~~~(CH4_A Prompt Delivery)~~~

"Hey hey Daddy, give me rum please. Hey hey Mammy, hey hey Mammy." The singer made a pose as if he was holding an electric guitar. "I can never forget the taste of the pudding I had before!"

This was better. This made it easier. If he sang, as long as he sang, there could never be a terrifying silence. It was an embarrassing idea, but it worked more or less and the Briton was calm for most of the last two hours. Only that singing, or vocal activity in general, hurt over time. He briefly wondered if France ever got tired of his 'amour-filled' monologues.

Hmph.

Done with his shower, England wrapped a Britain-flag-adorned towel (courtesy of Switzerland's Palace Staff) around his waist and walked out the washroom feeling refreshed. Even with water in his ears, he would definitely know if a television was on in his room, right? No one else should be in his dorm but him, right? Ah… Well, if the bulge underneath the covers was any indication, England wasn't very observant today. He was spooked, but hell if he'd start singing again!

England removed his towel and winded it up before snapping it like a whip at the bulge, chuckling a little to himself at the probable pile of pillows' demise. At the fifth hit, America popped out. "C-Cut it out! This isn't a Bacon and Eggs, you just wouldn't open the door, you prude!"

England however was too busy covering himself up while the American whined away in his defense. "B-Bacon and Eggs!-?" (It was the only proper question he could let slip out.)

"Oh, you know, Breaking and Entering," he stated so matter-of-factly that England wanted to either, a; punch the man, or b; slap his own forehead, but he was much too conscious of his exposed skin to risk it.

"What on Earth are you doing in my place?" England asked, exasperated.

"Well, you know, technically it's Switzerland's seeing as it's his country and-"

"Why are you in- on my bed?" England demanded, going in another direction.

"It's comfy." There was a pause.

"The TV." There was a longer pause. "Why is the TV-"

"I was bored!"

England shouted in frustration causing America to jump, startled, and the mattress to squeak and groan at the shifting weight.

"Whoa, chillax, Iggy!"

"I will not 'chill-ax'," spat the Brit. "Why are you here in the dorm of the 'United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland' and hiding under the covers?-!" He was careful not to be vague.

"Well, this scary trailer came up and…" America didn't say any more.

"And?"

"Yeah?" America's eyes were pleading with him to not have him admit he, Alfred F. Jones, was afraid of some stupid yet effective movie commercial. (It was probably made in him too.)

"The other question too, Alfred." Oh no. Human name. He's pissed…

"We…We need to talk, Arthur." Alfred cursed himself for his wavering. His determination had went and left without a moment's notice.

"About what, hm?" Arthur said testily, crossing his arms in front of him now that the towel was secure. "My obvious disposition?"

Alfred looked up. No… Well, chyeah, it was tempting, but Iggy didn't have to know that he overhead him singing in the shower. "Your behavior…"

"It's your behavior I should-"

"Let me finish!" The plea silenced him in an instant.

"Your behavior during and after the meeting today… What's bothering you, Arthur?" There was a very long pause. "Arthur?"

Couldn't.

"…Nothing."

There was a very very long pause.

"Then…"

He's buying that?...

"…let's go out!"

Arthur's stare eventually softened on the American. He strode across the room, caring not for the loosening cloth, and bent over the man. His mouth was parted; strands of wet hair were still sticking to the outline of his face. His eyes were unreadable.

What was he going to do?

Soft fingers snaked their way around Alfred's neck. They were cold and made him shiver involuntarily. They toyed with his collar as his breathing faltered even more.

Then the light in Arthur's forest-green irises began to glow with something, his lips curling up into a smile.

Oh…

The playing stopped. Arthur gripped the collar hard and, in a move he was proud of, promptly through the American out the open window.

"Hey!" America sat up with a shell-shocked bird upon his head, strangling Nantucket violently. "I didn't mean, like, going steady or anything!"

Much to England's surprise, his foolish 'little brother' didn't land in the bustling traffic below but instead in the soft brush of a tree which had been located directly outside his window. It was sort of a letdown.

"Besides, it looks like you'd make a PSYCHO girlfriend-"

"Sod off, I KNEW what you meant! You were just so aggravating I couldn't bear to be in the same room with you any longer!"

"My ass! That was completely uncalled for!"

"I beg to differ!"

"I just wanted to get something to eat, Jesus! Like…"

"Relais de L'Entrecôte?"

"McDonald's!"

"…Well, whatever, you wanna go?"

England began to weigh the pros and cons as America stared at him impatiently and the bird plucked strands of hair to repair its nest. On one hand, he could leave the palace and view the country of Switzerland with a human shield on him. On the other hand, there was a strong chance England wouldn't be able to eat what he wanted to eat. Then again…

"You're paying, right?"

"Huh? Yeah, sure. I'm healthy."

Either way, America was paying for the meal; it was settled.

"Okay. I suppose it wouldn't hurt," England said with false nonchalance.

"Yippee!" America jumped up, his head almost connecting with a higher branch. The bird decided to fly away then. "Let's go! Hurry up and get dressed, Iggy-"

"Yes, yes, you twat…"

"-cuz I can see your 'Big Ben'!"

~()~

A/N - XD I love this chapter. Oh, but please, I want to know what you, the audience, thinks! :D

I was seriously hoping to get this uploaded LAST week, but...I'm volunteering at my elementary school for community service hours and those little hyperactive tykes "irritate my guts", as Prussia would say. -.-"

Well, ignore that, but please review! If you don't, I'll be like Tomo Mizuki's Mini Belarus and come after you~

~TMRomance