America clucked his tongue a couple of times. He paused, waiting, and when nothing happened, he clucked again. Still nothing. "Here kitty, kitty. Brave Knight Sir Lancelot—" cluck cluck "—here boy. I've got food for you!" He accompanied his shout with a snap of his fingers and yet another cluck. Still nothing, and he sighed, giving up, leaving the bowl of food on the ground. "Guess he's not hungry!"
But America was, so he walked over to the fridge and opened it, shivering as the cold air hit him. He stuck his head inside of the appliance, searching for sandwich fixings, completely missing his cat haughtily enter the room. Pulling his head out, his hands full of sandwich makings, he blinked in surprise at the cat. The cat that was still sniffing at his food.
"Something wrong, Lancey?" he asked, laughing as he set his ingredients on the table. Brave Knight Sir Lancelot gave him what could only be considered a glare. America laughed again, weaker this time, and turned away, though he knew Brave Knight Sir Lancelot was still glaring at him. It felt almost as if there were arrows pointing at him, calling him out for his horrible choice of food, which was silly, really, since his food was awesome, and Brave Knight Sir Lancelot should enjoy it.
Shrugging his shoulders, America set to work on his sandwich, pausing when he heard a clink behind him. Looking back, he saw Brave Knight Sir Lancelot still glaring, his food dish turned upside down.
"Not hungry?" America asked, and Brave Knight Sir Lancelot lifted his head before standing and walking out the room, tail held high in the air, showing as much disdain as possible for a cat.
America laughed and slapped a piece of meat on his sandwich. That was almost like the time England got so mad at what he called America's 'mockery' of a proper English dish and threw it straight in the trash without tasting it…
He placed a slice of cheese on the sandwich. "They're silly," he decided with a firm nod. It would be amusing to see them together, actually… America looked at his phone. He did have the next week off, after all.
England cast a furtive glance around, nonchalantly moving his bag to be better hidden from the street. Seeing no one, he hurried inside, feeling safe in his ridiculous indulgence as he threw the bag of McDonald's on the counter.
He stepped away, stopping suddenly to take a glance around the room. That cat. Look to the left, look to the right, scan up, scan down. No cat in sight.
"You better not steal this bag if you know what's good for you, cat," England threatened, taking a few steps out of the kitchen and into the hall to hang up his coat. There was a faint sound behind him, like a skittering of nails across the floor, but when he turned, he saw nothing. Frowning, he put his coat up and walked back into the kitchen.
One look and he knew what the skittering had been. The bag was missing, but there were chips leading out towards the dining room table, where England heard a crunching sound.
"Cat," he snarled and stomped over, forcefully pulling up the tablecloth. The force of his pull ended up with the tablecloth half off the table, but he didn't care, more focused on the cat eating his, his dinner. "Enjoy that meal. It will be your last!"
Dropping to his knees, England peered under the table, seeing a McDonald's bag with a tail attached to it, munching sounds coming from the inside. "Get out," he snapped, grabbing the bag and pulling it away, revealing a cat, licking ketchup from around his lips. The cat, upon seeing England, wagged his tail, oblivious to the danger it was in.
"Did you eat my food?" England asked, holding up the bag.
The cat meowed, reaching out a paw to bat at the bag, wanting more.
"I told you to leave it alone."
The cat meowed again, before dropping his head to nibble at a chip on the ground.
"That's the final straw! Get out!" The cat tilted his head. "Out!" England roared, and the cat, finally sensing danger, fled the room.
England stared at the ruins of his dinner on the floor, grumbling under his breath. "That cat and his damn hamburgers. He's just like—" the phone rang, cutting him off mid sentence. Muttering more obscenities, he forcefully answered it, keeping his eye on the mess still all over the floor
"Hey, hey England!"
England smiled. His timing could not have been better. "Hello, America."
"I'm going to visit next week and I'm bringing Brave Knight Sir Lancelot! I hope you named your cat finally! They're going to be great friends, I can just feel it! See you then!"
There was a slight pause and England could have sworn he heard a quiet "Love ya" before the dial tone blared over the speaker. England gave another fond smile and hung up the phone. America was coming for a visit… his eyes widened. Next week, and he was bringing his cat.
A meow broke through his thoughts and he looked down to see his cat holding a chip out to him. England bent down to take it from him, but then the cat swallowed it and took off running, leaving England grumbling again.
America arrived a week later, seemingly unaffected by Brave Knight Sir Lancelot hissing and spitting in his carrier. "Hey England!"
England gave the carrier a dry look and twitched when his own cat started to meow. His newly named cat. He'd had trouble coming up with a decent name it, and the date of America's trip was on him before he knew it, so he'd given him the first name he could think of.
His cat, recently dubbed 'Hamburger,' butted against his legs, meowing in the general direction of the carrier. England glanced down at him while America pushed past him into the house. Noisy buggers, cats. Weren't they supposed to be quieter than dogs?
America set the carrier on the floor, cooing at the cat inside. Hamburger left England and joined America, pawing at the door. "Hey kitty," America muttered, absently scratching behind its ear for a moment. "Has England named you yet?"
England grumbled, "Hamburger," and America nodded, more focused on opening the carrier than England.
"Come on out, Lancey," America crooned, but his cat glared at him, finally silent, and curled up in the furthest corner of the carrier. America frowned but then Hamburger squeezed into the box, going to curl up against Brave Knight Sir Lancelot, meowing incessantly and nipping at his ear. "Aww," America drawled, getting to his feet. "Aren't they cute?" he asked, standing and throwing his arm over England's shoulder.
Hamburger's nipping got stronger and Brave Knight Sir Lancelot stood up stiffly, gave Hamburger a quick lick, then tore out of the carrier and disappeared somewhere in England's house. Hamburger's ears drooped, but then he, too, was off, tearing through the house.
A crash sounded and England grumbled, ducking out from under America's arm. "Adorable."
Later that night, the cats were curled up on the floor in front of the TV while America and England sat on the couch. The evening had begun with both pairs completely separate, but then America and Hamburger began inching closer and closer to their partners until they were basically right on top of them. Hamburger nuzzled against Brave Knight Sir Lancelot's head, purring away, while America nuzzled into England's shoulder, a goofy, contented grin on his face.
"He's a lot like you," England said once the movie had ended and silence filled the room.
"Huh?" America asked, ever so eloquently. They'd just finished watching Sherlock Holmes and, while awesome, America couldn't see himself in any of the male characters.
"That cat," he gestured at Hamburger, "is a hamburger addicted…" He trailed off for a moment, coughing a cough that sounded strangely like 'loveable' before continuing, "annoyance, who does not believe in the concept of personal space."
"Hm," America hummed, pushing even closer to England. His smile grew wider when he felt England give in and move so that he had enveloped America in his arms. "Lancey reminds me a lot of you, too, come to think of it. Grumpy, shies away from being touched despite obviously loving it… heck, he even sees things that aren't there. You're both going crazy."
England's grip on America tightened. "We are not crazy. You are just blind."
"Nuh uh," America spat back, his grin just as goofy as ever. He was about to say something else when twin lumps pounced on him, eliciting an 'oomph' of surprise. England chuckled and worked an arm around him so that he could pet the cats that had settled on America's side.
America let out a content sigh, falling asleep against England before long, happily surrounded by love and warmth.