"Fuck." England must have cursed more loudly than he had thought because soon after this vulgar exclamation, America's footsteps echoed and were closely followed by the Nation himself.
"Wh's wrgg?"
England 'tch'd' and ran a hand through his hair, turning to face the boy – who currently had half of an éclair dangling from his mouth.
"I am going to assume that you meant: 'what's wrong'." He tapped his fingers on the desk in front of him, the computer monitor illuminating his face.
America bit off the chunk of éclair, the remains falling to his cupped hands and chewed at what must have been a record setting pace. When it comes to food… trust this glutton. He walked over to stand beside England and peered at the screen. And reeled back in confusion, looking down at the Nation who refused to look back at him.
"What the heck, man? Why are you booking plane tickets when you could just stay here for a while?"
England rolled his eyes. "Well, if you had looked at the screen properly, you would see that the Heathrow and London airports have closed down due to snow of all the bloody things. It makes me wonder if the rest of the airports are safe enough to use."
America, for some reason, found this funny. "Haha, duuuuude – I guess it doesn't always rain there…" He didn't need to continue and England scowled at him and his damned, unnecessary laughter.
"Shut it – it's certainly rare for it to snow in Britain, even rarer for that to be the cause of closure. Bollocks! The timing is absolutely awful, as well."
America's laughter died at this and he frowned to himself. "Aww, why do you say that, Artie?" Here he paused and England swore he saw his cheeks turn slightly pink. "You've got me right? Stay here for as long as you want – oh! Perfect – it's New Year's in friggin' two days! You gotta celebrate with me."
England scrunched up his nose in distaste. "Goodness, America. Why on earth would you propose such a thing?"
America recoiled for the second time in confusion. "Uhh…'cause it's New Year's? And New Year's is awesome. If you go back I just know you're gonna be all alone, and it's too late to invite Kiku – so if you leave then I'll be all alone. And that would suck. Big time. So stay!"
England finally looked up to see something he had never seen before on America's face: hope. Well…he had certainly seen vain, disproportionate hope, but never such an earnest, kind expression. It almost didn't suit the boy.
But it's directed at me… What's going on…?
The thought was enough to send him over the edge of rational thought – away from solid ground and into the depths of the unknown, the swaying, and the…surprising. And with that, he closed the window on the computer and rose to his feet. He looked properly at America's face and made a decision. "Alright. I must be right mad, but…I'll stay for bloody New Year's."
"Yay! Thanks, Arthur! You won't regret it!"
And before he knew how to respond, America had gathered him into one of those crushing hugs – a repeat of yesterday afternoon – where his head swam and the colour rose in his cheeks. Although, he was now beginning to wonder if there was another reason for this – besides the lack of oxygen. As far as England knew, lack of air didn't cause one to blush. He cut off that particular thought as it only caused him more discomfort. And speaking of discomfort, the boy still hadn't let go.
England shifted in his hold. "America…"
The lad seemed to remember himself and let go of England, but kept his hands on the smaller Nation's shoulders.
"Um. Haha, Oops. I'm just glad you're staying, England."
"You said 'thanks'." England's voice was soft with a hint of a smile.
America gaped and then nodded, delayed. "Oh…well, yeah! I'm capable of saying 'thank you' once and a while!"
England smirked and flicked at Nantucket. "You could have fooled me, moron."
America squeezed his shoulders surprisingly lightly. "Yeah, well – like I said – I'm glad you're staying." A pause. "So, I'm gonna make dinner!" America, apparently, found the need to announce this to the entire room and England winced at the sudden increase of volume. Before he could respond, however, America was already out the door and running down the stairs.
England stood for a long while, arms dangling at his sides and his entire body tingling with the ghost of America's embrace. Were simple hugs supposed to elicit such a feeling in his chest? Did America really care so much as to want him here for New Year's?
Sometimes he merery gets ahead of himself…
England exhaled shakily and crossed his arms over his chest – as if he could contain his heart's furious pounding by that action alone. His thoughts ricocheted off the walls of his skull with each bewildering beat. Between his unraveling emotions and the snowstorm in Heathrow, (was that meant to be?) the way America had looked at him after the meeting, (did you want to?) the tantalizing scent of fish and chips wafting up from the kitchen…
Fish and chips?
England's frown immediately cleared to make way for a confused half-smile and he made his way quickly down the wooden steps to investigate this strange turn of events – there was never a time when any other smell other than burgers was present in America's house. And yet…
The almost salivating Nation rounded the corner at the same instant that America appeared in the doorway. The following collision hardly affected America, (I'm such a tank - don't even deny it) but it caused England to careen backwards. He would have gone headfirst into the wall behind him if it weren't for America's strong grip on his lower arm.
"Whoa, steady there! Haha, I was just about to call you down to eat, but I guess your British-y nose picked up the scent." He grinned – his trademark grin of indescribable uniqueness. "S'not like I'm only gonna eat the fish 'n chips – I made a couple of burgers for myself, as well."
"Yes, because you're a right glutton." England's insult left his lips in a much quieter fashion than was his wont and he had to try remarkably hard to keep his facial expression neutral. America must have noticed the slight changes in England's demeanor because his grin slid from his face to make way for a facial feature combination of concerned and confused.
"Geeze, man… What's up now? It's only dinner…" He trailed off when England exhaled quickly – a huff, but more overwhelmed than exasperated.
"My dear lad. You don't understand what it's like to be alone, do you? To do paperwork in an office, to read silently in your spare time, to sleep in the same small bed, to eat at a table too large for one person. The only company I have is the faeries. When someone – someone as foolish and obnoxious and misunderstanding as you – when you go out of your way to make me – cold, uncaring, wearisome – my favourite dinner with the intent to actually sit down and eat it with me…" Here England trailed off and laughed shakily. "It's 'kind of a big deal,' as you would say."
England finally fell silent and they stared at each other for more than a few seconds. Then, as usual, America broke the silence in the bluntest fashion. "So…is there a 'thank you – you're the awesomest guy ever' buried in there somewhere?"
England grimaced. "Only the 'thank you,' I'm afraid. You are extremely conceited, America – I'll give you that." And the boy's smile returned full-force, succeeding in brightening the room – although England would never admit it.
"Well – you're totally welcome, Arthur! You're my guest, so I wouldn't just starve you, haha. Speaking of food, let's eat it before it gets cold! I'm soooo hungry." And he let go of England's arm to go back into the kitchen and England found himself lingering on that touch and how he never wanted it to go away –
That food smelled wonderful. It really did. So England quelled his ridiculous feelings and followed America, grabbing a plate and the necessary cutlery before serving himself.
"Consider yourself lucky," America laughed, "that this is the only British food I allow in my house."
"Oh shut it. My food is perfectly edible."
"Yeah – and Sealand will rule the world someday."
They continued to bicker aimlessly and sat beside each other at the table – England with a stack of crispy fish and chips, America, likewise, but with a burger on top. The pair eventually stopped talking to eat. England thought that it was actually quite good – for an American cook, that is. America, of course, finished first – all but inhaling his food and using his greasy fingers to pick up any remaining crumbs on his plate. He stared at England while doing so…which was quite distracting, England noted as he quietly finished his meal.
"Hey, England?"
The addressed Nation set his fork down with a sigh and a clink. "Yes, lad?"
"Um…I don't think you're cold. Or wearisome."
England regarded his dinner plate with the utmost fascination.
"…You don't?"
America turned his chair and drew one knee to his chest, resting his hands on it and his chin on them, in turn. "I mean it, Arthur. But…you try to be for some reason – I really don't get it. Is it 'cause you don't want to let anyone get close to you, or…" He furrowed his eyebrows and looked at the side of England's head, willing him to turn around (third time's the charm?).
England blinked. "You could say that…"
They lapsed into another silence, America brooding and England transferring the last forkfuls of food from the plate to his mouth. No sooner had the last chip passed his lips, England stood up, taking his plate and depositing it in the dishwasher under the watchful eyes of America.
"Hey," came the slightly delayed protest. "What'cha doing?"
"I," England sighed dramatically, "am going to sleep. It's been a long day."
America spluttered unattractively (wait, what kind of description was that?) and jumped to his feet, miraculously avoiding the table with all four limbs and all ten digits.
"Huh? Dude – it's, like, 9:30."
"Yes, and half two in the morning my time. As I said, it has been a long day, my lad and, knowing you, it'll be an even longer night tomorrow. So – I am merely being logical and catching up on my much needed rest while I'm still able."
"But I wanted to watch a movie with you," America blurted and crossed his arms. England rolled his eyes. "Surely you can watch it without me."
America's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "But it's a horror; I need to watch it with someone. Kiku said he'd stop teaching me Japanese if I didn't watch it," America responded glumly to England's open mouth.
"Well. Too bad on you. I'm off to bed. Goodnight, America."
And England turned to go upstairs to the (his) room to sleep, not bothering to listen to America's whining. Honestly – he could cope. England 'tch'd' and started his pre-bedtime routine. Five minutes later, he was buttoning the buttons on his pyjama top (contemplating America's foolishness the entire time) when he heard the door creak open. He turned to see sandy hair and large blue eyes peeking in from hallway. He prepared himself for the worst before turning to face the boy.
"What is it, America?"
The younger Nation opened the door and shuffled inside. He seemed hesitant, England noted. As if to prove this observation, he waited an incredibly long time for America to speak. Long enough for England to lose patience.
"For goodness sake – what, America?"
This seemed to startle him into cooperation and he stared down at England with fearful eyes. "Um… Well, haha, you're gonna hate me, but since I mentioned that movie? I'm kinda thinking about, uh, horror in general now…and…"
America trailed off and looked imploringly at England, worrying his bottom lip and twisting his hands together. And something in those eyes – whether it was the pleading, the innocent, the saddened, the trusting look – caused England to cave into his cacophonous emotions.
England cleared his throat and turned away. "I know you think it's early, but…I suppose I'll allow you to sleep with me tonight if you believe it to be of any help."
"Ohmigod, yay! I knew you'd say yes!" With that, America wasted no time in jumping onto the bed and burrowing under the covers – much to England's dismay and surprise, he noted with a grimace.
"Do you really intend to sleep with your clothes on," he squawked indignantly.
"Dude, you have no idea how hard it was to brush my teeth. I kept thinking zombie-creepazoids were gonna jump through the window, or something. Plus – I'm wearing a t-shirt and sweat pants – how much more pajama-ish could I get? Oh, hang on…" He dug around under the covers for a few seconds and eventually pulled his socks from underneath the blankets. He threw them at England who dodged easily and pinched the bridge of his nose as America exhaled loudly. "Sooooo much better. There's nothing I hate more than sleeping with socks on."
He grinned at England. "And don't you even think 'except me' or whatever 'cause you know that's not true."
England removed his hand from his face to glance sharply at America who kept right on grinning. "…You're daft, my dear lad."
In answer, America patted the side of the bed and wiggled even further under the sheets so that only his blue eyes peered out. …Those stupidly blue eyes. England steeled himself for the onslaught of emotions (he was past denying it) and flicked off the light, feeling his way towards the bed.
"Englaaaaand, hurry up – it's dark."
"Well, yes – that's what happens when there is an absence of light."
"But it's scaaaaaaary!"
England sighed and lifted up the covers, sliding into them – already made warm by America's body heat. "Hush, now. I'm tired." And with that, England let his head hit the pillow, pointedly facing away from America's face and staring moodily at the lamp's silhouette. He could almost feel America's smile disappear as he was faced with this dilemma.
"…Englaaand. I can't see your face."
"An astounding observation, America."
Instead of a whine of dismay as he expected, all England received in answer was a sigh of anger and disappointment.
"Jesus… Why the hell do I even try?" This was followed by an incomprehensible muttering.
England's shoulders tensed and he tried not to notice how quickly America's mood had changed, tried not to notice how disappointed America was – all because of England. He really did. And for a long time England listened to America tossing and turning from his same position. Eventually the movement stopped and England wanted nothing more than to relax and forget – simply wake up in the morning and, and…do something normal.
But the lingering feeling of guilt simply would not go away and it was causing England to remain awake against his will. So slowly…ever so slowly, he turned to face the boy. He was met with closed eyes, heavy breathing and a peaceful expression. After lingering perhaps a mite too long on the boy's face, England's eyes trailed down to a hand lying limply on the pillow.
His mind wandered to about twenty four hours ago in the basement when he had wrenched his hands out of America's…and how they had looked so empty afterwards…
England looked up at America's face and back at the hand. He hesitated for a split second before he tentatively clutched it in his own, noticing how much bigger it was compared to his. How nice and warm it was…
Suddenly, America's other hand appeared from underneath the sheets and snagged England's, so that it was enclosed within both of his large hands. A smile appeared on his apparently not sleeping face and it was with a herculean effort that England managed not to swear at the top of his lungs.
America sighed and spoke softly. "This is why I try…"
If it was possible at this angle, England's jaw would have dropped at such a…tender response. He decided to keep his hands there for the sole purpose of: it felt nice. Which was an oddly undefined reason for one such as him. Ah well… He had the entire day tomorrow to think it over.
And as the night drew on, the snow fell and fell, unnoticed beyond the walls of their room by the two Nations, blushing and breathing in unison.
AN - I love fluff. Erm. Yeah. Sorry if it's too much sap or whatever. Anyway. So this chapter is the last that I had had already written. (I was planning on waiting until I had it all done before posting, but a friend convinced me otherwise.) So - instead of one update after the other, there might be a couple days before each. Not too long though - I want to have the events match up as much as possible with real-life days. So yeah. Thanks for everything. The reviews and support mean a lot! Also - I know Britons spell airplane as aeroplane (I think), but I'm not sure if that goes for airports as well. So...sorry if airport is spelled wrong in 'British talk.'
BUT! I DID change pyjama to pajama depending on who was saying/thinking it. Did you see what I did thar? (I personally spell it as pyjama, FYI.)