"I think your brother has noticed the little ruckus," whispered England, his breath hot on my ear.
"Don't go," I mumbled, leaning in toward him. So what if Big Brother saw? He knew anway…
"What's happening here?" shouted Big Brother. His gun was fully pulled out of the holster. He was aiming it in turn at Russia, America, England… I slipped my arms around England's neck. Big Brother would not shoot him. I would not let him - no matter the consequences. The rest of the party had ground to a halt. I could see Lithuania looking shocked and worried, while Poland looked slightly amused. Japan's eyes were on Big Brother's gun, his camera forgotten. France's eyes were on me and England. I felt the arm around my waist tighten.
Before anybody could say anything, Belarus pulled out her knife and brandished it at Big Brother. If she were a cat, her fur would been puffed up and she would have been growling.
"What did you do to my sister?" demanded Big Brother. His voice was menacing.
"I gave her Russian vodka," replied Russia, seemingly unperturbed, smiling gently. Big Brother cocked the gun as Belarus stepped in front of Russia. There was a silence, the type of silence that presses against you and suffocates you. I pressed my face into England's shoulder. He whispered comforting words that didn't sound quite English into my ear. I relaxed slightly, allowing the soft words to carry me away.
"And you." Big Brother aimed at America. "What have you done?"
"I didn't do anything!" said America indignantly, albeit in a slightly softer, more nervous tone than he usually would. Was Big Brother really that terrifying? Scratch that, of course he was. And it hurt me. Why was my Brother, my caring, loving Brother who had rescued me from the arms of death, so frightening?
Suddenly Big Brother swung his gun round so that it was trained right on England's chest.
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't shoot you now."
England stood tall and pulled me with him, so that my feet were almost suspended off the ground.
"Because I am in love with your sister."
I felt a rush at the statement. It was all very well to be in love with England; but him in love with me? It was an unreachable moment. And I had reached it.
"I said why I shouldn't shoot you." Big Brother's finger stroked the trigger. I couldn't take the tension anymore: supposing something bad happened?
"Because I am in love with him!"
Big Brother, America, Russia and England all turned to look at me. Belarus just carried on stroking her knife with the tip of her finger. England pulled me closer into a protective hug.
America looked excited, as if waiting for something big to happen. Russia looked – well, what was the name for that odd expression on his face? Content? And when I finally met Big Brother's eyes…
There was no anger. Instead there was a searching look, as if trying to work me out.
"I am in love with England," I said quietly but sternly. "You will not shoot him, Brother."
Big Brother surveyed me – he looked at my fierce grip around England's neck, his arm gently around my waist to support me, the way I leaned into his body. He must have realised that I meant my words with all my heart. He must have...
"Fine," Big Brother snapped. He shoved his gun into the holster and dusted off his uniform, before stepping closer to us intimidatingly.
"I'll give you one chance, England. If you screw this up…" His glare said it all. England didn't seem scared. Instead, he released his grip on me and bowed formally.
"I won't."
Big Brother nodded. Then he turned to me, a slight smile on his lips. "I'm giving you a chance. Use it wisely." He kissed me on the forehead.
"Thank you, Big Brother," I replied happily.
Then England took me in his arms once more. "Now that we have your brother's approval… I'd like you do move in with me."
"What?" me and Big Brother said in unison.
Mine was more of a happy and surprised "What?" but Big Brother's was more of a UNDER NO CIRCUMCURMSTANCES WHATSOEVER "What!"
"Can she at least have dinner at my house tomorrow?" England pleaded.
"If it's your atrocious cooking, no," said Big Brother harshly.
"I'll order in," replied England. "Chinese food, probably."
"As if your muck could ever rival true Chinese food!" piped up China from across the room. I realised that everybody was still watching us.
"Have you tried the food they try to call Italian?" replied South Italy.
"Disgusting English pizza…" moaned North Italy.
"Totally un-awesome!" declared Prussia.
"It's not really polite to be prying into this private affair," said Austria.
"All British food is gross!" yelled France.
"Git!" called England across the room, but before France could shout back, he turned my face towards his, and kissed me. His lips tasted of tea and something sweet and cakey. I shut my eyes. Bliss.