[There's a small pop as England snaps a loose thread from the sleeve of his windbreaker. He realises distantly that he should probably replace those few lost stitches when he can, so that he doesn't risk it turning into a hole later.
God, it's cold. It would be warmer in the bed with America and Sealand.]
...so you want to stay? With m— with us? [Wariness touches his quiet question. He's spent a lot of this time convinced that America was staying with him out of obligation towards Sealand, not because he really wants to be around England.]
Yeah. [America nods insistently, like just the force of his movement will convince England.] I've been with you from basically the beginning 'cause I want to be.
[In some ways, the days have seemed a lot longer here, but England's sense of time hasn't totally changed. Two months doesn't seem like a very long time, but that's how long they've been travelling together now. That's more time than they've spent together at once, outside of a war, for a long time — though perhaps it's premature to say this isn't a war.
Finally, England looks up from all his self-made distractions so he can glimpse America's face, hoping to find sincerity when he looks. Of course, it's dark, and England can doubt anything if he tries hard enough, even if it's right in front of his face.
He peers down at America's shoes.] I'm sure you know I'd never be around someone this long if I didn't want to be.
Yeah. [Or if he had to be, or felt like it was necessary, but he's sure it wouldn't really be necessary here. They can both take care of themselves. Well, maybe it's a bit more necessary now, with Sealand, but they traveled together before Sealand even got here, too. Of course, in some ways it feels like one thing happening after the other, but he can push that view of time away if he needs to--probably more easily than a lot of the older nations can.] So. We both want to be here. Or, not here, but we're here already so we both want to be in the same part of here while we're--uh. Here.
No, not here. [England knows what America means, of course, but he thinks he can put it much more concisely. Even if it makes him blush.]
You mean together. We want to be... [He starts off somewhat strong, when he puts it like he's correcting America, but having to say it himself causes him to peter out into a mumble.] ...together.
[England saying it like that, while more concise, immediately makes more heat rise into America's face. England doesn't mean it romantically, obviously, but it's the first meaning America thinks of, so he stumbles across his words even as his brain corrects itself.] Well, er, I mean, I guess, yeah, that's a faster way to put it. Y-yeah, that's what we want. I think? That's what I want.
[Not romantically. Well, maybe romantically? But that's not what he means right now.]
[England wasn't thinking about the potential alternate meanings of saying it that way, but he realises his mistake when America starts flustering. Of course, that can't be what America is agreeing to, that would be impossible. He got what England actually meant at some point! There's no way he'd agree, otherwise.]
It's simply, er— staying together! It's— that's, ah, that's what I— I want that, as well.
[Non-romantically, that is. At least in this case.
Of course, even just thinking about it, England is stumbling over his words too. At least he's still careful to be quiet, so he doesn't risk his little brother overhearing this shameful exchange.]
Yeah, yeah, yeah, so it's fine. Right? Things are okay? [America rushes through his words this time, letting them fall out without much regard to what came before, just to try and establish that everything is as it should be. And also that they're not talking about romance.]
Okay, good, 'cause I didn't want you to--hate me, or whatever. [That might be a bit of a melodramatic concern, but melodramatic concerns are an important part of America's concerns.]
Hate you? [England repeats it back with some confusion, regarding America with a furrowed brow. He looks America over once, as if hoping to find where such an assumption might have come from.
He seems to find an answer, because he looks away abruptly, staring at the seam where the front door meets the floor.] I wouldn't hate you. Don't be ridiculous.
I thought so. I wasn't worried or anything. [And yet America looks pretty obviously relieved, not to mention he basically just said he was worried only a few seconds ago.]
[Should he? It seems a bit much to reveal, but England never thought that America would really be worried about anyone hating him, much less England. He always tries to act like that sort of thing doesn't bother him.
The bottom of that door is still very fascinating.] I've never hated you, so you don't have to worry about something so silly.
[But it's not that silly, considering their history. England would have every right to have hated him a few times, and it's the same for America in return.]
[America can feel how surprised he must look. He goes back and forth about the actual meaning for a few moments. England usually picks his words carefully, so if England says never he means it. On the other hand, England is actually not a grammar robot, so it's not as if it couldn't be a single careless word. On the other hand, he would have realized and clarified, right? But maybe he's trying to be nice right now. And on and on. He knows England well enough to create plenty of circular logic for this.]
I never hated you either. [That's probably important to say, though, no matter what.]
[England lifts his head in surprise, shoulders falling a little as he turns to look at America with wide eyes. He faintly registers the similar expression on America's face, but his mind is suddenly far too occupied to analyse its meaning. Even his hands still with this sudden revelation, falling dormant at the edges of his tablet.
When he finally remembers to rein in his surprise, it's definitely too late, but he at least makes an effort not to sound completely shocked.] ...really?
Yeah, really. [America smiles a little, in a lopsided way. Smiling is practically a default expression for him, but it's a shyer sort this time.] Not here or at home.
But we're... [You know. An ex-colony and an ex-empire (but not exes, that's different). England can't finish the sentence, feeling a tickle in his throat even at the idea of elaborating out loud, but he's sure America will understand anyway.
He tries again, but he ultimately trails off, searching for reason in this bizarre declaration.] I thought...
It's, y'know... [But he's pretty sure England doesn't know, even as he waves his hands around pointlessly.] With just you and me, I can't hate you. [As people, which is the whole point here.]
[England attempts to emulate a turtle again, this time hoping to hide his painfully red face.] Ah.
[That's a bit of a surprise for someone who generally thinks themselves to be pretty detestable as a person, and who specifically has doubted this friendship many times over.
He's got his knees drawn up close to his chest, so it's easy to pretend to pick a bit of dust off of his slacks.] ...it's the same for me.
[America can't hide his surprise; England has grudges older than America, after all. But he doesn't think England is lying. Not that England never lies, but lying about this, in this way, that doesn't seem like England.]
That's--that's really good. I mean, not that it--not that I-- [There's an obvious grasp at normalcy there, but nothing about this conversation is very normal, so he has nothing to hold onto.] ...Thanks.
[England has already admitted a lot more than he planned to when he initiated this conversation. Part of him regrets it, but he has to consider the comfort brought on by being told that America can't hate him. That's a considerable ease on his mind, if it's true. He has his doubts, of course, but it's still a nice thought.]
...we're just too...er, that is, you know... [They've got too much history. They're too close, sometimes. And England can never forget when America adored him like he was the centre of the world.
Eventually, he shrugs, fiddling with some more imaginary lint.] ...I just can't. I don't know that there's any need to thank me.
[He says it in a way that's more bashful than bristly; he doesn't mean to brush off America's gesture, he's just embarrassed at his own vulnerability.]
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God, it's cold. It would be warmer in the bed with America and Sealand.]
...so you want to stay? With m— with us? [Wariness touches his quiet question. He's spent a lot of this time convinced that America was staying with him out of obligation towards Sealand, not because he really wants to be around England.]
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Finally, England looks up from all his self-made distractions so he can glimpse America's face, hoping to find sincerity when he looks. Of course, it's dark, and England can doubt anything if he tries hard enough, even if it's right in front of his face.
He peers down at America's shoes.] I'm sure you know I'd never be around someone this long if I didn't want to be.
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You mean together. We want to be... [He starts off somewhat strong, when he puts it like he's correcting America, but having to say it himself causes him to peter out into a mumble.] ...together.
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[Not romantically. Well, maybe romantically? But that's not what he means right now.]
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It's simply, er— staying together! It's— that's, ah, that's what I— I want that, as well.
[Non-romantically, that is. At least in this case.
Of course, even just thinking about it, England is stumbling over his words too. At least he's still careful to be quiet, so he doesn't risk his little brother overhearing this shameful exchange.]
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But he hasn't forgiven America, or anyone else, for a lot of things. He's not going to jeopardise his survival or risk their alliance for any of them.
Their alliance that has absolutely not involved intimacy, contrary to the beliefs of some people!]
—yeah. It's, er, it's fine.
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He seems to find an answer, because he looks away abruptly, staring at the seam where the front door meets the floor.] I wouldn't hate you. Don't be ridiculous.
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The bottom of that door is still very fascinating.] I've never hated you, so you don't have to worry about something so silly.
[But it's not that silly, considering their history. England would have every right to have hated him a few times, and it's the same for America in return.]
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I never hated you either. [That's probably important to say, though, no matter what.]
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When he finally remembers to rein in his surprise, it's definitely too late, but he at least makes an effort not to sound completely shocked.] ...really?
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He tries again, but he ultimately trails off, searching for reason in this bizarre declaration.] I thought...
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[That's a bit of a surprise for someone who generally thinks themselves to be pretty detestable as a person, and who specifically has doubted this friendship many times over.
He's got his knees drawn up close to his chest, so it's easy to pretend to pick a bit of dust off of his slacks.] ...it's the same for me.
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That's--that's really good. I mean, not that it--not that I-- [There's an obvious grasp at normalcy there, but nothing about this conversation is very normal, so he has nothing to hold onto.] ...Thanks.
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...we're just too...er, that is, you know... [They've got too much history. They're too close, sometimes. And England can never forget when America adored him like he was the centre of the world.
Eventually, he shrugs, fiddling with some more imaginary lint.] ...I just can't. I don't know that there's any need to thank me.
[He says it in a way that's more bashful than bristly; he doesn't mean to brush off America's gesture, he's just embarrassed at his own vulnerability.]