Fjerde juli:
USA:
244 yrs old and Alfred still looked forward to his birthday every year. 237 yrs since Great Britain (more commonly known as England, or Arthur) had finally acknowledged him as a Nation, and he still felt proud. 155 yrs since the end of his Civil War (that had really torn him up inside) and he was still embracing every aspect of America. 61 yrs since he changed the number on his bomber jacket from "49" to "50" he still wore it every chance he got. Over two decades since his boyfriend (the abovementioned Arthur) stopped being "too busy to come to your birthday", and Alfred was still pleasantly surprised and thrilled that he showed up.
Even if he mostly gave prank-presents. Or was a total killjoy.
-No, Alfred. Absolutely not.
-Oh, come on, Iggy, Alfred whined (though he would later deny it; he was too heroic to whine). It's my birthday!
-No matter what the circumstances it's never a good idea to light fireworks by the pool while you and others are in the bloody pool!
There was a lot of arguing back and forth before Alfred, reluctantly, agreed to only have fireworks shooting out from the old bunker deep in the forest close by, the beach that was just downhill and from the fireproof roof of his house.
With Arthur somehow being roped in to volunteering as firework-on-the-roof-lighter. And that on top of his headache.
Alfred, on the other hand, was like a kid in a candy store when the guests came along, handing him present after present.
He got the usual car from Ludwig and Feliciano, a censored gift from Francis (really; not even XXX-rated movies would show the kind of stuff he bought), a new weapon from Basch, wine from Antonio, and so on…
Long after midnight, just before the sun started to rise, Alfred conked out on the lawn under two apple trees. Exhausted after a fun night, nice presents and great American fireworks, Alfred would wake up the next morning having been mysteriously transported to his own bedroom, changed into his own pajamas and tucked tenderly in.
Author's notes:
I don't own Hetalia