This is de-anoned from the Kink Meme. .?thread=55789078#t55789078

One

"Oh Artie it's my birthday next week and of course all people must attend the Hero's birthday next week you know that right?"

"I'd have preferred a more warm greeting over the phone than random babble."

"Yeah, yeah, old man, but you totally can't resist coming this year right because they'll be awesome cake and awesome fireworks and you'll be such a loser to miss all that right?"

"Promising me with 'fireworks' and 'cake' is not going to make me feel anymore obliged to go."

".. So are you coming?"

"No."

"But Ar—"

"DO NOT try and whine at me again. I've never even attended any of your blasted birthday parties; what makes you think I'm going to start now?"

"-There's no reason for you not to come! Why are you always such an ass about this? It was years ago!"

"I'm not talking about this anymore."

"… Arthur? … England? … You goddamn moron of a limey bastard don't hang up on me!—"

He didn't need him. No siree.

Alfred could manage just fine on his birthday without that weirdo of a Brit, anyway. He would have plenty of fun with all the other nations that would be there. There would be fireworks and cake and colour and music and he would just overall have a great time! He deserved it, one hundred percent. America had had a hard year. His preparations had started as soon as he got home the day before and everything was of course, going as awesomely as usual under the Hero's care. Nothing was going to stop him from enjoying his birthday, no doubt. He'd get down to work, no matter what certain limeys insisted to try and ruin his day.

He was fine.

Alfred found himself staring through a mirror.

Today was 4th of July in the year 2010. He would be turning 224 as an official country. That was two hundred and twenty years of him being an adult.

It was two hundred and twenty four times without him turning up.

Alfred used to understand this act. He was across an ocean; it was rather a far way to travel for just a birthday party, especially when there were a lot of things going on.

But as the years passed, Alfred couldn't understand why Arthur couldn't so much as send a present or even a card over, just to wish him such. And as time went by and travelling became a lot easier – it took, what, seven hours to fly over now? It built up on the American like algae being washed up on a dismal beach. But times were changing, maybe Arthur honestly was just that busy?...

This year, however, just threw it over the line. Arthur was in America on the day of his birthday. There had been a meeting just the day before, Arthur having attended it and he wasn't due to head back home till the next weekend. It was perfect; he could've just dropped by, given a present, and heck, he didn't even have to hang around that long if he didn't want to.

But after the phone call yesterday, it looked like he was going to skip out on this too.

Why was he still so hung up about this? Why hadn't he got over it already? Sure, he probably hurt him really bad throwing all that on him and fighting for his freedom but it was a necessity – and it was certainly no reason to still be sulking over it.

Alfred blinked suddenly, before looking down at his hand. His glasses had bent themselves in half as he'd clenched his fist.

This was the last straw.

Twisting them quickly back into shape, Alfred threw a frown at his reflection before he stormed downstairs, leaving the door unlocked for all the countries that would be flooding in any minute now. He usually left them to their own thing.

Alfred was about to bring his own invitee to his party whether he liked it or not.

Whenever there was some sort of international convention, the majority of nations visiting remained at one hotel together. It probably wasn't the best idea in terms of world relations, but it had to do in these times of recession and price cuts, even if they were the nations.

Relaying back with no answer to a phone call made from the reception desk, Alfred grumbled and made his way up to the room. Spain nudged past him on the way, blinking for a moment.

"Amigo, why are you not at your own fiesta?"

Alfred didn't even turn around.

"Someone to fetch."

Antionio's eyes widened slightly at the gruff response, unseen by the other. The Spaniard then blinked, shaking his head.

"I will be seeing you later then."

He turned around and continued walking, leaving Alfred to disappear down the hallway and make his way up the stairs. Eyes were downcast, lips tightened in morbid determination. He was planning to barge in, grab that stupid limey by the arm and drag him out of this hotel and to his party so not only could Alfred have a good day but so he could for once.

He reached door number 74, staring at the wood panelling for a moment. It was closed.

The American reached out to the door handle to open it, before grunting.

It was locked.

Rattling it, Alfred growled before kicking against the wood, hammering the door with his knuckles.

"Hey, Arthur! Open this door!"

Silence.

Oh, this was not funny. Alfred knew he was in there – the concierge had claimed that no one had come out of that door all day, so there was no other explanation – but he was ignoring him? He could be in the shower or such, but by now Alfred would have heard some sort of frustrated yell rebound out from the other side of the door.

"Come on, old man! You can't be that deaf!"

Nothing.

He should have had a raging Brit ripping his jugular out by now. Alfred rattled the door knob harder.

"Come on, you can't be ignoring me! It's my birthday!—"

A large clunk, and Alfred looked down. The handle had come loose in his hand.

He stared at it, before noticing that the door was now opening of its own accord, swinging loose and leading into a dark room.

Alfred's expression fell blank at what was inside.

"…England…?"