Sorry, My Boyfriend is Just Kind Of Old-Fashioned [Hetalia England x reader]

Chapter 13- Queensbury

"That oak over there, you see it used to be just a sapling... and the roads... were definitely not like this, but this is it." Arthur closes his eyes for a second, as if visualizing every detail in his mind.

"Of course." He smiles. "I could never forget it."

(Arthur POV)

We walked hand-in-hand as I showed (Name) just about everything that was my world. Well, used to be.

"There was Mr. Anderson's house," I declare as we pass by what is now a newly-refurbished mansion. "Used to be, anyways. And to think old Anderson was dirt-poor. Used to sell cigars for half a cent just to have some pocket money, the old chap."

"Hey, you gotta have drug dealers back then too!"

I feel something inside me glow as (Name) laughs warmly at my not even joke. She was so out of place here, in the land of my memories, but then again so was I.

What was I? I push the thought aside as she careens teasingly into my arms, pretending to run into me.

"Arthur, it's cold!!" she exclaims, burrowing into my arms. "Say, did you happen to have a girlfriend in-- back in Queensbury?"

"Actually, at seventeen, I was engaged to be married," I correct her.

"Oh, well-- that sucks. Did you like her?"

I laugh at her use of terminology. "She was all right. And what's it to you?"

"Ah--ah-- oh, nothing--" she stammers, but I shush her with a hand over her eyes.

"Arthur--?"

"Shh... Can you see it now?"

"See what?"

"There is a little cart carrying firewood leaning down the road," I begin, murmuring into her ear. "Not a paved road, I mean-- just dirt. Starting from the right, we have the mayor's house, the blacksmith, butcher, hat shoppe, tailor's... And look!-- a carriage carrying the mayor and his wife to the townhouse, and over there, Crazy Earl--"

"Crazy Earl?"

"Sure. Used to wave a dirty handkerchief and call everybody a wanker as they passed by. Something about his petunias. He wasn't a threat though!" I grin, reminiscing. "Whole town loved him."

"And directly in front of us, my father's house. With a freshly white-washed porch, worn-out blue shingles, a little rose garden in the front. My mum, those roses--"

(Name) stops me, prying my hand from her eyes.

"Well, did you see it?" I ask.

"Everything and more," she replies with a note of satisfaction. But she's not looking around, at where there used to be flowers, at the million-dollar McMansion. She's looking at me. And in that moment, I know it. In all this ambiguity about the past and future, there is a moment where I can say I know.

I know she knows it too.

"I saw it too," I say. "But why bother with Queensbury?"

I kiss her softly on the forehead. "Because all I ever need, is here."