July 4th.
The heroic country was decorated from sea to shining sea in stars and stripes, the purple mountain majesties shaking with the loud eruptions of fireworks and pure joy. The personification wore a suit decorated with the designs of his flag and a top hat, looking rather flamboyant, but no one dared to offer a negative say-so on his birthday. He wore it every year, calling it his "tribute to Uncle Sam". No one quite knew who this mysterious Uncle was, but no one wanted to ask, in fear of getting an hour-long speech from the nation. The suit was everything he was-gaudy, prideful, and loud. It was so undoubtedly...Alfred.
After the World Meeting, Alfred would invite everyone over to his home to celebrate his birthday, classic American style. It was these times that Arthur found himself avoiding America the most. But it never worked, that damned nation always found him. The Brit was hurriedly packing up his things when, speak of the bloody devil, the same being he was hoping not to run into walked up to him.
"Yo, Iggy, you're coming to the party, right? It'll be awesome! There's gonna be cake and fireworks and ice cream! And hamburgers!" Alfred exclaimed, looking like an excited puppy at just the idea.
"Psht, you only want me there so I have to give you a present," England stated, rolling his eyes at the younger. America stuck his tongue out at him, clearly unaffected by the comment.
"You're such a jerk. But seriously..come, okay?"
There was no way England could say no to that. Not that there was any way he would miss America's birthday. He just didn't want to admit it. The hopeful question was captured in bright cerulean eyes, and the overall brightness of just sheer plain Alfred made Arthur wonder if the tanned man wasn't the personification of pure sunshine, rather than a nation. His chest tightened as he recalled days he viewed this expression all the time.
No, Kirkland. Now isn't the time. Stop.
"...I need to run home first. And sit up straight. Gentleman don't slouch." Arthur swore the smile he got in return lit up the whole conference room.
.
He didn't know what to wear for the damned party. Sure, he and America were close, but England usually sent him a present and a card. Actually going to the party was...difficult..for the older nation.
Stop.
He reached for a fresh crisp button down out of his tidy closet, deciding to just go for something classy yet simple. He equipped his normal deep green tie, pausing to view his reflection as he tied it.
"Arthurrrrr, ties are too restricting! Plus, they're too hard to tie!"
"It's not that hard, I'll teach you. Gentleman wear ties."
"I don't want to be a gentleman, then."
Damn it, stop.
The room was filled with memories, reminders. It only served to escalate on this date.
July 4th.
He still recalled the day it happened.
He broke apart in two and tried to put himself back together, only to find the other half gone in search for a better life without him.
He felt the pain swell up in chest only to combust inside him in the form of betrayal and anger.
He didn't live, he existed.
He still remembered it all.
The war.
His words.
They each cut into him like a dull knife cruelly carving out scars that would be forever etched on his mind. Everywhere he looked, he was there.
Stop it.
Stop.
Stop.
.
Arthur showed up to the party with noticeable dark circles decorating his eyes, accented by the strong redness, but no one said a thing. He gave America his present (a pair of sensible black gloves because the damned idiot always complained about his hands being cold), insulted France, watched the fireworks, and chatted with other nations.
Alfred looked at him with a thank you for coming message displayed in his eyes and plastered over his slightly grinning face. It was rare moments like this, with the loud outgoing nation looking at him with remnants of ice cream on his face, being uncharacteristically serious in a moment that just the two shared, were the moments Arthur treasured the most. He acknowledged the younger with a nod, and turned to watch the fireworks and instead ended up staring at the country out of his peripheral vision.
I had to fight for you because I couldn't lose you.
That night, England went to bed with a toy soldier clutched to his chest and tear streaks staining his cheeks.
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-e xx