Thank you again, wonderful people who've read, reviewed, followed, and favorited! Don't have much time, so I'll just get to it!

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Couple(s): America/England

Warnings: Possible OOC-ness

Enjoy!


The next day found England still feverish and ridiculously conscious of his American counterpart. He kept flinching and moving away every time America got close to him, even if it was for the simplest reasons such as handing him a (disgusting) burger from McDonald's. At first, America didn't say anything about it, probably thinking that it was just because of his fever, but as the morning turned to the afternoon, he was giving England curious looks whenever he put distance between himself and the America.

Now, England was accompanying America as he went to a multitude of stores in search of decorations for his party. He was amazed at how over patriotic America's people were. Above houses, America flags were hung up; stores were decorated with red, white, and blue; grocery markets were having sales just because it was their independence day tomorrow. This was his first time being here during the Fourth of July week, so he found it a bit overwhelming and unusual. In the end, it was just another trademark of the country. Overzealous personification, overzealous people.

It was around four in the afternoon when they relaxed and settled down on a park bench, watching some kids play with a football, sun shining down on them and a crisp breeze soothing its heat. England sighed and rolled his shoulders back, looking at America who was on the opposite end of the bench, devouring yet another hamburger. He had a small smile on his face, eyes trailing the movements of the kids running around.

"Looks fun, doesn't it?" America laughed, rolling up his trash and tossing it into a nearby bin.

England shrugged, holding back a cough, and took in a deep breath. "I've done more than enough running around in my time." He stated, thinking back to his childhood…

He felt America's gaze fall on him, and he looked the opposite direction to avoid eye contact. "You're acting really weird today, Iggie. And not just because you're sick or because you're you. Why won't you look me in the eye?"

There was no answer. If he gave the reason why, America would either laugh in his face or look disgusted, and though he loathed to admit it, he was more afraid of the latter. A hand on his chin forced his head up and to the side, facing America. He flushed at their close proximity as America inspected his face. He began to hear the rhythmic beat of his heart roaring in his ears, gaze unwillingly trained on the American, looking into those sky blue eyes that were regarding him carefully.

"Hey, why are you so red?"

"Uh…" he responded unintelligibly. God damn it, snap out of it already!

America brought his forehead against England's, and if he was flushed before, his face, from his nose to his ears, was burning now. The images from his dream flashed in his mind, and he grit his teeth, becoming annoyed with how he couldn't even look at America without remembering it. If only he could get the damn image out of his head!

"Dude, you're burning up!" America pulled away, an alarmed expression on his face. His lips were moving again, and he was saying something, but England couldn't quite hear what it was. A concerned frown was settled on his face, sapphire eyes looking at him worriedly. It was an expression he didn't see often, and by God, it made him look too cute for words.

Heat rushing through his veins and urging him to do something, England leaned in and kissed America.

What. The. Fuck? He opened his eyes wide, and found that America's were just as wide, face blank with shock and not even trying to move out of the kiss. Both stayed frozen for a few seconds until England found himself thinking that, damn, this felt right.

America's lips were warm and soft, but chapped. Without realizing it, he closed his eyes and deepened the kiss, moving his lips against the frozen American's. It wasn't long before he was full out snogging the younger nation, hands cupping his face and pulling him closer. It was then that America's brain apparently clicked back on, for he put his hands on England's shoulder and pushed him away.

Staring at him with a mix of emotions in his eyes, America started. "Um… England?"

The understanding of what he'd just done finally sunk in, and England jumped up, face a scarlet red. "I… uh… have something to do!"

With that said, England turned around and walked quickly from the park, leaving America alone and confused on the park bench, and a couple of spectators looking on at the scene in curiosity.


England slammed the shot glass down on the counter, waving the bartender over for another refill. When the glass was filled with whiskey, he tipped his head back and knocked it back, then set it down on the table and used one arm for a pillow as he rested his head against the counter.

There were few people in the bar, the place having just opened an hour or two ago. Quiet guitar music played over speakers and the buzz of conversation drifted in and out of his ears. He was glad that he'd found such a good place; the last two he'd tried were less than welcoming, with bad service and awful whiskey.

His drunken mind thought back to the kiss with America which he'd been agonizing over for more than two hours. He'd gone to the bar to get piss drunk and forget about the whole ordeal, but instead he kept replaying it in his mind repeatedly like a broken record.

Why the hell did I kiss him? Just because he couldn't stop thinking about the dream and at that moment America had looked so adorable… ugh. He slammed his head down on the counter, earning him nervous looks from those around him. England wanted to rewind this week back to Monday so he could shoo America away and then none of this would've happened. It was astonishing how one simple little action or thought or dream could affect him like this. Normally they didn't. And he'd had much more explicit dreams before involving other nations (namely Spain, Japan, and, to his utter revulsion, France) but afterwards he'd never had the urge to kiss either of them. On the contrary, the thought of kissing them now made him want to hurl, even if he had done more than kissing with Spain in his pirating days.

A groan sounded in the back of his throat, and he waved the bartender over again. After downing another shot, he sighed heavily. Fuck, this day was just getting worse and worse…

Misery pressing down on him from his thoughts, he began drinking himself into oblivion and soon lost track of how many shots he'd had. All he knew was that everything looked a blur, and something was vibrating in his pocket that was starting to get really bleeding irritating.

"Stop vibratin'…" he commanded at his pocket. When it continued, he shouted, "Oi, I said stop it! Righ' bloody pocke'…" England put and hand in his pocket and took out the vibrating thing, which turned out to be his cellphone.

Squinting, he tried to read the screen, and when he couldn't, he tossed it down on the counter and turned away with a huff. The abandoned device continued vibrating, rattling against the wood. "Bloody tosser… why'd he hav'tah drag me over 'ere, an'ways… Jus' wanted teh stay home. 'Celebra'e with me' my arse… he dun' know a fuckin' thing."

The bartender walked over, tapping England on the shoulder. "Sir, you need to answer your phone."

With an arm he waved the man away, "Dun' care."

Sighing, the man picked up the phone and answered it. England listened with a deadpan expression and heard an obnoxious, familiar voice yelling through the phone. The bartender cringed away from it, and the Englishman scowled, "Hang up. Git needs teh lea'me 'lone."

Ignoring him, the man began speaking, and his interest faded; whatever they were talking about, he didn't give a damn. Sullenly, England wished to be home, tending to his garden and talking with the fairies. Maybe they would have a solution to his problem.

"Sir, you're friend's coming to pick you up."

Glowering at the bartender, he shouted, "Wha' friend! Tha' tosser's no friend'a mine!"

"Who's not your friend?"

England stilled, slowly turning around in his seat. The source of all his problems was standing there, arms crossed over his chest and face unsmiling. "Why're ya 'ere! Sod off, bast'rd!"

America took a step forward and grabbed hold of his wrist. "Let's go." He turned to the bartender, who handed him England's phone. "Sorry for the disturbance."

"No, it's all right," but the bartender was merely being polite.

Pocketing the phone, he set some bills down on the counter and hauled England off of his seat. His legs unsteady, he fell forward and was caught by an arm. He glared at the blond, who smiled and picked him up bridal style. A flurry of drunken protests left his mouth, and he pounded a fist weakly against America's chest, but he wouldn't let go.

"Have a good night!" he called out as he left the bar.

"Damn, Iggy, you sure know how to get drunk." He chuckled, and England glared at him furiously.

"None a' yer business, wanker."

America emitted a heavy sigh, eyes flitting from England to the street. "It is when I have to pick up after you."

Unable to retort, England grit his teeth and looked ahead to the bleary road, figures walking by and lights flashing. He was vaguely aware of being set down in a car, but then everything got too hazy to make out. Head resting against the cool windshield, he dozed off.


The unlocking of a door woke England up from his brief nap. He opened his eyes, trying to remember exactly what happened before he fell asleep and what trying to figure out what was going on right now. Currently, his head was resting against someone's back and he was being piggy-backed. But by who…? He lifted his head and recognized the back of America's head and the leather of his bomber jacket.

"Ugh…" England remembered being at the bar, and downing shot after shot of whiskey, and then America coming to pick him up. His mind was less addled than earlier, but he still couldn't fully gather his bearings.

"You awake?" America said, setting him down on the couch and turning to face him.

"I guess."

He could speak without slurring his words, so that was a good sign. He massaged his temples with his index fingers and tried look up at America. The blond was scrutinizing him, but for what, he didn't know. It was awkward having to be in the same room as him when the kiss in the forefront of his thoughts. America wasn't mentioning it, however, so maybe he was off the hook.

But he thought too soon. "So… why did you kiss me?"

Good question. Great, in fact, and England wanted an answer to that himself. He pursed his lips, trying to come up with an answer. "I…" he frowned, groaning in frustration and covering his face with his hands. "I don't know, okay? I just…"

"You just— what?" America pressed further, unwilling to let go of the subject.

"I just… wanted to." He spoke the words in a barely audible whisper, face heating up.

America leaned in closer. "What? Say that again, I didn't hear you."

Really?! For fuck's sake… "I just wanted to, damn it! Now leave me alone!"

Silence. Then, "Iggy?"

"What now?" England snapped, hiding his face and refusing to look up at the blond.

"Uh…" he heard America sigh, "never mind, it's nothing." He paused, letting an awkward silence spread before speaking again, voice unreadable. "You can have the bed. I'll sleep out here."

Not in the mood for arguing, England nodded. "Fine."

When neither said anything more, America walked away and disappeared into another room while England took his hands from his face. This situation was too strange for him to comprehend. America didn't laugh at him, or say it's disgusting, or anything. But it didn't sound like he was happy either. On top of that, now America was avoiding him.

Shit.


I can't write drunken speech to save my life. This chapter is probably rushed, right? Well, I did rush to write it, so maybe that's why. I'll edit tomorrow... maybe.

Reviews much appreciated!

Now, for the last stretch... wish me luck!

Thank you for reading!