge of the bed next to him until he reached his hand over and felt his forehead. England stopped drinking momentarily and looked up at Canada as his hand lingered there for about a minute. Was Canada looking into his eyes? The light on England's nightstand wasn't enough to illuminate his face or distinguish any specific features of him.

Then Canada removed his hand, looked away, and said, "Yep, you've definitely got a fever."

Before he could say any more, England did the same to Canada and reached his hand forward to rest on his head. It felt cool and smooth; England wasn't sure if it was because his own hand felt hot and clammy or if his skin just naturally felt that way. "Well, you definitely don't," he observed and dropped his hand on top of the blankets.

Then, suddenly, Canada laughed at the comment. It sounded a lot louder than England would've expected from the quiet nation, and it was very similar to America's. Even though everyone around America would always find his laughter completely annoying and contagious, England couldn't help but to at least enjoy it secretly, and he would not tell anyone that he did. It always brought him back to the days when America was just a small colony, his brother. England's little brother.

But he didn't like to be called that anymore.

"'Miss him." England didn't notice that he'd actually said that out loud, but it was too late because Canada looked at him again.

"Miss who?"

"America," he whimpered.

Canada cocked his head. "Well, I'm here."

England shook his head. "'Not the same." Of course it wasn't the same. Canada hadn't been raised by England every second since they've met each other and had suddenly grown sick and tired of being his younger brother, became independent, and disappeared from him ever since. Canada was always a good boy, and no one could change that.

Unexpectedly, he felt something very soft on the middle of his forehead. England opened his eyes and saw Canada's face touching his. Canada kissed his forehead, and his lips felt very cool on his burning skin. He wasn't sure why he was trying to comfort him like this, but England couldn't help but to close his eyes and relax into his touch until sleep had come to take him for the night.

The next morning, England woke up with the feeling of someone's soft, warm breathing on his lower neck. He opened his eyes to reveal a dark blonde head lying just on top of his chest and a little hair curl that peeked out above it in the front on one side. He realised immediately who it was, and normally he would've jumped up from his bed and started shouting. But because he was feeling to sick and weak, he just rose up his head and whispered, "America?"

He must have already been awake because he turned his head right away and looked at England. "England." He revealed a gentle smile. "Mornin'."

Without thinking—again—England reached out both of his arms and pulled America into a quick embrace. America's breath hitched a bit and he lifted his hands in minor shock. "E-England?"

"America," England said whilst trying not to sound too childish, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I meant to come to your party. But I couldn't in the end. I wanted to, though. Desperately. I'm just...so sorry."

America patted him on the back lightly and let out a light chuckle. "Dude, it's okay. Really." He pulled away to look at England, but his hands lingered on his shoulders. "Why are you so worked up about it?"

England looked away to try and hide the creep of a blush sneaking up his face, and he pouted. He simply shrugged, "I wanted to see you."

America lifted one hand to lightly pinch England's cheek and turn it so that they faced each other again. "Well," he smiled, "I'm here now."

He couldn't hold back any longer. England leant forward and kissed America on his lips, grabbing both sides of his face. He didn't know what had gotten into him—whether it was the fever or America's ridiculous smile—but he couldn't take back was had already happened.

He kept this kiss brief, though, and when he pulled away, England saw that America's face was absolutely priceless: his eyes were kept wide open, his hair seemed to stand on edge, his fingers swept quickly across his mouth, and his face was probably redder than England's was right now. "Uh-uh..." he began stuttering.

England interrupted. "I love you, America."

And at that moment, everything seemed to freeze. In that one moment, America's and England's views of each other would probably never be the same again. In front of others, of course they would act the same as usual: arguing about pointless topics, disagreeing on each other's opinions, insulting each other, etc. But together, they would probably see this as some sort of new beginning, as a fresh start to bring their relationship to a whole other level that neither of them ever expected.

As that moment flew by, America grabbed England again, pulled him close and laced his fingers on one hand in his hair. England wrapped both of his arms around the younger nation, sniffled a little, and hid half of his face in his hair because he knew exactly what was coming next: America stroked his head very carefully and pulled him closer with his other hand on his back, and he brought his lips close enough to his ear that it just tickled, and he whispered lovingly, "I love you, too."

A/N: Just a quick oneshot for Independence Day. And Happy Birthday, Alfred!~

Yep. So...do you think it was actually Canada who was taking care of poor England? Or was it someone else? Hmm?

Well, I'll just let you decide. Whatever makes you happier~

All right, it's freakin' 3:10 in the morning here. And all day, I've been lying around in pain, coughing, and suffering. (Yep, just like Iggy here, except I'm human and a woman.) I'm practically dead right now. ~ So I'll just be going now.