Work Text:
England
An innocent note lay on his briefcase when he came back from lunch. Rather than handwritten, the word seemed to have been typed on a typewriter. England took the paper into his hands carefully and could make out a similarly typed message inside. In the interest of safety, he examined the paper first to make sure there was no residue or anything off about it before opening it up.
76 Chambers Street. 6:30. The door will say ‘closed for renovation’ but it’s open. Meet me inside?
A
The other nations had slowly filed in while he was reading, and England looked up to catch America’s eye.
His boyfriend winked.
England sighed and tilted his head down to hide a small smile. That man. Always trying to be dramatic or mysterious, as if his entire existence was part of some movie. But England’s curiosity had been sufficiently piqued.
The note was tucked away into his briefcase for the rest of the day’s meetings, but England kept thinking about it. It wasn’t his first time in the city so he relatively knew where Chambers Street was, but his mind couldn’t conjure up any specific buildings of interest.
He made eye contact with America a few more times, but other than a bright smile or another wink, the bubbly nation didn’t give any indication that something was going on.
When he tried to grab America’s arm at the end of the work day, America just sidestepped him and laughed as he ran down the hall.
“You-!” But England just allowed his arm to fall back to his side.
“He’s being weird again?” Canada asked, stopping next to him and watching America tripping out of the building along with England.
“He has something planned.”
Canada nodded solemnly. “In case this is it for you, thanks for everything.”
England just snorted. “You’re very welcome.”
“By the way, Alfred keeps stealing cat treats from your house for Hero.”
“Bastard,” England murmured fondly. “In any case, see you tomorrow.”
“Or not,” Canada said with a cheeky grin.
“Or not.” England’s lips quirked up. He nodded to the other man and started down the hall.
He still had over two hours before he had to be at the agreed spot, so he stopped at a nearby restaurant for a quick meal before heading back to his hotel for a shower and a change of clothes. Since he wasn’t sure what exactly was going on, he settled for dark skinny jeans, a deep forest green dress shirt, and a steel grey vest along with his work shoes.
76 Chambers Street turned out to be a tiny stone chapel, squeezed in between two more modern buildings that absolutely dwarfed it. As promised, there was a sign on the door that proclaimed the building closed for renovations, but it opened easily under England’s hand.
The lights were off, but the interior was lit up with hundreds of small candles. It gave the place an even older air, a hush that draped itself over England’s shoulders and lungs like a veil.
A solitary figure sat in the first row of pews on the left side, golden hair glinting faintly in the light.
“This had better not be a recreation of a horror movie,” England murmured as he started down the aisle.
“It’s not,” America replied softly. Solemnly. He stood up and turned to face England, a small smile on his lips. He wore dark grey fitted slacks and a black sweater over a navy dress shirt. “Hey, we kind of match.”
“Do we?” England examined the two of them as he came to a halt beside him.
“Yeah. Grey and black and you’re in your green and I’ve got my blue.”
“I suppose so. Why are we here?”
America kissed him instead of replying right away. Broad hands cupped England’s face, cradled it and turned it just so.
“This is one of my favourite places,” America said when he pulled away. His hands dropped to England’s neck, then shoulders, then finally to his own sides. He half-turned away, looking around. “I come here a lot. No one else really does, so a lot of the time I have it to myself. I’ve slept here a few times, but usually I just talk for a while.”
“I didn’t take you for being so religious anymore.”
“I’m not. I don’t talk to anyone in particular, but there’s just something…something here that makes it easy to.” He laughed. “Or maybe not. I don’t know, but I just tend to come here when I need to.” He took in a deep breath and released it slowly.
England noticed for the first time the slightest of trembles in his shoulders. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. Just…a little nervous, I guess.”
“Why are you nervous?” England’s eyebrows knitted together and he reached for one of America’s hands. “Alfred, what’s wrong?”
America slipped the hand free and put both of them in his pockets. “I’m thinking you’re gonna think this is silly. Or stupid.”
“I won’t.”
“You don’t even know what it is yet.”
“Alfred, when have I ever actually, genuinely thought your thoughts were stupid? And wars don’t count. I’m not going to just dismiss whatever you have to say. We know that doesn’t work.”
“I know.”
This time, England stepped forward so they were toe to toe and tilted America’s head down for a brief kiss. “Now tell me what’s up,” he said when he moved back.
America nodded. He withdrew something from his pocket; a small black box, and knelt onto one knee. “Arthur,” he said softly. “Will you marry me?”
The breath rushed out of England’s lungs. He had been proposed to many times over the centuries, but never did his heart beat so wildly as when America did it. His lips curved up in a sad smile and he closed his eyes as he shook his head. How many times had they been through this? “I can’t. You know I can’t-”
“I know.” America was smiling too as he climbed to his feet again. “But would you? If you could?”
“In a heartbeat, my dear.”
“Then would you- Would you accept this ring anyway?”
England’s eyes flew open. This was a deviation from their script. “What?”
“Like.” America shrugged and opened the box to reveal two gold bands inside. “It won’t mean anything to the rest of the world. But it can be just for us? Just so we- Just so we know if we could…” He looked down. “We’re not human and things get so weird and hurt so much so much of the time, but my love for you will never change, England. And I don’t doubt that you love me, of course I don’t, but I’m just thinking it might be nice to just…have a more physical reminder.”
England swallowed. He didn’t trust himself to speak quite yet, so he simply stepped forward and nodded.
“Really?” America’s face lit up.
“I don’t think that’s silly at all,” England whispered thickly.
“Can I- Can I put it on you?”
“Well surely you don’t expect me to put it on myself.”
America let out a laugh at that and slipped the smaller of the rings from the box’s velvet lining. He took hold of England’s proffered hand and lifted it to his lips before sliding the ring onto the ring finger. It was a perfect fit.
England’s breath caught in his throat again as he watched the band glittering in the soft candlelight, and he held it up closer to his face. Just a simple gold ring, so unassuming, but America had given it to him and so it meant the world.
“Let me put yours on too?” he asked after a moment, drawing his gaze back to America and the ring that still sat in the box.
America smiled so brightly he could have powered a city. “Please do.”
England plucked the ring out and slid it into place with little fanfare, but once the band was on America’s finger, he brought it to his cheek. His eyes closed as he leaned into that roughened palm, and he smiled as he kissed along it until he reached the ring. The metal was cool against his lips.
“I have.” America stopped and wet his lips, then tried again. “I have matching chains back at my house. So you can wear it around your neck if you can’t have it on your hand.”
“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?” England asked, the smile on his face growing as he glanced up at the other man from under his lashes.
“I was determined to marry you some way or another this time,” America said with a sheepish grin.
England laughed. “Your persistence is endearing this time.”
“This time!” America squawked, but he was still grinning.
“This time,” England agreed. He looked around again, at the chapel and the candles and the rings on their fingers. His chest swelled, and he abruptly pulled America into a hug.
“England?” America asked, wrapping his arms around England’s waist in return.
“You’re…incredulous. I love you.”
“I love you too.” The taller nation dropped a kiss into England’s hair.
They stood there for a moment, England’s head resting on America’s shoulder. Then, England glanced up at him again. “Since this is some sort of an engagement and renegade wedding all rolled into one, should we have a first dance?”
“Hell yeah.”
“Alfred, you’re in a sacred place!” England admonished, but he hid a snicker into America’s sweater.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. Hang on.” Trying not to jostle England around too much, America fished his phone out of his pocket and searched up a song on YouTube. He soon set it down on the pews and pulled England into a more proper dancing position as Peter Gabriel’s version of ‘The Book of Love’ started playing from the speakers. “I always think of us when I hear this,” he whispered.
England’s eyes softened, then dampened as they swayed. “So do I.”
Even though the music was playing out of a phone, the chapel’s acoustics did a good job of bouncing the sound all throughout the space. America squeezed his hand and leaned his head against England’s. He led England in a slow dance up and then back down the aisle, twirling dipping him in front of the altar and singing quietly into his ear.
England joined him for the last verse.
“And I, I love it when you give me things.
And you, you ought to give me wedding rings.
You ought to give me wedding rings…”
He buried his head into America’s shoulder once more as the music faded away, his fingers gripping onto his lover’s – his husband’s – sweater tightly.
“Are you crying?” America asked softly.
“No,” came the wobbly reply.
“Okay.” America hid a smile in England’s hair and pressed a few more kisses into the silky strands. He was content to stand there and just hold England until the older nation had composed himself again. He also tactfully ignored the damp spot on his shoulder, and refrained from commenting on England’s red cheeks.
“Well,” England said, sniffing rather harshly. “I do believe that was the shortest wedding I’ve ever attended.”
“The best though, right?”
“Yes. The very best.”
America suddenly grinned. “Should we move onto the wedding night?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.
England swatted his arm. “Sod. At least dine me first.”
“You’re in luck; I made us dinner reservations for eight just a few blocks away. You’ll love the place.”
“We still have some time before then,” England said, glancing down at his watch. “What shall we do until then?”
America reached for his phone. “Dance?”
England smiled and nodded, reaching for it. “Let me pick a song.”
Music filled the air again as they danced and twirled, the golden bands shimmering on their fingers, the candlelight their only witness.