They slept well into the afternoon. And why not? It was New Year's Eve day and their first day off in a long time. They could afford it.

It was around 1:00 p.m. and England was drifting within the realms of semi-consciousness - where dreams, thoughts, and feelings were highly indistinguishable from one another. He was certainly aware of America's hands over his and his broad forehead pressed to his own, but he couldn't for the life of him tell if this was his imagination running wild or actual reality. Oh well… For now he was content to just lie here and pretend that this strange phenomenon didn't need to be questioned, or investigated, or scrutinized. He sighed softly and a lock of hair was disturbed by the slight movement. He contemplated fixing it, but that would require him removing his hands from America's.

Suddenly, America did just that and turned abruptly so that his back was facing England. A second passed and America sneezed – a powerful and ear-splitting sneeze that succeeded in jerking England back to wakefulness. He groaned as America laughed sheepishly and turned back to face him, his eyes shining.

"Wow - that was dumb! You're stupid hair tickled my nose England; it's all your fault."

England shot him a withering glare and flattened his hair back in place. "It's 'entirely your fault,' I think you mean."

All previous sheepishness in America's grin disappeared to be replaced by the more usual wicked glee. "I don't think I've ever heard that one before, Arthur!"

England ignored America's quip and pushed himself up into a sitting position on the bed, rubbing his eyes blearily. "Blimey, what time is it?" He looked to his left, saw no clock and looked to his right, across America. Ah, there it was… He scoffed loudly when his vision was met with Texas lying just so the glasses lenses distorted the digital reading of the (oddly) unoriginal clock, making it impossible to read.

He rolled his eyes and reached over America's bulk to shift the glasses across the table. …Where did that squeak come from? He chanced a look at the boy who just grinned back at him before turning to actually read the damned time-telling device. When he had done so, (with a twitch of annoyance at the lateness) he moved back over onto his side of the bed. He raised an eyebrow at America's pinched expression.

"Are you holding your breath?"

America let out his breath in a whoosh. "No! Maybe you wanna get your eyes checked too, Frumpers."

"Oh, shut it." England flicked America's on the shoulder and made to get up and greet the…afternoon. Hmm. That certainly hadn't happened in a long while. Oh, this boy and his influences… He was stopped from doing so by said Nation clutching an armful of his pyjamas in a loose fist.

"Unhand me, you," England prodded gently. "I, unlike you, am not atrociously lazy, nor do I wish to spend the entire day in bed – no matter how unproductive this day is shaping up to be."

America pouted and eventually relinquished his hold on England, turning to lie on his back. His earlier sneeze had rumpled each and every blanket so that they lay twisted and trailing off one side of the bed. His look of utter misery was almost enough to convince England to lie back down onto the bed and caress his worry lines away –

This thought of utter foolishness was certainly enough to convince England to banish this fantasy from his mind and leave this bed. It squeaked slightly and America remained unmoving. This unnerved England and he strove to find a way to regain that smile he was so…well, fond of.

An idea came to mind and, smirking slightly, England made his way around the bed so that he was closer to America. Maybe he would kill two birds with one stone with his plan.

"I think I know how to get your lazy arse off of that bed."

America looked up at him, seemingly unnerved by England's close proximity. "Oh yeah," he asked and England decided to pretend to not the notice the slightly breathless intonation to the lad's question. He leaned over him and raised his eyebrows slightly when America did the same, only leaning up. The boy certainly wanted something and England was beginning to get the impression that it was no longer as simple as holding hands. I-Intriguing… One bird down; now for getting America up.

"E-England?" America whispered his name and England almost lost himself in that stare – slightly glazed and needy – almost lost his grip on reality that he so prided himself on. At the last minute he remembered that dignity and prodded America in the ribs, causing him to back up and wiggle uncomfortably.

"Hey, t-that tickles." England poked him again and he squirmed, his grin returning full-force and a few chortles escaping his lips which only escalated in volume with each playful jab to each of his ribs. Soon enough, he was full-on guffawing and swiped at England who dodged nimbly out of the way. This sudden movement caused him to lose his balance and topple oh so 'heroically' off of the bed, much to England's delight; he was victorious in rousing the lad from his ridiculous stupor.

"Indeed," England replied smugly (if not a little shakily) to the laughing heap of a Nation on the floor. "I'm not willing to put up with you moping about all day. Did you want to watch that movie so you can 'get it over with,' or whatever nonsense you wish to accomplish with such a task? Because you should consider yourself lucky that I'm even suggesting this."

The British Nation offered a hand to America, who took it and hauled himself up with all the gentleness he could muster. England then proceeded to kick him out so that he could change in peace, ignoring the repeated chants of "Pajama day, pajama day!" Once the hollering Nation was out of his room, England closed it and locked it, thankful for the first bit of peace he had received all day.

He slowly dressed, pulling a long sleeved, wool sweater – hand knitted by himself – over his small frame and a pair of black, semi-formal pants – made of a soft material – comfortable enough in which to spend the day, but civilized enough so that he wouldn't look like a right slob…like America.

Alfred…

England automatically made the bed, smoothing out the covers and righting the pillows. His fingers grazed over America's as if it were possible to feel any of his remaining essence. What…what was happening? Even the sound of America humming to himself while brushing his teeth – audible through the bedroom wall – was enough to send England into a tumultuous chaos of want. Of, of…a certain hunger.

"Fuck…"

England gripped the headboard in order to steady himself. It was only when he heard America pause outside his door, did he turn the lock and the knob and walk out.

He hoped fervently that there would be alcohol tonight.

I I I

After a relatively short lunch of cereal and fruit - Honey Nut Cheerios for England and Fruit Loops for America since the house didn't seem to contain anything healthy, England noticed – the pair made their way downstairs to watch the movie. Although the daylight calmed America of his greater fears, the (mockingly predictable) horror scenes still managed to glean quite a reaction, resulting in an annoyingly clingy Nation. England tried (half-heartedly) to push him off, but gave-up altogether after several repetitions.

The movie was, thankfully, short – and utter tripe - and the credits rolled across the screen accompanied by a sound effect resembling a howling wind. England looked down at the boy, looked at America's face pressed into his side and the arms wrapped around his waist. Ah well… At least Japan wouldn't have to suffer through this one.

England was just about to prod the boy to see if he had fallen asleep, preposterous as that would be, when America shifted slightly and hummed in the back of his throat. England frowned down at the messy hair beside him.

"What's on your mind, lad?"

America shifted again, turning his face away so his voice could become less muffled and answered. "You."

England blinked at how matter-of-factly he voiced this. He blinked again. And fought to keep his breathing under control. "Oh…really now?"

"Haha, yeah. Um…yeah. How about yours?"

England was spared answering by Lady Gaga's Bad Romance suddenly blaring from America's pocket. He cursed and extricated his arms from around England's waist and sat up. He reached into his pocket, stared at the screen in confusion for a second, then jumped as if in realization before answering it hurriedly.

"Hey, dig-dawg Mattay – wasup?"

England heard this and made the connection. Oh, Canada.

"Whadda ya want? No, no – I'm listening. Dude, seriously – go ahead. What the heck - I'm totally not interrupting. You excited for New Year's? France is there? Maaaaaan – I'm never gonna understand how you put up with that guy."

The conversation continued like this and England, eventually becoming restless, stood up, squeezed America's shoulder lightly and walked back upstairs, if only to have some space for a while. He walked into the living-room and looked out the window, turned away and whipped his head back – a massive double take.

Snow. There was so much snow. At least thirty five centimeters of snow must have fallen throughout the night. The street was plowed haphazardly – as if the machine responsible had had much more important areas of the city to clear. Which it probably did, but still. There was a lot of snow. First Heathrow and now this…

England walked slowly towards the window and looked up at the cloudy sky – a few freezing flakes still falling here and there. He didn't turn when he heard America clomping up the stairs, or when a quiet 'oh, shit' followed. Soon enough, America was at his side, staring at the endless white along with him.

"Mattie just called to ask if everything was all right 'cause of all the snow. I didn't even notice it, haha – but… I sure as hell don't think we have the kind of plows and stuff he has to clear all this… I haven't been paying attention to the News lately – maybe the airports here are messed up, too. It's kind of a surprise, huh?"

England perked a bit at his wording and nodded, staring out at the blanket of white across the road and surrounding trees. He hesitantly moved himself closer to America's side. And America, just as hesitantly, draped and arm around his shoulders, drawing him even closer. England sighed and noticed dimly how fast the discomfort at such a touch had changed into something resembling relief.

"I'm just glad we're here and safe today." America nodded, thinking the same.

I I I

The rest of the evening passed surprisingly uneventfully. England read or sewed or sat and thought, trying to seem as calm and relaxed as possible. In reality, he felt as if he were standing on the edge of a rocky outcrop – unable to decide whether or not to jump; whether there was a fatal fall or a short skip onto even ground. Everything seemed to point towards America wanting…well, marginally the same as he did. But was he really willing to cross the last line?

America loudly announced that it was going to be impossible to get more alcohol because of all the snow, so they would have to make do with a bottle of champagne.

"Since when do you care that much about alcohol," England had called out.

"S'not me who's the alcoholic," came the response. England grumbled moodily for the next few minutes while America just laughed.

Neither had really felt like driving through the iffy conditions to Times Square and America already knew that crowds and hubbub weren't really England's cup of tea – which England was silently grateful for. America's house and TV it would be. After several commands turned pleas by America, ('don't tell me what to do!') the two Nations made their way downstairs to sit on the couch in front of the (still) overly large television. Not a second passed and America had jumped back up - almost upsetting England's tea cup in the process – announcing that he would return 'in a second.'

When he did, he came back with two thin glasses, one bottle of Henkell Trocken and a white fuzzy blanket which he deposited on top of England's head, much to England's chagrin. He ducked his head to shake it off just as America popped the cork on the bottle. England froze as he felt the air whistle where his head had been and the cork crash through the ceiling. England's scowl was certainly a shade more furious after his head emerged from the confines of the blanket than what it was before.

"…Oops."

Oops. That was all he could muster? But then the sound of the alcohol being poured succeeded in lightening England's mood…if only a little. America then sat down beside England, lifting the blanket and draping it over both of them. He turned up the volume on the almost muted TV and England clenched his hands under the fuzzy material, acutely aware of America's thigh touching his.

The minutes ticked down to 2011 and the two Nations bickered aimlessly about various goings on in their respective countries. Strictly non-work related, of course. They could never really do anything but bicker when they talked, England thought – a little sadly. But at least they were fighting a lot less these days. Well...this past one day.

The announcer from New York Times Square was shouting into the microphone, half grimacing half smiling at the camera and doing everything possible to be heard over the thousands of screaming people. England did not envy him. It was much better to be here in a house, warm under a soft blanket, away from everything and everyone…

Well, not everyone.

England turned his head slightly and chanced a glance at America, who, as if sensing this, looked as well. When eye contact was made, it was quickly broken as both Nations turned away.

A silence fell between them as the last few minutes ticked away – the announcer talking about nothing in order to pass the time. The giant New Year's ball was all aglow as well as the surrounding buildings and handheld devices the resilient New York citizens were waving in the air. Booze all around, England thought to himself and drowned his third glass of champagne.

"Are you ready for the countdown?" America's face was also glowing – happiness and excitement radiating from his smile. England couldn't help but smile a little in response to the lad's. His mind was buzzing nicely – partly from the alcohol, partly because of America's close proximity and mostly because of the impending New Year, the implication of starting all things afresh…and what that might mean for their relationship.

"10, 9, 8, 7, 6…" America started off the chanting, pressed up close to England's shoulder – eyes shining.

England, spurred on by America's enthusiasm, followed along – face softening and truly relaxed for the first time in a while. "5, 4, 3, 2, 1…"

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!" America's shouted exclamation overpowered England's murmur of agreement, but both said it nonetheless – accompanied by the thousands screaming on the television. The 2011 sign glowed with an intensity that rivaled even the fireworks' brightness.

The fireworks could be heard from outside, as well. Each boom all but shook the walls of America's residence and England couldn't be sure which was louder – the gun powder laced explosions or his beating heart as he turned towards America. He made a split second decision – no room for thoughts or hesitance or confusions. He waited until America looked his way - no doubt with the intention to pester him with more celebratory exclamations – and cupped his chin in one hand. America's grin shrunk to a questioning smile as he searched the Nation's eyes. England swallowed and leaned forward.

Amidst the cheers and the lights and the explosions and the impenetrable silence, their lips met on the dawning of the New Year.

AN - FINALLY! YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW 'SUSPENSED' I WAS THE LAST FEW PARAGRAPHS BEFORE 'IT' HAPPENED! Oohhh...my. So the first half is on time with right now. But the second half... well - it'll come in...just over 10 hours. For me at least, anyway. Also! The title is supposed to be: No Room For... high stress on the dot dot dot. But, no! FF won't let me. D: Oh well. Just so you know.

Also, also! From what I am aware, in the newspaper, there's actually a shit-ton of snow troubles in New York. Also Heathrow. Or at least, there was. So if anyone's caught up in that - best of wishes.

I'm so sorry for the cliffhanger! Oh my god, I would hate me if I were you. :P The next chapter will be up later today or tomorrow.

Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya and thank god for that. :D