Independence Day [USUK]

Chapter 7

>>Independence Day: Chapter 7

America sat up from the bed, sighing quietly. The infinite possibilities running through his head.
"You damn git. What was earlier about?"
"Are you gay?"
"You know I'm straight America? Ahaha!"
The damned Brit. Why'd he have to do this now?

"Uh, yeah. Sure. What's up?"
England, knowing the American as well as he did, could almost feel the negativity radiating off him. Maybe now wasn't a good time...
"A-ahh... About earlier, ehm. Sorry about that. I probably should've seen that coming," the Brit laughed awkwardly, running his hand across the back of his neck. He really should've saved this for later. "I mean, not that it means any thing's changed, because it hasn't! It's all...'cool.'"
'Cool?' Why would I say that?
America cringed at the terrible use of slang, but proceeded to smile. "Yeah! Totally. Aaaaaallll good. But dude, not to sound rude, but I'm pretty tired. You know, tomorrow's going to be a big day,"
"Of course! Eh. Alright then," he blushed. "Of course. Your birthda-" the sentence was interuppted by sudden, painful coughing. "Ahem..Goodnight, America."
Already? I'm sorry, England.
"Goodnight, England."

--

Today was Independence Day, his birthday. The day he officially separated from England. The day that has brought them both more havoc than necessary for years. They were going to try to change things this year, but England still seemed to be facing the same issue he did before.
America woke up that morning, a mix of emotions running through him. Both polar opposites, yet both perfectly coincided with each other at the time. He expected to hear England already awake like usual, sitting on his couch in a TARDIS shirt and worn sweatpants, the BBC news running quietly, but enough to hear what was going on. Or sometimes he'd hear England accidentally dropping glasses and cursing loudly at them. But it was odd. It was quiet.
He pulled himself out of the bed and quietly made his way downstairs, checking for any signs of life.
Nothing.
Hmm...
He continued down and walked into the kitchen, looking around and checking for a note. Still nothing. Maybe he still asleep? After all, it was only 11:14.
He jogged back up the stairs, still being careful to be quiet, and walked down the hall. He slowed at the old, rotting photograghs on the wall and paintings of London along with a couple pictures of the older rulers and the pictures they made together. Wait a minute...
--

The rain hit the windows and the roof that shielded him. England, sitting across from him, was studying a piece of paper, his face growing pained as his eyes came to end. With a sigh, he tossed the paper aside and cursed to himself.  America looked up at him from the floor where he sat, putting his soldier down."England? Are you okay?"
England gave him a bright smile and sat on the floor with him. "Yes, America, just some problems back home is all. Thank you."
Reciprocating the smile, the young American jumped up from where he sat. "I know what'll make you feel better!!"
"Do you now? And what might that be?"
Before America could respond, he was already running to another, soon coming back with paper, a couple brushes, and paint that were given him by an older man days before. He wanted to save it all for a special occasion, or when he got inspiration. He supposed now would be the perfect time to put them to use.
With a big grin, he held the items up with a "Ta-daaaa!"
Almost surprised he had such things, he raised his thick eyebrows and gave him a grin. "Where'd you get all this, America?" he inquiried as the American sat down. He set everything out on the floor and looked up at the Brit. "A man gave them to me the other day. He said I was a good painter and that I should continue to do it." Laying on the floor, he took one of the brushes and began to stroke emerald across the paper. England took a brush and did the same, taking the sapphire colour and painting on the paper as well. "Hey, England. This paint is the same colour as your eyes!" America pointed out, looking up at him happily.