England looked out of his window, wishing it was raining. Because when it was raining, he felt that he was justified in his sadness. Because the rain was his home, and he was used to it, in his dreary life. But when it was sunny like this, when it was bright and cheerful, it reminded him of America. It made him want to curl up under his union jack blanket, and pull out his old black and white movies, and drink tea and cry. Like a female. Because, he just couldn't deal with these fights anymore. And every single time, it was him that broke first, it was him that went and apologized to America.
He wondered what America thought of him. He probably thought he was some weak, girly lame-ass excuse for a country that couldn't even wait a day before he came running back, crying. Which was precisely why he had broken up with America again today. Because of some stupid argument, and his stupid lack of self confidence.
To his surprise, he felt a slam smash through the house, and he jumped as someone ran into his house. Startled, he looked to the door. And there he was, none other than America, standing, panting in the broken doorway, holding flowers.
"I'm sorry!" He yelled, in his obnoxious American voice, thrusting the flowers out.
England felt something inside of him turn warm, and he couldn't stop the flood of tears that erupted from him as he flew from the couch and into America's waiting arms. And somehow he knew everything was going to be okay.