stirs when the sun shines in through the open windows, slowly opening his eyes. Why is it...so warm...?
Alfred
has
fallen asleep in a rather undignitary manner, tossing and turning slightly, before finally sleeping. The lower half of his body is
nursing the other's head; the upper half angled awkwardly on the sofa, mouth half-agape in sleeping bliss.
tilts his head to see where the warmth is coming from, nearly falling off the couch in shock when his mind registers and obnoxiously
announces that he is half-lying in America's lap. However...Calm down, Arthur...you're both wearing clothes, and you don't have a
hangover...alright, that's a good sign...oh, right...the day before, he had...broken down and confessed...but Alfred was still here, as
he'd promised...what was that supposed to mean...?
Alfred
is
still snoring softly, because he hadn't fallen asleep till a little into three in the morning with his thoughts. That means that small
amounts of jostling would not wake him up.
,somewhat cautiously, allows himself to relax, settling back against the sleeping American. Well, he's at least got his thoughts together..
somewhat. He shifts a bit, turning to get a better look at Alfred's face-he looks so peaceful, hair mussed up and lips slightly parted..they
haven't slept together since the boy's colonial days, and he's really missed the feeling...
startles a little at the dream he's having about shooting down zombies, and his arm twitches as he does so. His snoring stops for a few
seconds, before he relaxes once more and drifts off to a calmer sleep.
doesn't bother, for once, to supress the small smile that tugs at his lips, snuggling against Alfred's chest. What could the boy be dreaming
about...? Knowing him, it's something ridiculous like superheroes or lord knows what...
shifts a little again, his head angling at what seems to be an even more painful angle on the couch. Amidst his snoring, however, one could
make out the mutterings of, "Hungry..."
blinks, his still-slightly-sleep-hazed mind taking a moment to register the sound as a word. Well...he could always get up and make
breakfast, but...there'd be no guarantee that Alfred would actually enjoy it, let alone eat it...
would, at this point, probably eat anything, seeing as how his stomach is growling without his consent - even in his sleep. Though he'd
probably complain about it after the meal...
slowly makes his way off of Alfred so as not to wake him, getting up and going into the kitchen. He actually doesn't have many ingridients
in his pantry...ah, but there is some pancake batter left over from Canada's last visit, isn't there? That ought to do...
Alfred
is
still just sleeping, but without the additional weight, his body subconsciously slides down the back of the couch, and his body now lays out
flat on the the sofa, in the proper sleeping position.
turns the stove on, grabbing an apron from the spice rack and tying it around his neck. Pouring the batter into a pan, he leaves it over the
slowly-heating eye, going over to the refrigerator. Does he have anything other than tea or whiskey...? Hm...
just rolls a little on the couch, still dreaming about killing zombies, although the sounds of kitchen utensils clicking together may slowly
be reaching into his brain...
...well, there's coffee...but he doesn't know how old it is, and it's most likely decaf. Still, it's worth trying...humming absently to
himself, Arthur sets a kettle of stove on the water as well, taking another quick look through the cabinets. Ah, and he's got maple syrup,
too, so he won't have to go out to the store. Though, it would have been easier to just make scones...
Alfred
is
definitely hearing the sounds of a kettle boiling and rummaging of cabinets. His sleep-induced state is now getting less and less severe..
sets the table, leaving the syrup and an un-opened can of whipped cream in the center-he's personally not all that hungry, and will be fine
with just tea. Alfred, on the other hand...could eat enough to feed an entire army, and will most likely ensist they get a second
breakfast from McDonald's afterwards.
finally stirs, the familiarity of clinking kitchen utensils far too difficult to resist. With a groan, he rubs his eyes sleepily, blinking
as he tries to remember where he is. In his groggy state of mind, however, he is able to make out a place he probably could never forget,
even if he wanted to... He was at England's house. Ah... what was he doing here again?
leaves the hot water in the kettle, not completely sure as to how Alfred likes his coffee-he leaves the cup of coffee beans beside it,
turning the stove off. He should probably go ahead and wake America up, speaking of which...poking his head into the livingroom, he's only
vaguely suprised to see that he's already awake. "Ah...good morning, Alfred. Um, breakfast is...if you're hungry, that is...there are
pancakes on the table..."
blinks again, trying to force that sleepiness out of his eyes and comprehending what the heck just happened, why he was here, and why he was
feeling kind of low...- then that voice filters through his head, and almost as though a volt of electricity passes through him, he
remembers. Ah... right. Standing up (and almost falling over), he looks up at the other, half-asleep. "Oh, yeah, kay. I'm a coming." With
that, he walks towards the kitchen, yawning. He's really way too tired to deal with this right now.
nods awkwardly, going back into the kitchen to nurse his cup of tea. Yesterday feels almost as though it was a dream, but...the memories are
too sharp, and there's no other explanation as to why Alfred would be in his house. Still...he never got a solid response to his confession,
and Arthur can't help but wonder if America is waiting for the right moment to break a rejection to him. This must be the 'grey area' that
he hears so much about...wonderful. Perhaps he should bring it up..? No, that would be awkward, without a doubt...damn it all...
enters the kitchen groggily, not quite sure what he should do at this point... but first thing's first, food is calling, and that comes
above all else, no matter what. Plopping himself on the chair and yawning, he ruffles through his hair to smooth out some rougher edges,
before placing his head on the table, burying it in his arms. "So what's for breakfast?"
sets a plate of pancakes in front of Alfred, going back over to the counter to finish his tea. He can't bring himself to actually sit down
-it feels too familiar, and he doesn't want to bring back any...memories. Pleasant or unpleasant, his head is already spinning enough.."Just
pancakes. B-Because...I didn't have the proper ingredients to make scones..." Well, that's a lie...Alfred doesn't have to know that, though.
peeks up lazily from his position, sniffing the pancakes and feeling his mouth start to water. "... Wow... seriously? I didn't know you
could make pancakes, dude." And of course, he's pleased about the no-scones thing. Digging in, he swallows each bite quickly, not really
pausing for taste, before he yawns again. "So whassup? Did ya' eat yet?"
hesitantly chooses to accept it as a compliment, staring absently into his tea cup. Right now, he just feels...confused, albeit slightly
numb. He blinks, snapping out of his trance and looking over at Alfred. "P-Pardon...? Oh, I'm not...no. I'm not hungry." That is, he's not
sure if his stomach would even be able to hold food right now...it's fluttering too much.
shrugs and finishes his food, staring at the other, eyes slightly narrowed in observation. What was wrong with him? He was even stiffer than
usual, and that's really saying something. Gulping down some juice, he stands up and places his plates in the sink, all the while looking to
the other with a confused expression on his face. "Dude, you okay? You're... really boring and quiet today."
finishes off his tea, (what happened? he can barely taste it...) placing the cup in the sink. Ugh, he hardly feels awake...and why does
his chest feel as though it's about to rip itself open? His hands are shaking, too...he can just blame it all on old age, can't he? That's
what he usually does...right, of course..."I-I'm fine...sorry about that..." He murmurs weakly, more than anything suprised by Alfred's
concern.
"Artie..." He says warningly, now definitely sure something's up. His keen eyes had picked up on that shaking of his hands, and seeing as
how no game was playing, or that it was anywhere close to cold, there was something else off. Or, maybe he was sick. Frowning and leaning
down, he places a hand on the other's forehead and feels for a temperature. "Well... you're not warm... tell me what's wrong, Artie."
jumps at the touch, the counter against his back leaving him nowhere to run and causing him to bump harshly against it, barely biting back a
small cry. W-Why was he reacting like that...? Bugger it all, what was wrong with him today...? "O-Of course not...I haven't got a
fever..." Alfred's tone frightens him a bit, and he bites his lower lip, looking down. "N-Nothing...in particular, I suppose...just, um.."
grins a little. "Yeah, a stubborn old goat like you wouldn't be brought down by something as small as that, huh?" He retracts his hand,
still staring at the other with scrutinizing eyes. "Oh! Maybe you do have a fever; I read somewhere there's a better way to check for it!"
Once more leaning down, he places his forehead directly on the other's, pouting a little before retracting it. "Ah... nope. So, what's the
matter? You're not gonna make me beat it out of you, are you? 'Coz you know I totally will."
relaxes slightly, but he still feels tense-he slept better last night than he has in decades, so it can't be lack of sleep...damn it all,
he probably knows what it is, too..."A-A...better way...?" Oh, Mary, this can't be good... "...and what might that be..?"
(cough, refresh your Plurk, m'dear)
(...oh,wow, I feel brilliant. ^^; Sorry about that...)
shivers audibly, feeling his face heat up-Alfred is so close, and there's nowhere for him to run....is this some sort of nightmare? he's
waiting for everything to go wrong, but...so far...oh, bugger it..."B-Believe me, I know you will...b-but, ah...it's not...h-how do I know
you won't just use the information against me...?" He asks weakly, knowing it's a half-arsed protest.
now is not only confused by the "fever", but also by the stuttering. There is a thoughtful look on his face as he assesses the other, not
quite sure what to make of the situation. He was acting really strange; he hadn't yelled at him once or fought back when he insulted his
cooking... "What?" He laughs a little at that. "Well, ya' know, it depends on what kind of information. Now, tell me!" He pouts
childishly.
shifts uncomfortably, trying to look anywhere but Alfred's face-which is rather difficult, considering it fills his entire line of
vision. "I-I...suppose you have a point there..." Though, in this case, he knows that it's very likely-or is it just paranoia that tells him
so? "I'm just a little...confused, I suppose...and, ah...worried? No, I mean...um..." He pauses before he can make a total arse of himself,
the words once again flowing, unbidden, out of his mouth.
pulls back, still staring. This was really weird, and really not like England at all. If anything, he almost missed the yelling right at
that moment... "Huh? Confused and worried about what?" His face softens again, which seems to happen whenever the other is showing some sort
of weakness. "You can tell me..."
very nearly corrects him-Alfred will listen, but that doesn't mean that Arthur can bring himself to tell him..."I-I know that..." The
soft, concerned expression on the other's face nearly makes him melt, and it's not really helping his vocabulary or intellegence at the
moment. "W-Well...mostly about what happened yesterday..." Or rather, what hadn't happened...everything felt different, but in reality,
not much, if anything, had changed.
pauses at the mention of yesterday, and he can feel himself freeze, along with the expression on his face, which turns from soft to
something more indiscernible, something more confused, something more... just something even he can't quite take a handle of. "Oh."
Walking back to the table, he plops on the chair, looking at the other with the same unfathomable expression and trying to sort out the mess
in his mind. "Yeah... you remember I said I'd have to think about it, yeah?"
nods slowly, finding himself frozen to the spot-perhaps it's the sudden loss of Alfred's warmth, or perhaps his mind just isn't moving quick
enough to allow movements for his body. "Y-Yes, I know...a-and I thought that by that...y-you meant it was too much too suddenly, a-and that
you weren't...ah, um...that is...interested..." He looks up, trying to read some sort of emotion in the other's expression. "W-Which is
why it confused me so much...w-when I saw that you were still here this morning..."
Alfred
is
very careful to keep his expression as neutral as he possibly can, especially because he doesn't want to put it off as anything too negative
or anything too positive. That, and it would be useful to mask the inner turmoil in his head, the words "I love you" echoing in his mind
at different decibels - different voices - that it's hard to tell which is which. Was he interested...? If he had to go about it in a
roundabout way, he supposed he did have a soft spot for the man, would always try to save him if it came to the worst, but the question
Alfred
was
, was that love? Dammit, this whole thing was just confusing. "I see... well..." How would he test this? Idea! "Oh, hey! How about you
spend the day with me today?~"
England
gives
up after a moment, unable to stare into those ever-honest, bright blue eyes for too long. Aside from that, his expression is indiscernable
...or is that just because Arthur has always been terrible at reading people? Alfred's offer catches him off balance, even though he knows
that it's something he wouldn't, won't be able to refuse. It doesn't...feel as though it's an offer made out of pure sympathy, and there
can't...really be any harm in spending the day with Alfred, and if anything...it'll be something he's able to look back on fondly when he's
alone again..."W-Well...I haven't got anything else to do today...I suppose I could..."
shakes his head at that answer, which is completely insufficient to him. "Look! If you don't want to, you can just tell me. I won't get mad
or anything.~" He shows off a genuine grin to prove it. "Besides, I don't wanna take someone if they're gonna be half-assed about it!"
Although inwardly, he does wish the other would say yes; it would give him a chance to test his theories and questions...
"N-No, it isn't like that!" He protests, standing up a tad bit straighter. Bugger...how does he say, 'I really, really want to spend the
day with you' without coming off as over-eager...? "T-That is, um...I-I'd really like to...i-if it's no trouble to you,and, ah..." Arthur
stops himself again-really, it isn't like him to get so flustered like this...
could almost laugh out loud at the other's sudden outburst, because really, it reminded him of the old England before he became this sort of
shy, stuttering, unsure man. "Alright, then, that plan's a go! Is there anywhere you wanna go?" Last time he checked, it was going to rain
late, so they might as well get out while they could, and as soon as possible, if he could help it.
"W-Well, ah..." When he stops to think about it, Arthur realizes that there isn't really anything in his country that would interest Alfred-
while American tourists seem to love his nation...America himself always seems so bored and reluctant to visit, always insisting that
England come to see him instead. "There's...a nice park not too far from here...I usually go there to play football with the locals, but,
um...is there anywhere you'd want to go..?"
"Alright, that sounds cool! We can play some soccer," he adds jokingly, emphasizing that part. "Seriously, dude, it's soccer, not football
because football is for those big burly guys with helmets and stuff." Chuckling, he pauses just for a second to grab his phone, flipping
it open and reading the text - which just happened to be a reminder for him to buy something... His eyes tighten for a fraction of a second,
before he flips it close and back into his pocket. Right, he'll worry about that later. "So go ahead; I'm all ready to go! Just bring your
ball. I'll be in the living room while you prepare."
rolls his eyes, a tiny smile creeping it's way across his face. "Yes, yes...soccer, then." He hurriedly cleans up the kitchen, doing a
haphazard job in his eagerness to out of the house. ..or spend time with Alfred. But that's not something he'd just openly admit, at least..
not quite yet. He grabs his wallet (because, knowing America, he'll insist on grabbing McDonald's for lunch...and for once, Arthur finds
that he doesn't mind as much.) and a football, going into the livingroom. They're both still wearing their clothes from the previous day,
but...it doesn't really matter, considering they're probably going to get dirty again, anyway. ...goodness, what happened to his ever-
meticulous personality? The word 'unsanitary' hadn't even crossed his mind..."Ah...shall we go, then?"
(And...I'll just be...heading off to bed, now.. :3 /slinks away)
(g'nite!)
Alfred
loves
winning arguments and yes, that was an argument. Finishing up whatever was remaining of his water, he makes his way towards the living room,
already envisioning owning England in his own game, because really, he was an old man who could never keep up with him. Snicker. When the
other returns, he looks up, giving him a kilowatt smile and a thumbs-up. "Alright, sweet! You better be ready, because you about to be
schooled, yo!" With that, he takes the ball and starts bouncing it up and down his hand as they make their way towards the park.
chuckles quietly, locking the door behind him and following America to the park. Honestly, while physical activity and sports may not be his
strong point, if there's anything that England is better at, it's football. ...and cooking. But he has the finest cuisine in the world, so
that's merely a given. "Is that a promise, Alfred? Would you like to bet on that~?" He teases lightly, glancing up at the sky-the weather
forecast had declared rainy, but for the moment it's clear and blue and wonderful-or is that only because he's changed his attitude?
nods his head firmly. "Oh hell yeah that's a promise. I'm going to own you and teach you once and for all that it's soccer, not
football!" Excitedly - almost subconsciously - he takes his arm and wraps it around the other's shoulders, while his free one is bouncing
the ball up and down. "So are there any McD's close by, or what?"
relaxes into the hold with suprising ease-it doesn't feel as...intimidating as it did earlier, in the kitchen-it's just a platonic,
friendly sign of affection...or so he tells himself. He shouldn't try to interpret it as anything else, right? Right. "Oh...? So if you win,
I have to call it soccer...? And what happens if I win~?" He gestures to his right, absently counting a beat everytime the ball hits
the ground. "There's one just down the street, actually...not too far of a walk for when you get hungry."
finds the gesture himself not too... awkward, although it does feel a little different than when it did before the whole episode last night.
There's a warm feeling blossoming in his chest, but... it's still foreign, so he'll keep it at that as he laughs. "Yeah! And if you win..."
He shakes his head, "Well, I can't think of something because you aren't going to win.~" He tosses the ball high into the air. "Oh, cool,
then we'll have lunch there, and you're paying!"
shakes his head, the smile on his face refusing to go away-it's not a bad feeling, though, and he thinks that he could get used to it.."
You say that now, but...that only means my victory will be all the sweeter when I do win~" He slides out of Alfred's hold with a single
fluid movement, bouncing the ball back into the air with the top of his head. Well, at least he's retained some of his skills..."I'm
paying...? Hm...yes, I suppose I could do that~...but only out of sympathy for your loss~"
rolls his eyes at the other's confidence. "You wish. Are you sure you're awake right now, Artie? Because I think you still must be
half-asleep... or dreaming.~" He gives your little stunt an eyebrow raise, before catching it with his thigh and bouncing it up again.
"Really, now? Last time I checked, I own you in all manner of sports, Artie.~ You wouldn't just suddenly win out of the blue!"
"Dreaming?" Arthur has to pause for a moment at that-he may very well be dreaming, though he knows that isn't what Alfred is implying. Right
now...everything almost feels too good to be reality. Even if it does turn out to be a dream, though...that isn't going to stop him from
enjoying it. "No, Alfred, I think you're the one doing the wishful thinking there~...just you wait, I'll show you just how good I am at
football~"
laughs and tugs the other along by the shoulders, blinking at the light that suddenly shines clear and bright in the area of the park. "Nah,
I think you are. Dude, when have I ever lost to you, huh?" He winks, totally meaning more than just this one game. "And it's soccer,
seriously! Why would you name it that?!"
rolls his eyes, heading towards a clearing in the center of the park. The weather really is gorgeous today..."Possibly because you play it
with your feet? Where did you get soccer from?" He snatches the ball from Alfred's hands, running a couple meters away. "Yes, but I'm
going to start my winning streak today~"
goes over to the field and waves happily at some teenagers, who giggle and wave back. He loves fitting in with them, because at least then,
no one needs to know he's a nation and he can just totally sit back and relax from it all... "Football is for tough, buff players... not
that you'd know, huh, Artie?" He nudges the other playfully, tossing him the ball out of nowhere before running to the centre field line.
"You mean, you wish you started your winning streak today. Come on dude, show me what you got."
can feel the uncommon smile on his face widen at the American's ever-social behavior-if he didn't know better, he'd say that there wasn't a
single person Alfred couldn't befriend...in fact, he even had a few...non human friends, but...Arthur wasn't going to get into that,
especially not when he had a game to win. "Tough and buff? I don't know about that, Alfred~...here in Britain, football is for the swift
and agile~..." He chuckles quietly, standing at the edge of the field. "What shall we use for goals, then?"