England woke up groaning, his head pounding. The afternoon sunlight coming from the making him squint and his headache grow worse.
He looked around his trashed room-clothes were strung everywhere, red solo cups scattered on a dresser and the floor, streamers half fallen from the ceiling.
What had happened last night?
England jumped as he felt something in the bed next to him stir. He looked over to see someone next to him, the persons' face buried in pillows. All he could see was curly, blonde hair...
Oh, God, don't tell me it's Fr-
The britt shot out of the bed as fast as a bullet, making his head ache even more so.
He rubbed his face with his hand, felling agrivated by not being able to recall anything that had happen after the conference yesterday.
Forgeting about the man in his bed, England stumbled down the stairs of his home, noting that the mess wasn't only in his room.
Flopping down on the couch, the green-eyed man sat for a minute, trying to remember...
...But nothing came to mind.
Sighing, he leaned back, closing his eyes. Suddenley, the couch began to vibrate. England looked around, then dug his hand deep into the couch and retrieved the cause of the vibrations: his cell phone.
A text message from China? he thought.
You're going to want to check you're Facebook. =.="
Still confused, England leaned forward, opening the laptop sitting on his coffee table.
"95 Notifications?" said the man, startled.
80 of them were "You were taged in Alfred's album, 'Greatest Night EVER'". The other 15 were about comments on photos.
"Oh God..."
Going through each of the photo's, England couldn't help but groan, roll his eyes, sniker, gag, and the ocasional face-palm at the documentation of the previous night...
Austria, Hungary, and Prussia with mugs of beer in their hands-Hungary drunkily crying into hers, Prussia laughing like crazy, and Austria with his eyes half-lidded.
America and Canada singing Kareeokee.
Spain and Ramano cought in a heated kiss.
Japan in nothing but his boxers getting body-shots from China.
Himself and America arm wrestling. With no shirts on.
Spain and Turkey in a fist-fight.
Spain and Turkey in the back of a police car, both bloodied and bruised.
Russia NOT running away from Belarus, vodka in both of their hands.
Prussia touching Ukraine's breasts.
Himself dancing around a pole on stage with a skantily dressed woman.
Italy and Germany with cat ears, arms wrapped around one another.
Austria, Switzerland, Denmark, and himself running through a park COMPLETELY naked.
China standing on top of a car.
Seychelles and Belgum in a full on make out session.
Finland in woman's Christmas Santa lingere.
Sweden passed out somewhere with drawings on his face.
He and France taking off eachother's clothes, both flushed.
England slammed his laptop shut, unhappy about the photos. "Bloody Hell," he spat.
He wandered into the kitchen looking for some coffee.
In the corner of the kitchen, he spotted a goat gnawing away at the debris that cluttered the area. "What the f-"
The door bell rang, to loud for England's hangover. At the door was Sealand, a frantic look painted on his face. "Have you seen my goat-?"
"In the kitchen." England said, gesturing over his shoulder towards the kitchen.
The little nation ran in the house and into the kitchen. Not two seconds later he was bringing the goat back through the front door.
"Thanks bye!" he shouted enthusiasticly, making Enlgand's head pound.
A few moments after he left, England stormed up the stairs, angry, cursing as he went.
He returned to find France still passed out, snoring. The thick-browed man began to push the romantic off the bed. France landed with a thump, but still snoring despite the hard fall.
England pulled the blankets over his head, and went back to bed.