The thunder didn't even rouse England, who sat in his large recliner chair with a bottle of beer held loosely in his hand. A warm fire crackled in front of him, but the cold man couldn't appreciate the warmth after losing so much.
"He left me..." the drunken Englishman blabbered. He often got drunk, just to let go of his reliance on America's love and admiration.
The wind pushed on the windows harder, the house feeling as if it would collapse with the amount of pressure. England sighed and rubbed his face.
There was a feeling, so deep down that even England himself didn't know of it, of longing, of loneliness, of a need to be depended on.
A sharp rapping on the door startled the man. He got up slowly, and drunkenly made his way to the front door of his Elizabethan home.
He looked through the peephole and gasped. A small child sat on his doorstep, shivering, his tears mixing with the needles of rain.
England opened his door as fast as a drunken man could and braced himself for the storm, before rushing out to grab the young boy and pushing back inside. The cold wind whipped around England as he forced the door shut.
"What the bloody hell were you doing out there, you nutburger?" England muttered softly, grabbing a warm coat and putting it on the boy. The coat was much too large, and the boys' hands only reached the elbows of the sleeves. He smiled, nonetheless.
"I'm England, or Arthur if you prefer," England smiled, crouching to the boys' height and holding out his hand. The boy timidly took the larger mans' hand and shook it.
"Well, aren't you going to introduce yourself properly?" he chuckled.
"I-I'm Sealand, and I'm gonna be a big country one day!" the boy exclaimed suddenly.
Like the rest of them, England thought to himself, scowling slightly, but he welcomed the self-proclaimed country anyway.