America often imagined what dying was like, because he needed to be prepared for when it happened. America didn't know if there was a Hell or a Heaven or any of that, so instead he thought about what he wanted the afterlife to be like. Usually America would keep such thoughts to himself, but on today, the Fourth of July, it was all too much.

Japan had called him to wish him a happy birthday, but now America found himself going, "Man, I keep daydreaming about, like, dying and stuff."

"Huh."

Japan didn't hang up, so America continued. "Yeah, I mean, it's surely gotta be totally lit. You know, like, I'll die and shit, and I'll go wherever the afterlife is. And I'll be me, Alfred, 'cause I won't have the burden of being a nation anymore."

"Interesting."

"Yeah, totally. And then, uh, Arthur will be there, of course he will. And he'll totally go, 'Alfred, I'm so proud of you, son. I love you so much. You did the best you could.' An' he'll hold his arms out wide, and I'll run into them as if I was a little child again. And in that one embrace, there'll be so much warmth that it'll 100%, absolutely obliterate all the bad that ever came between us. And I would know that he loved me, and that he really was proud of me. The hug will just be that good, you know?"

"Right."

"And he'd pull away and look at me again, and really see me and not my country or all the bad, and he'd say, 'I love you, Alfred. I always will. I'm so proud of you, because you're strong and brave. I wish more people could have been like you.' I guess that's repetitive, but he never says it to me now, so why not?"

America didn't speak for about a minute before he added, "I believe that Arthur's a good person, and I believe that in a different world, things would've been okay between us. I hope the afterlife will be that world... but, you know, if there really is no world like that, if there's no reality in which that world exists, if there really is no part of Arthur that could fulfill my wish, then I would be okay with a lie. I would be okay with a complete fabrication. I just want to hear him— his voice— say it. And even if he was there and didn't say it... well, if he was just nice to me, then that would be cool too."

"So you just fantasize about England saying he's proud of you?" Japan asked, failing to provide America the peace of a distinction between 'Arthur' and 'England', mostly because there wasn't a real difference. "Aren't you glad you left him?"

"Of course I am, dude! I'm fucking awesome. I'm really glad I'm a country... but the fact remains that I didn't want to leave him. I wanted to make amends, you know. I-I didn't have a choice, and that's what bothers me. I had to accept that Arthur totally wouldn't like me anymore if I left. But I wanted my own say and everything and Arthur didn't like me anyway, so I had to leave. I guess what I'm saying is that I knew leaving was the best choice and so there were no other choices, and that's a really hard pill to swallow. I'm a pacifist at heart, dude."

"So... so you knew it was the best choice. Okay. But you didn't want to take it? Why not?"

"I knew it was the best choice, but, you know, I couldn't help thinking that surely there were others out there where leaving wasn't the best choice. On a personal level, I mean. You know, I'd see my citizens keep good relationships with their parents and I'd just think, man, I can't ever have that. I didn't have the choice to do anything like that. I used to think back then, you know, if Arthur and I were just people then everything would be fine. But we weren't just people and I had to leave, and staying wasn't a real choice, and that sucks."

Japan didn't respond. America had the feeling that he wasn't getting it. "Just forget it, dude. It's hard to explain."

"Do you ever think of anything else in your death fantasies, or is it just meeting England?"

"Uh, no, actually. I never get that far. But I guess afterward I would totally see all the people I've ever missed through my life, like George Washington and JFK and this one dude that I spent an entire summer talking to only to have him unfriend me on Facebook at the end. But I'm not very important to any of the people I wanna see again, so I dunno."

"That... that part makes a bit more sense," Japan commented, as if anything about the afterlife, an unfathomable concept, ever made sense. "America, are you planning on killing yourself?"

"Nah, I'm scared of death. Why?"

"Okay, good. You just seemed to have really thought this through." Japan seemed very much relieved at this. "I have to go. I hope you have a good birthday."

"Yeah, you have a good day," America told him, but he was already gone.

...

It had been ten minutes since Japan had ended the call, and Alfred was bored out of his mind. He was in London for the Fourth of July because his boss needed to meet with the Queen or Prime Minister or whatever... and while Alfred had to be in London, he wasn't allowed to go to the meeting. Arthur apparently hated Alfred so much for leaving that he grew physically ill around this time of year, and Alfred's boss had told him to "take one for the team and stay in a hotel or something".

Alfred didn't understand how Arthur would be any better talking to the President of the United States around this time, but he obeyed his boss because he didn't feel like disobeying. So Alfred sat bored in his hotel, quite wishing he was at a barbecue with his neighbors, when he came up with a brilliant idea: he would listen to American music and pretend he was home.

Alfred browsed all the music he'd downloaded and eventually settled on Weezer, because nothing screamed 'summer' and 'American' more than sunny teenage angst.

The first few songs were good, and then 'Foolish Father' began to play. Alfred, who still had the mentality of a young adult, naturally began to extrapolate the song to his own situation. It was easy enough to find some sort of peace with his situation with Arthur, which was still ruined, when he was being pointed toward forgiveness.

But then the song ended and Alfred was brought back to reality: Arthur hadn't tried his best or even thought of what was best for Alfred, and he wouldn't do anything or even most things for Alfred. But most importantly, Alfred wasn't the one in this situation that had to forgive.

It had been over two hundred and forty years since he'd had left, and still Arthur held it against him— still, Arthur refused to see him or even talk to him over the phone around this time of year, and still Alfred couldn't reference any point in his childhood without Arthur getting upset over it. No, Arthur was the one that needed to forgive Alfred, even if Alfred had just been a child at the time. Alfred had gotten over it; Arthur somehow could not.

America could understand how losing territory was humiliating, but he couldn't understand being upset about it over two hundred years later. It wasn't like America had genuinely threatened England's life during the Revolution— sure, it was bloody, but America had only been fighting for independence. It wasn't like he actually punished England for losing; it wasn't like England had any reason to fear for his life at any point during the war. America had done worse things to less deserving nations, so he didn't understand why Arthur had the audacity to sit and mope over it all, long after their nations had moved on. Besides, what had America even done wrong by wanting independence? And why couldn't Arthur ever be proud of him? Why didn't Arthur ever act like he was happy for Alfred?

Actually, Alfred decided, he didn't even really want to talk to Arthur anymore. It was a shame that he'd have to see England at every world meeting for such a long time after this, but they didn't have to be friends. Alfred was just wishing he really never had to talk to Arthur again when Arthur texted him a summary of the meeting.

Alfred immediately responded, cool, wanna get lunch so we can talk?

A: I haven't seen you all week, dude! I'm only in London so often!

Just a moment ago, Alfred had been absolutely pissed off over Arthur's constant penchant for being a victim. But now he watched the typing awareness indicator anxiously, convinced that his day would be made if only Arthur would get lunch with him.

E: Sure.

Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in a dining booth. Alfred ordered a sandwich; Arthur only asked for tea and a piece of toast.

Alfred spoke lightly; he always had to tread carefully around this time of year. "Do you have to go back to the meeting after this, Arthur?"

"No. It's over for today."

"Oh. That's good, right?"

"I'd rather get it over with instead, but I suppose it's not bad."

Alfred looked down at his sandwich. "Yeah, I get that." Alfred took a couple bites of sandwich, cursing himself for saying the wrong thing, before asking, "How's your day going?"

"It's going fine," Arthur answered. "Look, I—,"

Alfred looked up as nonchalantly as possible, pretending he was more focused on his sandwich.

Arthur waved his hand for several moments, trying to think of what to say (or how to say it, Alfred added, too optimistically). "America," he said, almost impatiently. "America, I..."

Well, that wasn't what America had wanted him to say at all. America, disappointed, found himself asking, "What is it, dude?" He winced at his perceived rudeness— how dare he interrupt— but England rather graciously let it slide.

"Never mind," England managed. "I forgot what I was going to say."

England didn't ask him how his day was going. He didn't say anything at all, and America realized now that England didn't actually want to be there. England didn't want to see America today, even though it was an important enough day.

America found himself looking back on how England had a way of making him feel like shit. England always made him feel like he was the worst thing in the entire world, as though rebelling was an unforgivable sin. But surely, surely England didn't mean to do this; he avoided America on his birthday, but that only meant that he didn't want to expose America to his own sadness, right? Surely America was the sensitive one here?

... even so, all America really wanted was for England to wish him a happy birthday. America couldn't help thinking now that England would never do this. England would never forgive him, and England would never spend a birthday with him, and England would never tell him stories about his childhood. England would never be family. England would never be what America wanted him to be, and this had to be America's fault because the alternative was incomprehensible.

By the end of the meal, America was very confused. This was how it always was: sometimes he never wanted to see England again, and other times he was absolutely certain that all he wanted was for England to care about him. Most days he was somewhere in between.

And then England stood briskly, put down a tenner. He awkwardly put his hand on America's shoulder, silently took note of America's barely suppressed flinch. "Happy birthday, America," he mumbled.

In that one moment, every single negative thought America had ever had about England disappeared. America was absolutely floored, but he still managed to only smile and say, "Thanks, dude. See you at the next world meeting."

England nodded and left. America sat with his sandwich, grinning so hard he feared he wouldn't be able to stop. England had never wished him a happy birthday in person before. Surely this meant that things were better, that America was finally becoming worthy of forgiveness.

America's imagination ran away from him as it usually did; he found himself dreaming about some time, hopefully in the near future, where he wouldn't have to die to fix what he'd broken. For once, it didn't seem so far-fetched.

A/N: A review would be hella lit. Have a totally rad day and stay safe.