Alfred F. Jones, more commonly known as America, stepped out from the guest bedroom and into the familiar surroundings of England's antique house. There was a world meeting taking place in London that evening and like always, America stayed with the grumpy Englishman. It was easier than staying at a hotel and best of all it was free. Though, there was one huge downside. England's food. The older nation would always insist on cooking America meals, since he claimed it was the gentleman thing to do for a guest. No matter how much America tried to refuse his offers, England would tune him out and continue to "cook". In America's opinion it looked more like he was performing a sacred ritual. He would watch in horror as the poor food was slowly burnt to coal right before his very eyes, set on a plate, and placed on the table for him to eat. America wasn't sure how in the world he manged to survive England's so called British cuisine throughout his childhood.
But today was different. America was determined to make his own breakfast! In order to do that, America had taken the time to set his alarm to go off at six in the morning. England was an earlier riser, but there was no way he'd get up that early, right? Convinced that his plan was a success, America marched triumphantly down the stairs and straight into the kitchen. His shining, sky blue eyes met a surprised pair of emeralds.
"America? What are you doing up so early?" England was sitting at the table, already reading the morning news paper.
America blinked. No. There was no way that was actually England. He had to be seeing things! He took off his glasses and cleaned the lenses with his shirt. He heard a sigh in the room.
"America, don't ignore someone when they're talking to you. Are you half asleep or something? And how many times have I told you not to clean your glasses with your shirt? You need to use a proper cloth."
Just ignore the voice. You're just hearing things. There's no way England is down here this early in the morning. Gosh, I'm starting to go crazy like England. Seeing things and all...
America placed the glasses back on his face. The hallucination was still there and, even worse, was walking towards him.
"America? Are you alright?" The bushy eyed man waved a hand in front of the American's face. "You're standing there in a daze. Did you have a nightmare or something?"
America only nodded. He did have a nightmare, and needed to wake up from it ASAP.
England rolled his eyes. "I've told you a million times that you need to stop watching those silly horror movies before you go to bed." He walked over to the fridge and opened it, examining the contents inside. "How about I make you some breakfast to take your mind off it?"
That's when America snapped back to his senses. This wasn't a hallucination or a nightmare. This was reality! England was standing in a kitchen at six in the morning about to make him breakfast. Was there no escaping this horrific fate?
America ran to the fridge and pushed the smaller nation out of the way. "E-England! You don't have to do that! I'm not hungry!"
England huffed in annoyance at his rude interference. "Of course you are. I can hear your bloody stomach growling like it hasn't eaten in months."
The kitchen became quiet, and sure enough America could hear his stomach talking away. He blushed fiercely at the embarrassing noises. "I-It's always growling! That doesn't necessarily mean I'm hungry!"
"I know what you're trying to do and it isn't going to work," England countered. "You're just making excuses so I won't fix you breakfast, for whatever bloody reason. My cooking is the best in the world! You should be thankful for my hospitality."
"Hospitality," America muttered, "more like you're going to send me to a hospital..." Thankfully, England didn't hear his smart remark. It was too early in the morning to make the old man nag and nag.
England was well aware that the younger nation had said something inaudible, but chose to ignore it. "America, I'm going to ask you only once. Move away from the fridge."
"No." America said bluntly. "You don't have to do this."
"I swear, stop acting so childish and over dramatic!" With ease, he pushed the American out of his way. England was once an empire. Just because those days were over, didn't mean he wasn't strong. "I'm just going to make you some cereal. Does that sound so bloody bad?"
America pondered the question. There was no way England could screw up cereal. It was one of the simplest things in the world to make. Just pour it into the bowl with some milk and there you go. And since it didn't require a stove or oven, there was no way he could burn or set it on fire. America nodded and confirmed that the English man could continue the easy task. Meanwhile, America took a seat at the kitchen table and observed.
England took out a gallon of milk and sat it on the table. He walked over to the pantry and grabbed a box of sugary cereal. America gave him an amused glance.
England felt extremely awkward. "W-What? I don't eat this stuff. I only buy it because I know when you stay over you'll constantly complain if I do not give you this fattening rubbish."
"Uh huh," America smirked, as he watched the stiff old man set the box next to the milk.
England chose to ignore America's facial expression. With relief, he turned his back towards America and searched the cabinets for a proper sized bowl before deciding on the largest one he had. It was America he was feeding, after all. Now he was all set to go. America's look of amusement had faded seconds before as he watched England pour the cereal into the bowl. However, what was about to happen next, America wasn't prepared for. England picked up the carton of milk and just as he was about to pour the milk in, the carton slipped from his finger tips like soap and fell into the cereal bowl. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. England's focused expression quickly turned to shock as he helplessly watched the carton of milk fall. Milk flew everywhere and only became worse when it made impact with the cereal. Both cereal and milk flew in every direction as the bowl flipped over and on to the floor. The kitchen had suddenly became a complete mess from one simple bowl of cereal.
America tried to comprehend what he had just witnessed. Did England actually mess up a task as simple as cereal? The bushy eyed man seemed completely taken stunned at what he had just done. America looked around the kitchen and back at his former caretaker's face before he burst out laughing. England's face reddened as he clumsily tried to defend himself.
"M-My hands just slipped, that's all!"
"Only you would managed to do something like that!" America clutched his stomach and almost fell out of his chair. "Seriously! How can you mess up on a bowl of cereal, dude?"
England's embarrassment quickly turned to furry. "Accidents happen! Don't just sit there laughing! We need to clean this up!"
"When you're in the kitchen, accidents always happen," America replied through fits of laughter.
"Wha-? No they don't!"
America wiped away the tears from his eyes. "Dude, I should let you cook more often. It's like watching a comedy."
England had had enough embarrassment to last for years. He turned around and stomped out of the room. "When I come back this better be cleaned up! I'm never making anything for you again!"
"Thank the Lord," America chuckled. He took his phone out of his pocket and began to tweet, "You'll never guess what just happened at England's place..." Boy, he couldn't wait to see what everyone thought of this.