"Al, you've outdone yourself once again with your annual St. Patrick's Day party!" Matthew beamed at the man, taking a hearty gulp of his pint.
"Thanks Mat, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself!" The country sat himself down adjacent to the blond, setting his empty pint glass onto the table between them. The Irish pub that Alfred and Matthew had stopped at during the St. Patrick's Day parade being held in Chicago for a well earned drink was full of people wearing all shades of green, drinking and singing merrily. Truly, the environment was buzzing with life as people were brought together by their Irish blood, Irish relatives or Irish friends and colleagues.
"Alfred! Matthew!" A familiar voice called out among the crowd. In an instant, as the mysterious person calling out drew closer, both men recognised the auburn coloured hair and beamed with excitement. "Cathal! You made it! Happy Birthday!" Alfred jumped up to greet his uncle, tackling the elder for a warm embrace, which was returned. Matthew remained in place, gesturing to an empty place beside him for Cathal to sit and when he did so, he offered the Irishman a hug. "Happy Birthday! Its so good to see you, how are you?" Canada inquired, pushing a pint that had been ordered in advance to the country.
"Ah I wouldn't miss an invitation to one of your parties, Al! And I'm doing well, thank you. How are you both? I'm glad to see you both wearing green!" Ireland laughed aloud, winking playfully at the two men whilst bringing the alcoholic beverage to his lips. Now that Cathal, the guest of honour, had arrived, the festivities were truly underway. Matthew, Alfred and Cathal went on a pub crawl where they bumped into other nations along the way and drank a selection of Ireland's finest drinks.
It had just turned eleven o'clock in the evening and at the tenth pub that Alfred, Matthew and Cathal found themselves at, the party was still in full swing with traditional Irish music blasting over the speakers and the bar packed with people trying to order a drink. Matthew had done shots with Medwyn and had run out onto the streets to vomit due to the excessive queue for the toilets, while Alistair was preoccupied in a drinking contest with Ivan. Arthur lay completed wasted across a couch at the back of the pub, a coat draped over him, meanwhile Cian had taken to the dance floor to demonstrate his Irish dancing skills. Yet despite the bustling atmosphere, Alfred found himself sat swaying at the back of the pub at an isolated booth, surveying his surroundings with a wide grin, hiccuping contentedly. That was until Cathal joined him.
"Hey, how are you holding up? Mat's ok, he's drinking some water with Toris and Feliks." Ireland reassured the latter, unable to stifle a laugh at how drunk Alfred had gotten.
"Hm? Oh yeah, that's great yeah...I'm doin' ok!" The Irishman nodded in response to America's slurred speech, pushing forward a glass of water for the country to sip on. "Here, take a breather. The party is still young after all!" The Irishman finished yet another pint, seemingly unaffected by the volume of alcohol he'd consumed. At this point, possibly due to the alcohol or the repressed childhood memories that decided to surface, Alfred decided to ask Cathal an unprompted question.
"Hey Cathal, do you remember when I thought you were a vampire and tried to make you drink garlic?" Alfred questioned, peeling his jacket off and unfastening his tie as he laid into the back of his seat. The question caught Cathal off guard who, after taking a moment to ponder the question, responded. "Aye I do, that was quite funny it was! Why do you ask?" the Irishman raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to one side.
"I remember you being really sick and...at the time I didn't do anything about it because I didn't know no, I was too blind and ignorant to see what was really happening." America rambled on, averting his gaze to his glass and shifting in place.
"Alfred..." Cathal began, setting aside his drink and reaching across the table to cup the young nation's hands in his.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." The American began to well up. All of those years ago, Alistair had been right about Arthur and Alfred hadn't realised the gravity of Cathal's condition until much, much later on.
"Alfred, you've nothing to be sorry for. There wasn't much you could've done that you weren't already doing. Don't dwell too much in the past, it doesn't bode well for nations." Ireland elaborated, gently lifting Alfred's chin so that their eyes met. America smiled at Ireland, retrieving his glass and downing the water in an instant.
"You want to dance? Show me how you do the leg thing-"