England stilled and then snorted, yanking the towel off. “Whatever.” He said before wrapping both hands around his tea cup. America squatted down in front of him. “What happened?” he asked and was
England glared. “It isn’t obvious?” he hissed.
America arched an eyebrow. “I could call France.” He said and pulled out his phone. That wasn’t strictly true; he’d actually call Germany and have him explain what the Blitz had to do with England being afraid of the dark. But England didn’t need to know that.
England blanched and glared at his phone. “I’m afraid of the dark.” He said.
America stared at him. He’d figured that part out already, thank you. “Bullshit.” He finally said. England’s eyes widened. “You’re England.” America continued before England could say anything. “You’re the fucking British Empire! You summon demons in your basement! You’re not just scared of the dark!”
“No?” England asked, arching an eyebrow. America just stared back until England folded into himself and looked away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fine.” America said, his worry making his nerves short. He stood up. “You and your damn pride.” He snarled and walked out. His stopped just outside the room and pulled his phone out, scrolling down to Germany’s number. He hesitated before he could press call, then shoved his phone back into his pocket with a snort. He wasn’t going to get concerned about this.
He remained in the kitchen for a long time, sipping the coffee he’d finally found, and failing horribly at not thinking about England. The storm had long since stopped and the sun had set a while ago. Still, he was startled when a hand fell on his shoulder. He jerked with a curse and looked over his shoulder at England. The island nation had changed clothes again and was staring at him with dark eyes. England pulled his hand back. “During the Blitz.” He said, then paused and licked his lips nervously.
America stared at him then reached out blindly with his foot to push the chair next to him away from the counter. England accepted the silent invitation and sat down. “During the Blitz,” he said again, “We used to shut off all the lights. We called it the Blackout. It was to confuse German bombers, make it harder for them to find the cities. And, the Germans tried to come at night, so it would be harder for us to get fighters in the air without risking friendly fire. So… so it was always dark when the bombs fell.”
England wasn’t looking at him anymore, eyes staring blankly down at the counter. One hand was pressed against his heart; against London. “I can still hear the planes.” He whispered. “Some nights, I didn’t even realize the planes weren’t ours until the bombs fell. When it goes dark, it’s like I’m still living it.”
Blackout 4/5
England glared. “It isn’t obvious?” he hissed.
America arched an eyebrow. “I could call France.” He said and pulled out his phone. That wasn’t strictly true; he’d actually call Germany and have him explain what the Blitz had to do with England being afraid of the dark. But England didn’t need to know that.
England blanched and glared at his phone. “I’m afraid of the dark.” He said.
America stared at him. He’d figured that part out already, thank you. “Bullshit.” He finally said. England’s eyes widened. “You’re England.” America continued before England could say anything. “You’re the fucking British Empire! You summon demons in your basement! You’re not just scared of the dark!”
“No?” England asked, arching an eyebrow. America just stared back until England folded into himself and looked away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fine.” America said, his worry making his nerves short. He stood up. “You and your damn pride.” He snarled and walked out. His stopped just outside the room and pulled his phone out, scrolling down to Germany’s number. He hesitated before he could press call, then shoved his phone back into his pocket with a snort. He wasn’t going to get concerned about this.
He remained in the kitchen for a long time, sipping the coffee he’d finally found, and failing horribly at not thinking about England. The storm had long since stopped and the sun had set a while ago. Still, he was startled when a hand fell on his shoulder. He jerked with a curse and looked over his shoulder at England. The island nation had changed clothes again and was staring at him with dark eyes. England pulled his hand back. “During the Blitz.” He said, then paused and licked his lips nervously.
America stared at him then reached out blindly with his foot to push the chair next to him away from the counter. England accepted the silent invitation and sat down. “During the Blitz,” he said again, “We used to shut off all the lights. We called it the Blackout. It was to confuse German bombers, make it harder for them to find the cities. And, the Germans tried to come at night, so it would be harder for us to get fighters in the air without risking friendly fire. So… so it was always dark when the bombs fell.”
England wasn’t looking at him anymore, eyes staring blankly down at the counter. One hand was pressed against his heart; against London. “I can still hear the planes.” He whispered. “Some nights, I didn’t even realize the planes weren’t ours until the bombs fell. When it goes dark, it’s like I’m still living it.”