It was the same every year. July 4th came around, and America invited everyone to a huge birthday party. And every year, England found some excuse to avoid it. Sickness, a meeting he couldn't miss, terrible weather preventing him from leaving the house... He knew America was skeptical, especially when, but he never confronted him about it, and that was fine with him.
The first few times, he had claimed to be sick, and he had been. He would wake up feeling absolutely terrible, waves of nausea crashing over him if he so much as moved. Of course, he would be fine the next day, but the first few birthdays America celebrated, England would spend his time in bed, feeling very distressed. He had tried so hard to take care of the child, but then he grew up and hated him, and that broke his heart. America even went so far as to celebrate leaving him.
As the years passed, though, England stopped feeling sick, and the heartbreak faded, leaving nothing. Absolutely nothing. He wasn't upset about America leaving anymore—he supposed it had to have happened at some point—but he could bring himself to feel happy for him either. His little brother was gone, and he was never coming back… Just like everyone else. He couldn't bring himself to feel anything. He was empty, like a discarded eggshell, an abandoned house.
He thought he should probably do something, anything but settling into this listlessness, but he was too indifferent to care what he should do. He didn't care about anything, not now.
His mobile phone rang, but he was unresponsive. Whatever it was, it could wait.
=^w^=
Seventeen missed calls later, England finally answered the phone, if only to make it stop ringing.
"Yo, Iggy dude, are you okay?! France said you told him you were sick! Do I need to come take care of you?!" a familiar voice shouted on the other end.
"America…" England sighed, "Just enjoy your birthday."
"But Iggy! How am I supposed to enjoy my birthday when you're not okay?!"
A feeling England couldn't quite place fluttered inside him. It was almost like…. Relief that America still cared. Gratitude for his concern. Hope that maybe there was still a chance. A hint of a smile appeared on his face.
Maybe he wasn't completely apathetic after all.
A/N: I was planning to write this prompt for a Professor Layton thing since the suggestion was in a review on a PL fic, but I had this idea instead, and I've not been writing much Hetalia stuff lately, so… Yeah. I hope the guest reviewer that suggested "apathy" as a writing prompt isn't too disappointed.
A cookie for your thoughts? (::)(::)(::)