The Fourth of July.

Oh, how I despised it.

I took a gulp of my drink.

The bartender gave me another.

It killed me every time he sent an invitations, to the one thing that hurt me most of all.

His Independence.

"It's five minutes to twelve sir, it'll be over soon."

"Thank-you, put the drinks on my bill."

He nodded, and went into the back, shutting the door behind him.

I looked at my empty scotch.

"Bloody wanker, doesn't he know why I don't go, bloody fool," I snarled.

The bar door slammed open.

"Iggy wassup!"

Speak of the devil.

"Dude, I sent you an invite, what happened!"

I look no, glared at him.

His sand blond hair, with that defying gravity cowlick, shined under the bar's light.
His blue eyes glowed with happiness.

It sickened me.

"Go away, America," I turned around.

"Why!?" he asked.

'It's too much to bare.' I think.

"Because, I said so you twit," I scowled.

He came right up next to me.

"What's your probable! You always do this on my birthday! Why England!" he shouted.

I looked at him in my drunken state, over whelmed with feelings I've had for a very long time.

So I did what any foolish man would do.

I grabbed America's tie, and pulled him down into a kiss.

It was a short sweet chaste kiss.

I pulled back to see his eyes shocked.

"Iggy," he spoke.

"America, the day you score your Independence, was the day you broke my heart."

I looked up to him, tears running down my face, with an obvious blush from the kiss.

He didn't answer.

"Now excuse me," I got up from my chair, "I have to go home and sulk like a fool."

I grabbed my jacket from the other chair and headed for the door.

America grabbed my arm, and I turned around to be yanked into a kiss.

The grandfather clock dong twelve times signaling it to be twelve o' clock.

We were kissing passionately by that time.

He pulled away. "I love you England." he smiled.

I smiled back. "Happy Birthday America." and we kissed once more.