Don't put words in my mouth! [Of course he'd be upset if England died, and he still feels terrible about not being around to help keep an eye on Sealand, but there's nothing he can do about it now and assuming the worst isn't going to make anything better. He's fidgeting more obviously again, shifting from foot to foot, as his energy levels ramp up again.]
Then stop being such a fucking prick about this! God, I don't—
[All that lip service he gave Shepard about not wallowing and doing something productive instead, and this is how he's acting. What a joke. He lifts his hands and presses his palms to his eyes, reminding himself that he's England, he was the great British Empire, and he doesn't need anyone.
It was a mistake to say anything. To think that America might understand.]
Fine. [America is still heated, and his energy has pushed itself into sudden pacing, but it doesn't sound like he wants to push the issue. He's still upset England is just making assumptions all over the place when he was just trying to make England feel better. Trying at all was pretty stupid. He paces, restless, following the outline of the house.]
[Though England tries not to think about it because it makes him feel juvenile, he's struck with a desperate yearning to return home. Where Sealand is alive and there's no need to try to reach out to America, because these sorts of things don't happen.
He takes in and pushes out a few shaky breaths before lowering his hands from his face. His eyes are still blessedly dry, but his head pounds as if he's just had a proper cry anyway. Glowering at his tablet is preferable to wasting his painkillers on this self-induced headache, though.
America's pacing quickly becomes very annoying, but England doesn't bother engaging him about it. It's so trivial compared to the bigger issue he's still stung about.]
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[All that lip service he gave Shepard about not wallowing and doing something productive instead, and this is how he's acting. What a joke. He lifts his hands and presses his palms to his eyes, reminding himself that he's England, he was the great British Empire, and he doesn't need anyone.
It was a mistake to say anything. To think that America might understand.]
Ugh. Just forget it.
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He takes in and pushes out a few shaky breaths before lowering his hands from his face. His eyes are still blessedly dry, but his head pounds as if he's just had a proper cry anyway. Glowering at his tablet is preferable to wasting his painkillers on this self-induced headache, though.
America's pacing quickly becomes very annoying, but England doesn't bother engaging him about it. It's so trivial compared to the bigger issue he's still stung about.]