[England feels a morbid gratitude for Norfinbury's gutted electrical systems when he realises there's not enough light to illuminate his changing complexion. He didn't expect such an easy return of his attempted gesture. They don't exactly make a habit of talking about their friendship, or whatever it is this decade.]
...right.
[He tentatively unfolds his arms, though his fingers still occasionally brush the cuffs of his sleeves with restless energy.] I think that would be wise.
[England lifts his hand, then, just a small margin into the air. But he reconsiders whatever he was reaching for and lets his hand fall again, and only after it rests at his side does he look America in the face.] We'll get home. Don't you worry about that.
no subject
...right.
[He tentatively unfolds his arms, though his fingers still occasionally brush the cuffs of his sleeves with restless energy.] I think that would be wise.
[England lifts his hand, then, just a small margin into the air. But he reconsiders whatever he was reaching for and lets his hand fall again, and only after it rests at his side does he look America in the face.] We'll get home. Don't you worry about that.