Pity Party (UsUk England X America one-shot)

Pity Party (UsUk one-shot)

Did my invitations disappear?
Why'd I put my heart on every cursive letter?

An afternoon sun brightened up the house of a unusually happy English man. Arthur Kirkland to be precise. The blond was at work painting his house with multicoloured streamers. It was the 23rd of April, his birthday, and he was currently preparing for his birthday party.
"1000 years to date," Thought England. "They surely must remember this time." His mind played back all the previous years when the others had forgotten about his special day. (Which was partly due to his lack of interest, seeing as he failed to tell anybody.) However this year was different. It was a huge milestone for the green eyed Brit and he wanted to make sure everybody knew about it. Hours were spend and hundreds of flower dotted paper were used in order to inform everybody of his achievement and of his celebration.

Tell me why the hell no-one is here.
Tell me what to do to make it all feel better.

Arthur seated himself in his now sparkling living room. Admiring the balloons, banners and streamers he had put up himself with no assistance. Hoping the others appreciated his efforts too he waited patiently at his green velvet armchair for his guests to arrive.
10 minutes past.
That then turned into 30 minutes.
1 hour.
2 hour.

Maybe it's a cruel joke on me.
Whatever, whatever.
Just means there's way more cake for me.
Forever, forever.

Rising from his seat the crest-fallen man shuffled into his kitchen where the decorations and his home-make cake stood. Sitting down at the head of the wooden table he sliced himself, and only himself, a piece of what he thought would be a cake shared around by many. The fluffy sweet taste coated his mouth, seeming far too sickly and making his stomach turn. Soon it became mildly salty as tears trickled down from his dull, emerald eyes slipping through his lips.

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to.
Cry If I want to.
Cry, cry, cry.
I'll cry until the candles burn down this place.
I'll cry until my pity party's in flames.

Drips of tears rapidly turned into fast flowing waterfalls that stained his pale cheeks. Sobs began to rattle his body as his breath continued to hitch. Didn't they know how important today was for him? Didn't they know how hard he had worked to make everyone perfect?
"Or perhaps," The Brit pondered. "They simply don't care."

Maybe if I knew all of them well.
I wouldn't have been trapped inside this hell that hold me.
Maybe if I casted out a spell.
But told them decorations were in pastel ribbons.

Maybe it's a cruel joke on me.
Whatever, whatever.
Just means there's way more cake for me.
Forever, forever.

It's not like anyone of them particularly like him. France like to annoying and wind him up and chance he got and America...Oh god America. How fond he was for the blue eyed American. Thought he would never admit it, he had somewhat of a soft side for him despite what had happened many years ago. He grew to accept that the boy could never stay his colony forever. Over time he grew more and more in love to America, wishing of a perfect life with him in it. He knew this would never be possible though. The darker haired blond constantly made it clear he showed no intention of even a non romantic relationship with him. Always joining France whenever anger argument was made. That fact alone tore England apart and the puddles that plagued his eyes becomes vast oceans in which his sorrow swam.

Loud, almost obnoxious knocking interrupted the Brits miserable silence. This sort of disturbance could only be caused by one nation.

CONTINUED IN PART 2