Hey everyone! I would like to say that this is the last chapter of this story! I would like to thank everyone that helped me throughout the story. I would like to thank ZakuroU for helping me write the story, my friend Grace for helping me to come up with the title of this story, squirrelette for coming up with the word "Aussie Land", and everyone else that helped that I can't remember who they were! I would also like to thank everyone for reading the story. You have all been great and you all encouraged me to keep going and you all made the story so much fun to wright so thank you to everyone!
What Happens At The Bar Stays At England's House
Chapter 7:
Maybe Someday
England yawned as he shuffled into the kitchen, stretching his arms over his head. He blinked blearily in the light that hit him when he flicked the switch and made his way over to the white cupboards. Sometimes, in the mornings, he regretted having done his kitchen this way; red walls, blue tiles and white furnishing to match his flag. But at the time, he'd really wanted to outdo America. And besides, he could always have it redecorated some other time. He pulled open a cupoboard and reached inside to pull out a box of Rice Krispies and poured himself a bowl. He added a little milk and went to sit down. He was about to stick his spoon in when America came stumbing into the room, looking terrible. He was clutching his head, his dirty-blonde hair messy and falling over his eyes. He was still wearing his cosplay.
"Uuugh," America moaned.
"My head hurts... Too shiny..." England looked up at his fellow nation but quickly averted his gaze as he remembered what had happened last night.
'He'd kissed this man! Kissed him! On the lips!'
England felt the sudden desire to shrink down to a miniscule size and hide amongst the popped grains of rice he was currently munching on.
"It hurts so bad..." America complained as he walked over and sat down opposite.
"I have a headache... The hero can't do hero stuff with a headache!"
"It's called a hangover, wanker," England told him sharply, trying to hide his embarrassment. America might complain a lot now, but in England's experience, his hangovers never lasted long.
"Yeah, I know what it's called. I'm not stupid."
"Beg to differ," England muttered. He looked at his cereal, unable to meet America's gaze. America seemed not to have noticed the remark.
"I know what I need," he decided.
"A burger. Get me a hamburger, stat."
"The bloody hell d'you need a burger for?!" England snapped.
"Because burgers'll fix everything!" the young nation proclaimed throwing a fist in the air as a sign of his dedication to meaty justice. He immediately regretted it, cringing and rubbing his head again.
"Ow..."
"Well, I'm sorry to tell you we have none of that rubbish in this house," England informed him loftily, making his way to the fridge to get more milk for his cereal. It seemed a little dry. As he poured some more in, he said,
"What you really need is a good British fry-" He was cut off as his cereal burst into flames.
"You have got to be bloody kidding me," he said with an irritated expression. He quickly moved for the conveniently nearby fire extinguisher and sprayed it all over the flaming bowl. He sighed as he threw the scorched Rice Krispies in the bin. Oh well. He wasn't that hungry anyway.
"I guess that was more of a British incinerate than fry," America jibed weakly.
"Oh, shut up, ass shat" England retorted, looking over at the sink.
"So anyway," America shifted a little.
"You mind telling me what exactly happened last night? I can't remember a darned thing." England swore he felt the blood drain from his face as all the memories of last night he'd been trying to suppress came floating to the surface.
"Dude? England? You in there, bro?" England didn't respond.
"Hello? Earth calling Iggy-land. Did your eyebrows finally grow into your brain and turn you into a vegetable?" America leaned forward and jabbed England in the face with a finger.
"What happened, man? Seriously! Answer me! I need the news, bro. What went down?"
"Ehhhhhh..." England blinked slowly. America pulled his puppy dog eyes.
"C'mon, Engy. Give me the low-down!"
"Uh..." England seemed to snap out of his daze a little at the name 'Engy'. He cleared his throat, feeling all the blood rush back into his face and turn it red.
"Sure you want to know?"
"It can't be that bad," America said with a shrug.
"I wasn't that drunk."
"You chugged three bottles of vodka, America. And that was after the bar," England told him.
"It was that bad."
"Oh," America cringed. "Really that bad?"
"Really that bad."
"Wow, I'm sorry, dude. I didn't know it was that bad... But I still need to know!"
"I still don't think it's a bright idea..." England protested, still looking a little dazed.
"You have to," America said.
"No 'but's about it." England looked distraught, which only made America even more curious.
'What could he possibly have done to make England so flustered?'
"Fine," the Englishman sighed eventually. "I'll tell you."
"Thanks, man," America replied, smiling. "It means a lot."
"So last night, after we came back, you were drunk. I wasn't anymore because, well, magic..."
"I know that much," America informed him. He thought hard, something many had deemed impossible for the slightly very stupid nation.
"I remember up to Princess Peach and duck bubbles... Did that really happen? Or is your loopyness rubbing off?"
"It happened!" England snapped. He looked incredibly uncomfortable, but he'd started reluctantly looking at America's eyes. Those eyes that just last night had stared at him with love and desire... He shook his head, freaking out a little.
"Oh, whatever. It happened. Keep going," America said, mistaking England's shake for an act of stubbornness.
"Okay, um... Well... First, we watched Doctor Who," England told him, trying to drag out the story as long as he could to avoid getting to the... He shuddered. Kiss.
"What?!" America exclaimed.
"Aw man, why did you let me watch that?"
"You watched it because you promised me! Besides, you loved it!" England protested.
"I was drunk. That's why I loved it."
"Even if you were sober you would love it!" England told him. "It's a great show!"
"Whatever, just keep talking!" England looked a little offended, but continued.
"So, after you watched Doctor Who, you wanted to cosplay... You know, where you dress as you favourite character and sometimes role-play-"
"I know what cosplay is, dude," America said. "I have my own conventions, too." He looked down at his clothes.
"Is that what I'm wearing right now?" England nodded. "Where did I get this?"
"It's mine," England mumbled.
"Kinky."
"Shut up!" America laughed, then asked,
"Who am I meant to be, anyway?"
"The Eleventh Doctor, from Doctor Who."
"Yeah..." America strained to remember the character, but couldn't.
"What next?"
"You made me cosplay with you..."
"Who were you?"
"River song..." England mumbled. America's eyes narrowed behind his glasses.
"Is that a girl?" England took a short breath and glared his anger at his ally. America's frown turned into a smirk, then a smile, a grin and finally full-blown laughter. He slapped the table, obviously making quick work of recovering from his hangover.
"Lol!" he exclaimed, giggling.
"You were dressed like a girl! Were you wearing a skirt?" England's continued glare was all the confirmation America needed.
"Hahahaha!" America broke out into another fit of laughter.
"You wore a skirt!"
"You made me!"
"Even better!" England scowled, folding his arms over his chest and sitting back into his chair. His cheeks were red like he'd been running.
"Git," he muttered.
"Alright, moving on," America said, wiping a tear from his eye. "Next?"
"You-you started playing with the wig I was wearing."
"A wig?!" America echoed. "This just gets better and better!"
"Do you want me to tell the story or not?!" England snapped, annoyed and embarrassed.
"Yeah."
"Then shut up and let me talk!"
"Alright, bro, just calm down and get on with it."
"So while you were doing that," England said, "I noticed how badly you'd put on your cosplay. I started fixing it up because I didn't want it ruined."
"Of course you would do that," America interrupted. He noticed England's glare.
"Sorry. Go on." England opened his mouth and stopped. This was where it got awkward. He looked at America's impatient face and felt ashamed all over again. He felt the heat rise in his face and went on.
"That's when you, um...started laughing."
"Laughing?"
"Yes. You said I...should have been doing the opposite..." England trailed off, red like a tomato. Spain might have tried to put him on his head or something if he was there. Romano might have eaten him.
"Opposite, huh...?" America turned the word over in his mouth, trying to figure out the meaning. "What did I do next?"
"You don't want to know," England sighed, putting his head in his hands.
"I do wanna know!" America exclaimed.
"We've been through this! The hero demands truth and justice!" England took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself. He saw America's eager face and his embarrassment surged up again. He shook his head.
"I can't."
"If you say it fast it'll be easier and less painful, like ripping off a sticky bandage."
"A plaster," England corrected.
"A band-aid," Australia corrected from Aussieland where he was riding a kangaroo across the ceiling. England cleared his throat, ignoring his annoying former colonies. His English was the best English because he was England.
"Alright," he said, voice wavering. "Here's the truth." America looked at him, waiting. England closed his eyes.
"After I continually tried to get you to explain what you were going on about, you just said in an undeniably seductive tone, "Undress me River Song!" And you pinned me down so you're on top of me on the sofa and I kept politely asking you to get the bloody hell off me but you just kept saying things like "C'mon Iggy," or "Y'know you wanna," and I really tried to get away and then you just start to kiss me! On the lips!" England's words ran into each ofher as he blurted out the whole story, looking close to becoming one with Mother Tomato. America looked shocked.
"No way, man..."
"Next you started to lick my bloody face and I kept trying to beg you to stop but you still wouldn't listen and you then kissed me again on my lips to shut me up and then went down to my neck and after a whole lot of me asking you to get off and stuff like that you finally understood I didn't want to make out with you but you wouldn't let me go until we French kissed together and I had no other choice so I did." England looked distraught. He was breathing heavily and looked almost like he was going to break down.
"A minute or so later you passed out on me and I couldn't lift you because you were too heavy but then Flying Mint Bunny appeared and helped me get you off and, well bloody hell, I just went to bed and that's it!" England threw back his chair and bolted from the room, leaving America in stunned silence. The young nation ran a hand through his hair, feeling shaky.
"Fuck," he said to no-one. The only sound was the clock ticking on the wall as America's mind pieces together everything England had said, and he felt so ashamed he could never eat another hamburger again. His heart was beating loudly as he stood and walked towards England's room. He knocked on the door.
"England? Are you okay?" England's voice was muffled as he shouted back,
"Go 'way!" America looked at his feet and pushed the door open anyway. England was lying on the bed, facing away from America.
"Get out," he muttered, his voice cracking.
"Look, England, I'm-" His eyes widened. "Dude, are you crying?!"
"No!" England retorted as he sat up. The red around his eyes made it painfully obvious he had been. He looked down at his hands and sniffed.
"No, no!" America shook his head.
"I'm so stupid! I'm as stupid as everyone says I am!" He thumped down on England's bed, putting creases in the Union Jack.
"Look man, I'm super sorry!" he said. "I didn't mean it, I was drunk! Crazy stuff happens to everyone when they're drunk and they don't really mean it, you know that! Please, I'm sorry, I don't want things to be awkward between us. You're my bro, my man, my mate! I'm so sorry! None of that ever should have happened, and I never meant it to..." England finally looked up.
"Was it just the alcohol talking?" he asked quietly.
"Do do you-do you really feel that way about me?" America had his turn being a tomato, his cheeks burning as he replied,
"Uh... I..." He cast a glance at England that was caught between sadness and confusion.
"What am I supposed to say? Is there a correct answer here?"
"Yes," England told him. "The truth."
"Well..." America looked at the ceiling. He kicked his legs and thought hard. Eventually, he came to a decision. He looked England straight in the eye.
"The truth is...I do. I really do! I-I love you, Arthur Kirkland, and you're just so perfect to me! You're probably even too good for me, but I love you so much!" America laughed nervously, pushing up his glasses.
"It's hard for me to admit it but, I've always liked you, England. I just... I only realised I loved you when it was too late...I'd already made you hate me."
"America..." England looked sad, but surprised. He smiled softly.
"I never hated you, America. Granted, I was upset with you when you broke away from me, but...I never hated you. And even now..." He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and motioning with his hands as he talked.
"I know you'd never try to do anything like that to me if you were in control. What you did when you were drunk was beyond either of us, and I forgive you." He put an arm around America's shoulders and squeezed him tightly.
"I have a question for you though..." America mumbled. "You... You don't feel the same, do you?" England looked around the room. Here was the hard part.
"America..." He took the taller nation's hand, smiling sadly.
"I'm afraid you're right. I don't. Not now, at least. Maybe someday, if I can get to know you again. For now..." He sighed. "I know I don't have feelings like that for you." He stood up, still holding America's hand.
"But we'll see. Some feelings don't just appear overnight. And if I do develop a larger affection for you... Well, I'll know what your intentions are." He leaned forward and kissed America on the cheek.
"I'm really sorry, love..." He smiled sympathetically again and let go of America's hand.
"Maybe someday." He turned and went to go make some more burnt things for them to eat. America touched a hand to his cheek, a little sad. Of course he'd seen it coming that England probably wouldn't return his affections, but it didn't make it any less upsetting. There was always that one chance though, one small chance that England might one day love him. And if he didn't, America would live with that. As long as England was happy, he would be happy. He'd just be happi-er if they were together. So he stood up, vowing to spend as much time as he could with England. To get to know each other again, as the Brit had said. Even if they did end up 'just friends' in the end, it would be worth it in America's mind just to be around England more.
"Hey, wait up!" he called, smiling. "Let me help you cook; I don't wanna eat flamed bacon for breakfast!"
