~Met You Under A Tree~ An England x Norway story

Chapter One - Introductions

England was pissed. His brothers had bashed into his room earlier, (without permission) and blasted some awful song. He decided that he needed to clear his head, and the best way that he could do that is to go to the forest near his town.

Wales knocked on the door.

"What do you want, cumrag?" England snapped

"Dinner's ready, asshole"

"tell dad I'm going out, and skipping dinner"

"ok, but he's not going to be happy"

England opened the door, to see his brother Wales walking down the stairs.

England turned back around and grabbed his worn acoustic guitar and hop-skipped out of the house. his dad did try to ask where he was going, but Eng had shut the front door before Britain could say anything dad-like.

England took in a breath of the cold air, and walked his way to the forest. on the way, he looked into the murky, greying sky and gave the resident good girl 'daisy' some scritches. He plugged his airphones in and continued on with his walk down the street.

Soon, the tarmac road turned into grass and dirt. England lifted his tail from the ground as not to dirty it. The trees thickened as he kept walking further into the forest.

His muscle memory took him to a clearing with four giant oak trees and a giant rock that was dappled with moss. Vines were thrown carelessly on the grass, curling around fallen leaves.

His feet crunched on the dry grass as he walked over to the rock and sat down with a whumpf.

His fingers ghosted notes to an unknown song an his guitar, thinking of what song to play. Once he had decided, he strummed some notes before joining in with his voice.

The world around him seemed to disappear as he sung, all his thoughts dissolving as he focused on his singing, his fears and desires fleeting as he kept playing the guitar. His tail thumping the beat behind him, sending dust and dirt into the sky; it was absolute freedom to England. A healthy way to get his feelings out without anyone needing to hear him.

At least, that's what he thought.

Once he was finished, he was pulled back into reality by a shout, that belonged to his father.

"England, where are you, you awful child."

Disappointed that his lone session was finished, he truged up to his father with hunched shoulders, hurling his guitar over his back haphazardly.

"Took you long enough you git. Right, you need dinner, and to tell me beforehand when you go out, alright?"

"Sure sure, fine"

The two then began the trek back to the house.

"You need to stop playing that guitar of yours, its not proper for a young man like you, you know"

England was only half listening to his father's lecture, he was more focused on the thunderstorm brewing in the distance.

Another night of fear, yippie.

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If you couldn't tell, England has quite the fear of thunderstorms, with good reason. Yet I will not tell you why. That is for another place and time.

~Waikato, signing out!