[That sounds like an invitation. England scrambles to think of something relevant that isn't too soppy.] What did you want to do once we're back together?
[England didn't really have any travel plans beyond "make sure John is safe."]
[America's mind immediately goes to the most inappropriate possible response.] Um! [He's getting red again.] Well. You know. [Really red. It's probably obvious, shit.]
[Well. England supposes that is technically an answer. He's glad he wasn't the only one considering it, and despite his own embarrassment, he bites his tongue not to laugh at America's reaction.] We could do that.
Okay. Good! 'Cause, y'know, yeah. [But anyway--] We can do other stuff, too! Stuff that's not that. Like--hanging out in general. And with Ginger, too!
[It's sort of sweet that America says that like it would be a given that he'd want to do it. England can't resist teasing him, hoping for a spot of normalcy as a distraction.] I didn't realise you'd miss me that much when I left.
[When he left to get John. Not when he died. He doesn't want to think about how much America might have missed him while he was dead.]
O-oh, okay, good. [That's probably a weird response to England, isn't it? America is being really weird right now. Ugh, no, he wants to be normal about this!] So--that can be put on the to-do list, or whatever.
[A little, embarrassed smile sneaks onto America's face.] Me too. But--I mean, it's not just that or anything, like--I miss just walking around with you here.
[After all that fuss about I love you and all, England didn't expect America to say something so sweet. He lets out a disbelieving, embarrassed sort of laugh, soft and breathy as he looks away from the tablet.] Yeah. It's not quite the same without you.
[Especially now that they are considerably more attached than before.]
[America wants to memorize that laugh. That's such an awfully cheesy thought.] The blanket fort isn't as nice without you around. [He insists on calling their sleeping arrangements a blanket fort, even if it's more of a blanket nest.]
[America must be feeling very sentimental, indeed, to be saying all these things. England's saucy expression falls off his face, replaced with curiosity and some vulnerability.] "Always"?
[Maybe it shouldn't be a surprise. He does remember America saying some things that implied his feelings aren't necessarily recent, but it would be easy to say that sort of thing out of regret, without necessarily meaning it.]
[England is pretty sure that most friends don't sleep tangled up in one another like they did, even before this. Though now England can't help but wonder about all those times America ended up in his bed at home because something supposedly frightened him.
He lifts a hand to the back of his neck, nervous energy buzzing beneath his skin and making him all the more aware of his missing sense.] ...you said decades. Didn't you?
[England was, admittedly, pretty foggy by that point.]
...how long has it really been? [His curiosity gets the better of him, and he has to voice the question. He wants to know if he was right to be hesitant for all these years; what would he have done if he'd said something before America became interested in him, after all?
After a beat of silence, he adds:] You don't have to answer if you don't want to.
[That is way earlier than England expected, and for a moment he wears a dumbfounded expression before he realises that America has asked him in return. At first, he stumbles on his words, still trying to wrap his brain around this new information.] Er...
[It's not hard to dredge up a well of related memories, but it's hard for him to pinpoint when exactly it began. He always loved America, after all, even if it wasn't always in this way.
So he's silent for a while, but there's a thoughtful expression on his face that shows he's not purposefully ignoring the question.] ...perhaps the late nineteenth century? Or the First World War. I, um— I didn't realise until the Second World War, to tell you the truth. But I know I felt that way sooner.
[Then, a pause, and England conspicuously turns his gaze sidelong.] ...and I desired you— physically, before I did romantically, so it— you know. It's a touch hard to keep track of.
[England's answer is a lot more thoughtful than America's--but that's how England usually is. Has England really liked him that long? Even just wanting to sleep with him... Wow, that sounds old-fashioned, even in his head. When England wanted to--have sex with him.] For me it was, like--both things at the same time.
[England sort of gathered that from America's sexual history. Or rather, the fact that he had none before England. They're separate things, for England, though they are better when they're together.
He won't mention it, to spare America the embarrassment.] We were on good terms and I'm not blind, so it was inevitable for me. [Does he realise the compliment he has just given to America's appearance? Not completely.] And I still— I mean...
[His expression becomes touched with nervousness again.] ...I always...cared deeply for you, regardless of the form it took. So I suppose I didn't entirely notice when it changed.
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[England didn't really have any travel plans beyond "make sure John is safe."]
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[When he left to get John. Not when he died. He doesn't want to think about how much America might have missed him while he was dead.]
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[When things weren't going to hell, anyway.]
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Or very lonely and he's hoping to feel closer to America however he can. Same thing.]
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[Especially now that they are considerably more attached than before.]
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[He's just joking, of course. He felt the same way when it was just him and Ginger, and that was even before...all this.]
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[Maybe it shouldn't be a surprise. He does remember America saying some things that implied his feelings aren't necessarily recent, but it would be easy to say that sort of thing out of regret, without necessarily meaning it.]
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He lifts a hand to the back of his neck, nervous energy buzzing beneath his skin and making him all the more aware of his missing sense.] ...you said decades. Didn't you?
[England was, admittedly, pretty foggy by that point.]
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After a beat of silence, he adds:] You don't have to answer if you don't want to.
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[It's not hard to dredge up a well of related memories, but it's hard for him to pinpoint when exactly it began. He always loved America, after all, even if it wasn't always in this way.
So he's silent for a while, but there's a thoughtful expression on his face that shows he's not purposefully ignoring the question.] ...perhaps the late nineteenth century? Or the First World War. I, um— I didn't realise until the Second World War, to tell you the truth. But I know I felt that way sooner.
[Then, a pause, and England conspicuously turns his gaze sidelong.] ...and I desired you— physically, before I did romantically, so it— you know. It's a touch hard to keep track of.
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He won't mention it, to spare America the embarrassment.] We were on good terms and I'm not blind, so it was inevitable for me. [Does he realise the compliment he has just given to America's appearance? Not completely.] And I still— I mean...
[His expression becomes touched with nervousness again.] ...I always...cared deeply for you, regardless of the form it took. So I suppose I didn't entirely notice when it changed.
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