A/N: Sorry this is like, so late. Dat writers block doe.
Anywhore, DAWWW everyone left nice reviews~ (this includes the rest of the chapters too). I haven't thanked you guys, sorry ;-; but it means a lot, really! So here is another chapter, mis amigos (right after these beautiful quotes)~
"Killing is like marriage, fun at first till you realise what you've done."
~The Zodiac
"To me, this world is nothing but evil, and my own evil just happened to come out 'cause of the circumstances of what I was doing."
~Aileen Wuornos
Stray sunlight creeped through the blinds and ignited the room from its dark state, causing some of it to glitter into England's eyelids and just barely hitting his eyes. The light stung as he let his emerald gems creep out from their cave. But that wasn't his main focus right now. Rather, it was the fact that a loudly snoring American lay right in front of him—barely two inches away.
Out of instinct, Britain backed up, somewhat startled by the unexpected surprise. His heartbeat quickened just enough so he could feel the light beats of his heart as if it were skipping about a sidewalk. The Englishman turned away before further temptation rushed over him, and started towards the kitchen. For the first time in his life, he was actually glad that America was a late riser. Had he seen England right across from his body, sleeping soundly . . . Well, let's just say there'd be an awful lot of explaining to do.
'Even so, he'll probably be wondering why he's in my house in the first place.' England added silently.
The events of the previous night took their precious time to linger in his mind. And how irritated he was at those memories—for they caused his face to flush and his fingers to tremble. God damn it, was that embarrassing. Although he and America didn't actually do anything serious, he still found himself stunned by the fact that those certain things definitely could have been done. Clearly, the American had been soaked from the inside out, meaning that when he awoke this morning, everything that occurred last night would be nothing but a leaf floating by in the wind. And that meant that England definitely could had—and should have—done some rather "unholy" things with the younger nation. Oh, the thought gave him the shivers. But even so, in a sense, England guessed that he would sort have been forcing himself on America, and that was what he wished to do the least.
The Englishman entertained himself by watching the sizzling pan on the oven with French toast resting in it. Occasionally, he stole a glance back at America every now and then. But of course, that caused his breakfast to burn slightly (nothing new there). He became too warped up in the cooking of the meal to notice the sound of a sofa creaking from sudden movement atop it.
"No no no no no no!" The exclamation made England jump from his settlement on the kitchen floor. His heartbeat quickened as he was startled from out of nowhere.
The Briton's emerald orbs immediately became dark and dreary—his glare sharp enough to cut cleanly through flesh. The nation behind England could practically see a deadly aura oozing from the back of him. America's knees knocked together as he was met with piercing green eyes that seemed to make his own eyes sting.
The darkness dripping from England's orbs didn't fade as he boomed, "What the bloody hell was that for, you idiot?!"
It took all the strength America had to look the elder straight in his eyes, though he soon regretted it.
"You...You can't cook breakfast!"
Well, that certainly was unexpected. Britain found himself staring blankly with disbelief painted all over his features.
His long sentence of silence ending, he said, "Why not?" There wasn't too much rage in his inquiry as much as there was complete confusion.
The American's fear seemed to have slipped away. "Well, duh! Your cooking sucks!"
Oh, and back that fear came charging straight for him once again. England's glare came as sharp as a knife towards him; he could practically feel a pain stabbing him in the chest.
"How dare you!" the Englishman yelled, his teeth gritting together. "I make you breakfast, and this is how you repay me?!"
America could hardly notice the small amount of sadness lingering in Britain's eyes—but he still caught sight of it. Well...England did make breakfast for him. Plus, he had an aching headache and he woke up in the other's house—meaning he most likely showed up here drunk. Hell, he even owed England.
"S-Sorry..." America apologised, his eyes drifting towards the floor below.
England found the sincerity in the American's voice adorable and heart-stopping. Despite that, he turned away and continued to cook, anger still present in his system and a slight blush tinting his cheeks. He wouldn't give in too easily, but he couldn't stay mad at America.
America pouted as he stared at Britain's backside. At least he wasn't that mad anymore. Figuring he didn't want to infuriate the man any more than he already had, America walked out of the kitchen and slumped back on the couch, occupying himself by staring at the Brit over the counter.
It didn't take long until the very man he had been gazing at walked towards him while holding out a plate filled with French toast, the edges black with unpleasant flavour.
'Can you even burn French toast?' America pondered.
England tossed him a fork from the kitchen. America fumbled with it as it came into reaching distance, struggling not to cut himself.
"That's not safe..." he grumbled, cutting a middle piece of the toast that wasn't as burned as the sides. He felt better once he noticed that it was coated in maple syrup, so it could take up the room in most of his tastebuds.
England returned his response in a similar tone. "I know." He sat beside the American on the sofa, beginning to consume his syrup-free French toast.
As America continued to cut more pieces of the bread, his azure gaze drifted towards England's smaller form. The stern frown on his face was normal, as well as the emerald eyes that were slicing mercilessly into the poor carpet, as if it had wronged him. That's why America was unsure of why he found peculiar words slipping from his lip.
"Hey, I'm, uh, sorry." he mumbled, his pride forcing him to keep his eyes glued to the carpet in a poor attempt to hide the bright red spreading across his cheeks. That blush grew even worse when he was forced to continue his words at the confused, bushy eyebrow England rose towards his statement. "Y'know, about before."
England's eyes widened, staring hard at America. "Sorry?" he asked, as if not believing the American's apology.
If it were possible, America would have been as red as a tomato by now. "Yeah!" he shouted, burying his face in his hands. "Got a problem with it?!" The words were muffled, but thanks to their volume, they were audible.
Britain's face paled by the sudden outburst, his heart nearly stopping from their calm atmosphere being broken so suddenly. "N-No! I'm grateful!" These words caused America to move his hands slightly, just enough so his sea-blue orbs could be seen. "It's just that...It's not like you to just apologise like that." England observed.
America removed his hands from his entire face, the red previously teasing his features now faded. "Well..." He rubbed the backside of his neck. "I guess it's because I don't like to be hated."
Despite the sincerity in his words, England cackled lightly, causing America to send him daggers from azure orbs. "Well, no one does, now do they?" In a way, he was explaining his reason for laughing. "I hate being hated too, but I've never been so open about it."
"Well, you asked...sorta!" America protested.
More giggles erupted from Britain's throat, but not before he rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, sure I did!"
As his eyes were clamped shut in hearty laughter, the strong force pushing him down onto the sofa was unexpected. Now it was England's turn for his face to be dusted with pink. Emerald eyes shot open, clashing with eyes of sapphire gem.
"Stop it!" America yelled, although England's chuckling had came to a stop long ago.
The eternal organ in his chest was throwing itself against his ribcage like a wild animal stuck in captivity. America's face was just as it had been the night before. Somehow, it felt as if staring into those eyes was equivalent to gazing up at a cloudless sky on a breezy summer's day; it gave him the same warmth on his cheek, the same cool rushing feeling over the rest of his body. England really wanted to move away before the situation got worse than it already was, but by the time he was moving closer to America's face, all reason was wiped away.
'Why am I doing this?' the still reasonable section of the Englishman's mind wondered.
The feeling tingling on England's lips wasn't foreign—he could still remember that night of a single kiss shared with a supposedly slumbering America. The rush created by slowly moving lips closer and closer, the warm and comforting feeling of sweet lips pressing against his own. He was only able to relive the sensation for the little time America was still shocked.
In a second, Britain's lips were ripped from America's and a stern slap was placed across his cheek. He held his paining flesh, failing to notice the pounding of heavy footsteps against a hardwood floor. Only when he raised his head, did he realise that he was alone.
A/N: okay okay let's all be honest, this chapter sucked BAWLS. I didn't really know how to lead up to them kissing, so ja ;-; I think my writing ability is getting worse, I dunno why.
Btw I made England make French toast to piss him off.
Okay so until next chapter...
