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.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
no subject
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.
no subject
no subject
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.]
no subject
I never hated you either. [That's probably important to say, though, no matter what.]
no subject
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?
no subject
no subject
He tries again, but he ultimately trails off, searching for reason in this bizarre declaration.] I thought...
no subject
no subject
[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.
no subject
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.
no subject
...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.]