Hello everyone! This is chapter 2. If you like it, please tell me! I need comments. After all, why would I keep writing if no one reads? Anyway, if you're reading, I hope you enjoy.
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When Arthur woke, it was dark and he knew he must've been sleeping for hours. He still didn't feel any better, but at least he'd had some sleep. He walked down the stairs, smelling something rather nice. He peaked into the kitchen and saw Francis, wearing an apron and slaving at the stove. "What time is it?" He asked, and Francis turned around. "Ah! Ami, you are awake!" He walked over and picked Arthur up, emitting a squeal from him. "F-Francis! I can walk.." He protested as he was carried and plopped on the couch. Francis brought him some food and then sat beside him, also eating. "So Arthur..." France began nervously. "It's almost Alfred's hundred and sixtieth birthday." The Englishman made a face, but quickly tried to act ok. "What are you getting at Francis? He asked, eyeing him suspiciously. Francis pulled out a small envelope with his name on it in Alfred's handwriting. Arthur instantly felt sick, opening it to see a little card with stars and stripes. He opened said card and stared blankly at the message. "F-Francis...I cant.." He stared at the message. "Why would he want me to come to that?! It's his bloody independence day! The day he decided I wasn't good enough for him..." he couldn't believe Alfred had invited him.../him/ to the very holiday in honor of America whipping England's ass ad leaving him to recover all on his own. "Tell him...I can't come." Arthur set his half finished food aside and went up to his room, shutting the door and laying face first in a pillow, screaming in aggravation and pain. Alfred was a heartless bastard. That was official. While he was busy pitching his little fit, France was cleaning up after dinner. When that task was completed, he went up to England's room and held him, rocking him and singing softy. Arthur didn't even try to fight him off, he just leaned against Francis and cried. He cried like a little baby. Francis held him tighter. "Shh. Arthur, it's going to be ok. I'll go with you. We can sit around and drink, watching fireworks and cursing the world. Just, please go this year. You need to get out, and America's cookouts can be fun. Besides, he won't even mention it I'm sure. He just wants an excuse to have you over." Arthur made a little sobbing sound, nuzzling his face against Francis' shoulder. Arthur didn't want to go, but he knew he should. He had to forgive at some point. Francis kissed his cheek and smiled. "There now, I love you and so does everyone else. Will you come with me?" Arthur gave a nod. "Ok. I'll go." He whispered, and just like that he'd agreed to do the one thing he'd never thought he'd do again. He was going to Alfred's party. With that, he grabbed a bottle of liquor and started to drink. "You should go Francis. I need my time alone ok?" The Frenchman nodded an left the room. "I'll stop by tomorrow and pick you up for the party ok?" Arthur sighed. "Alright Francis. See you then." He got up and set the bottle aside. He supposed he shouldn't get wasted the day before this event. He looked in his closet. He need something very nice to wear. He choose a sweater vest, white shirt, and Khaki slacks. He ironed the clothes, shivering nervously. What if Alferd didnt like him? He was much smaller and thinner now, and not the strong man he'd been before. He eventually went to bed, though his sleep was restless. Tomorrow would be a long day. Of that, he was sure.
