Ding dong, went the doorbell.

And as he stood on the doorstep, England knew that America would be home. There was no way that –

His train of thought was abruptly cut-off at the sound of footsteps galloping down the hall. England shuddered to think of the state of America's carpet. He forced a smile, but just as quickly thought better of it. That would be decidedly odd. The door flew open (not locked, England noted) and America's grinning, over-eager face appeared in the doorway.

"Hey, how can I –"

He stopped quite suddenly when he caught sight of England standing on the (American flag designed) welcome mat, his mouth shrinking to form a little round 'o.'

"Surprise," England said quietly.

With a small shake of his head, America grinned even wider and then laughed his typical booming laugh and, without warning, opened his arms and gathered England into a tight embrace. The duffel bag England was holding dropped from his hand as the air was knocked clean out of him from the sheer force of affection. Weakly, England raised one arm to pat America on the shoulder.

"Yes, yes… I suppose it's, well, not good to see you, America, but," he wheezed and trailed off.

"Haha, wow – you got me good, Arthur! Totally unexpected."

America gave one more squeeze and let go of England. The sudden re-introduction to oxygen to his lungs left him slightly light-headed, but of course, America gave him no time to recover. He simultaneously grabbed England's bag with one fist and his hand with the other, dragging him inside – to a great amount of disgruntled noises.

The taller Nation let go of England's hand to close the door and England was only just beginning to notice himself noticing the lack of America's hand – then it was held again and America lead the way through the entrance hall and up a flight of stairs and to the right and into a room on the left where he promptly tripped over a fold in the red and white striped rug, using England's travel bag - with his new suit folded within it (bloody fuck) – to break his fall, pulling England along with him. The resulting crash, England was sure, shook the entire house and the surrounding forest.

"Thank goodness you're overweight, or I do believe I would have suffered severe head trauma," England sniped after he had stopped seeing stars (how fitting.)

America pouted. "Hey, shut up! I know that's just frumpy old man language for: thank goodness the hero was here to save the day!"

England almost smiled, but caught himself at the last moment and refrained. He head butted America's (definitely overweight) stomach for good measure, though. He started to push himself up, but had hardly gotten to his knees before America made an inimitable noise and protested loudly.

"Just a sec! C'mere."

He then proceeded to knock England's arms from underneath him, catching him before he fell and lowered him securely to a point on his chest. (Surprise!) This resulted in England's ear digging uncomfortably into the zipper of America's damned bomber jacket.

"Jesus, America! Let go of me, you git!" Struggle as England did, America's iron grip did not loosen, despite his highly colourful protests…which the imbecile just laughed at. "Fuck – fine! At least let me get comfortable."

"Yay!" England wanted to punch him.

With an extra-loud groan, England rolled off of America's chest and onto the rug beside him. He contemplated escaping, but reasoned that course of action to be potentially harmful. If America wanted him here, then here he would have to remain.

Stupid boy.

England used America's outstretched arm as an extremely uncomfortable pillow and elbowed him in the ribs in a half-hearted attempt to stop his unrelenting laughter. This, as he expected, did not work. England ceased his movements, looking anywhere but at America – who was looking at him; he could feel it.

"What a nice stucco ceiling you have here," England seethed without any real contempt. Why he couldn't stay mad at the boy, he did not know.

"You love it."

"Not really, no."

Silence.

"Do you treat all of your friends like this?"

"Like how?"

England sighed exasperatedly. "With all this happiness and hugging and…and that lot," he finished lamely. This was one of the reasons England avoided visiting with America. This would inevitably happen and England would leave with questionable bruises on his body.

America said nothing for a few seconds until: "Maaaaaaybe…"

"Oh, yes and that answers my question perfectly – thank you kindly for being so honest, America that means a lot to me." England's words positively dripped sarcasm.

"Okay, okay – fiiiiiine." America bent his arm at the elbow and ruffled England's hair. England, mortified, slapped his hand away, seriously considering hitting him. America 'hmmm'd' and 'haww'd' before answering quickly. "I would, but Japan won't let me, Acadia – I mean Canadia – I mean Canada is my home-dog bro-hound and that would be weird and France is gross and creepy!" America breathed in deeply after dispelling so much air so quickly.

"Ye Gods," England muttered.

He turned to face America who smiled at him – no teeth, thank goodness – this boy always smiled. England, on the other hand, frowned. "So…you do not usually treat your other friends like this." It was a statement this time. America's smile dimmed, but didn't disappear. This time, he answered normally. "I guess I don't."

"Hmmm. I see."

They lay there for a few moments, England with one knee bent and America with both legs straight, crossed at the ankles.

"Make me tea," England demanded, suddenly wanting out and away from all the strangeness.

"Awww, I don't wanna get up!"

"Tch – fine! I'll make it."

"But I don't want you to get up either – you're nice and warm!"

"I fail to see that as a good enough excuse. Now – you can either make me tea or unpack my bag, actually no, I don't trust you with my things seeing as you have already succeeded in squishing them. Go make me tea – you know what I drink and I know you have it."

America rolled his eyes. "Fiiiiiine. I'll make your stupid tea."

He pushed England into a sitting position and slid his slightly purple arm from underneath the older Nation's head, before bounding to his feet and offering England a hand which was grudgingly accepted. Their hands gripped a little longer perhaps then strictly necessary. Then America grinned, turned and jogged down the stairs, leaving England to wonder at what had just happened.

I I I

England walked slowly down the stairs after unpacking (his suit only slightly wrinkled.) Halfway down, he glanced up to find a picture of himself and America hanging on the wall to the left . It was quite a recent picture – somewhere in the 90's – England guessed. He remembered that America had chased down a random stranger (probably scaring her half to death) and asking her to take their picture. The scenery behind them was simple: just a small, snow-covered park in – Maryland, was it?

"That was January 4th, 1997."

England spun around to see America leaning casually on the railing at the foot of the stairs.

"January 4th is the furthest day away from my birthday. I took you out 'cause I know that day kinda makes you sad, so I wanted to celebrate when you were happy. Well…happier. I mean, I love my birthday – it's, like, the best day ever. But that day was pretty good too."

England listened with mild astonishment to America's words. "What were we celebrating then," he asked. America drummed his fingers on the rail. "I dunno… Just us, I guess."

England's heart jumped a little and he wondered why. For the first time in a longtime, he smiled. Like a spark, it travelled down the wooden stairs to America, whose face positively lit up with glee. He jerked his head down the hallway behind him.

"C'mon – your frumpy old man tea is ready."

"Oh, shut it," England cursed and followed America towards the kitchen.

He really needed to step up his stradegy, he realized suddenly. America was doing a good job of catching him off guard lately. Now how to fix that?

AN - Haaaaa, so yeap. Thank you, already, for the supporrrrt!