I awoke from the first truly peaceful sleep I’ve had in months with a smile on my face. The sun was bright enough outside to shine through the mint green curtains in the room I had been in for the past three days, casting a pretty green glow throughout the room. I closed my eyes again, sinking into the comfortable feeling of the soft bed when the door banged open.
“Wake up, Holly!” America shouted. My eyes flew open in time to see him jump onto my bed. “Up, up, up!” he chanted, bouncing up and down on my bed.
“I’m up, I’m up!” I exclaimed, holding on to the mattress in fear of my life. “Stop bouncing!”
He immediately stopped with an accomplished smile on his face. “Breakfast is ready.”
I frowned. “Is that what you rudely woke me for?”
“Dude, if you don’t get down there soon, I’ll end up eating it all. I’m fat enough as it is.”
“You aren’t fat, America.”
“Tell that to the scale!”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s just because you have an abnormal amount of muscle mass.”
He huffed. “Whatever. Just come downstairs already!”
“Alright, alright.” I tried to toss the blankets off of me, but America was sitting on them. “You need to move.”
“Oh.” He got up and I followed suit, stretching.
“What’s for breakfast?” I asked.
“I dunno. It smells amazing, though. France made it.”
I sighed in relief. “Okay, good. I wouldn’t touch it if England made it.”
“Hey!” I heard England’s voice from the hall. He poked his head through the door. “I heard that. Also, what are you doing in here, America?”
America pointed at me. “I was waking her up.”
“You should let her sleep,” England reprimanded him, frowning slightly. “She needs it.”
I raised my hand. “’She’ is right here.”
“Sorry, Holly. I’ll be downstairs.” He gave America a pointed look before walking away.
“We should go down, too,” I said, trying to ignore the look England gave America.
“Yeah.”
Before we even reached the stairs, the smell of pancakes, bacon, eggs, and cinnamon French toast wafted towards us. In the kitchen, France was at the stove, humming some song while making an omelet. England had seated himself on an empty part of the counter and was watching France cook.
“Smells good,” I said, trying to see the food over France’s shoulder.
“Ah, ah,” France said, wagging his finger in my face. “You two need to wait in a different room. I can’t cook in a crowded kitchen, mon amies.”
America and I pouted, but obliged. As long as we got our food soon, I didn’t really care. France’s cooking was always good.
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Never Forget Taking the Brown Bomber Jacket
FanfictionIt's been two years since England wiped Holly Rosewood's memory and sent her back to her normal life. However, not everything is as it seems. There's someone new in town and when it comes to Holly, America and England would do anything to protect...
