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[fifty]

To be made pretty later.

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[keepscalm]

Yeah. [He can't imagine doing anything else. Granted, it's getting hard to imagine anything right now; he stares at America's face on his tablet, but truly focusing on it is a chore.] You'll be the first to know.

[fifty]

[Don't fall asleep. It's what America wants to say, but at this point, would it matter? Would it be better if England fell asleep and never woke up, compared to fighting the whole time? Why does he have to think about this? Why can't he stop his brain from thinking about this? Why can't he stop this from happening? America smiles, since he wants England to see it at least one more time. It looks broken in a way he can't quite fix.] England. Darlin'. [The drawl sneaks in, a little, but vanishes again.] I wish I'd started dating you, like--decades ago.

[keepscalm]

[Darlin'. England thinks he must have imagined it at first. He sees America smiling on his tablet screen, but it looks all wrong.

He lifts the tablet to his face, resting his forehead against the screen where it can meet America's. He wishes he could be closer. At first, he answers without much thought, without really processing the words.] Yeah. Me too.

[A pause, and almost palpable thought and effort, before England sighs heavily and breathes out a few more words.] —loved you for a long time.

[fifty]

[England is never this candid, and the effort his words seem to be taking is so obvious America feels like he can see it even without England's video on. These aren't the circumstances America wanted to hear all of this in, but here they are regardless.] Me too. I should've--should've told you. Not telling you--it wasn't very heroic. [He's supposed to be a hero. Is this all he can do? Sit here and listen to England die?] Sorry. [He hiccups through a sob.] Sorry.

[keepscalm]

S'all right. I prob'ly didn't deserve it. [Did he say that out loud? Maybe. He's not really sure. He just can't stand the sound of America crying — it does awful things to him. But he can't fix it like this when he's the reason America is crying in the first place. It's so, so cold.] You don't have to be sorry.

[fifty]

Of course you deserved it! [America is loud and upset and insistent.] You deserve all sorts of good things, like, like going back home to your house with your tea and all your books and you can sit on your couch and embroider stuff and maybe, maybe I could sit next to you? Just, just really close, and watch, I always--I always thought that'd be really nice.

[keepscalm]

[England can almost picture it, but it's like a little bit of debris in a glass of liquid, repulsed from his fingers and floating around them every time he tries to grab it.] I'd like that. Sounds...nice. Yeah.

Sometimes you're too kind. To me. [Sometimes he is, and sometimes he isn't, but England only has the time to regret his own unkindness. Anything else he probably brought upon himself.]

[fifty]

You've been too nice to me before. [America's voice trembles, but with how England sounds he's directed all of his enormous willpower at keeping himself together enough to speak.] Whenever I'm nice to you, it's 'cause I wanna be, so you don't have to worry about it or--or anything. I know you're nice. That's--that's what you are, even if you act like a jerk or you shout or you get all proud, you're really--you're nice.

[keepscalm]

So're you. [And, apparently thinking America might not believe him if he's not sincere enough, he adds:] Really. M'proud of you.

[It's important that America knows.]

[fifty]

[America has to pull his glasses off, his fingers gripping the arms so hard they leave red marks in his flesh.] I love you. I love you. I love you, I really, really, really love you.

[keepscalm]

[England clings to America's words like they're the last thing he has. It's getting so dark and it's terribly, terribly cold, but he can't really feel it any more.] Love you too.

[His words are brittle and quiet.] Watch my people. 'Til I get back. All right?

[fifty]

I will. I promise! [Every single one of them, even the ones he hates.] Come back soon.

[keepscalm]

And Ginger. [Is she listening? England hopes not. This is too horrible for her to hear. But he wants to say goodbye.] Ginger...tell her. Tell her bye. Tell her I'll be back. Soon.

[And then, once more for good measure:] I love you.

[fifty]

I will! [The words are suited to saying goodbye to someone over the phone, but this is so much worse.] Love you, too, England.

[keepscalm]

Love you. [England repeats the words back, distant and distracted.] Love...

[But the rest of the thought never comes. There's only the wind, whipping hard against the microphone still held too close to England's face.]

[fifty]

England? {America knows he won't hear anything, but he calls out anyway.] England--England-- [That's all he can take. His composure shatters, and he can't stop himself from crying. It's not as if England can hear him now.]

action;

[lacecase]

[Ginger has been listening, of course, with a hand over her mouth because this isn't her place to interrupt, she thinks, and she doesn't trust herself not to burst into horrified sobbing from the very beginning. Her heart feels like it's ripping in half when England mentions her, and then...the silence.

Without a second thought, she rushes forward and wraps her arms around America, the embrace tight and fierce.]

He'll be back--he'll be back, he'll--

[It's all she can say as she holds him close. It'll be different for England, it has to be. He has too many people here who love him and who need him, even if they don't know that they need him.]

((ooc: currently don't have access to her sobbing icon so we will just pretend.))

[fifty]

[America clings to Ginger, trying and failing to calm himself down.] Y-yeah, he'll--he'll be back, it'll be okay, I'm--I'm sure. [He has to believe that. He can make himself believe that.]