[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.
[America might brag about that compliment under different circumstances. As it is, he finds himself trying to absorb all of England's words and feeling like he's saturated, as far as feelings go.] For me it was always impor--well, of course I could have survived, but--I wanted you to like me.
[Why America would pursue England's friendship even after his revolution is still a mystery to England. Particularly when it seemed like most of the world was against him, it would have been easy to find camaraderie with any of England's enemies.
He wants to ask why, but that would be particularly burdensome at the moment, when England is missing his nation and America knows he's not in the best of ways. It would just be too pathetic.
Still, the flush of his face is not much better.] There were other people who liked you.
[England bows his face to cover it with one hand almost immediately in response.] You say that like I'm so—
[No, don't do this. England breathes in to steady himself and then sighs. He doesn't want to upset America, but he knows he has to say something, but all he can think of is how ridiculous it is that anyone claims to think he's that special.
Eventually a better alternative bubbles out of him.] ...I'm glad you picked me.
[This time, and all the other times America has ever picked him.]
[America grins at him, because as always he doesn't much care what England thinks is foolish and anyway, he really does like hearing England say that.] Love you too.
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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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He wants to ask why, but that would be particularly burdensome at the moment, when England is missing his nation and America knows he's not in the best of ways. It would just be too pathetic.
Still, the flush of his face is not much better.] There were other people who liked you.
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[No, don't do this. England breathes in to steady himself and then sighs. He doesn't want to upset America, but he knows he has to say something, but all he can think of is how ridiculous it is that anyone claims to think he's that special.
Eventually a better alternative bubbles out of him.] ...I'm glad you picked me.
[This time, and all the other times America has ever picked him.]
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He doesn't have to think about what to say this time.] I love you. Even if you're very foolish.
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