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The ringing felt like it had only lasted a second or two, but it was quite apparent to England that he had been out of consciousness for much longer. As if the snow falling outside of the window didn’t confirm his suspicions that it was no longer the second of September, America’s words proved him right with absolute certainty.
He had been in a coma for over three months.
Three months.
What made it worse was that he didn’t even know how or why. The Brit couldn’t even seem to remember his own name. The only thing he was certain of was that the falling snow (or whatever it was, as England couldn't quite remember) meant winter, the smell of antibiotics in the room meant hospital, and that bright blue eyes, sunkissed skin, and dirty blonde hair meant America, the man he loved. His boyfriend, or so he remembered it.
England was too lost in his own thoughts to pay much mind to America’s rambling, not even thinking that it could provide significant clues to his own identity, not to mention what had happened to him. It was only when the American snapped his fingers in front of the shorter man’s face did he begin listening again.
“England? Are you listening to me?” America asked, a clear sign of worry for the other country on his face.
“Apologies…” England said in return. He coughed a bit, playing over the few words America had just spoken in his mind. He noticed a peculiar word in the sentence that he hadn’t recognised, and so he promptly asked, “What’s an England?”
America’s face contorted in shock at the blonde male, and he responded, “Uh… that’s your name, dude.”
“Oh.” England said, nodding a bit as he pulled his knees to his chest.
“England, you remember me, right?” America asked, raising his eyebrows up and leaning forward a bit, as if half worried and half curious about the answer.
“Of course I remember you,” England said and rolled his eyes, but a small smile graced his lips. America seemed relieved at the response, however also slightly disappointed, expecting a fiery England comeback and certainly not expecting England’s voice to be as soft as it was. It was unsettling, and it showed on his face.
“Do you remember… anything else?”
The question came as a bit of a surprise to England, who looked down, thinking hard. But his mind came up blank. “I uh…”
America’s obvious concern deepened. “You don’t, do you?” England shook his head.
“You’re not playing me, right?”
England blinked at the American. Why would America think he would lie about this? Did he expect him to act that rudely? Why would he be rude to the person he loved?
“No, of course not. Why would I do that?”
America was starting to get freaked out. Not from the memory loss, but from the way England kept talking to him. It was calm, polite, sweet. Three words that the tall blonde man would have never in a million years used to describe the way England spoke to him normally.
“I don’t know,” America said with a shrug. “So… I guess you don’t remember what happened then, huh?”
The Brit shook his head again.
“Okay, so, how do I put this…” America thought for a moment. “You got hit by a car.” He mentally cursed himself after the words left his lips. ‘Way to put it gently…’
England’s eyes widened and he blinked a couple times.
America gave a sympathetic look. “Yeah, my reaction when I heard. It scared the crap out of everyone, even France. And that’s saying something.”
England stared confusedly at the other’s face for a moment or two, before looking down.
America scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Listen, the doctors have already told me I’m clear to take you home. And today’s Christmas Eve so I figured we could go to Finland’s Christmas party. You do remember what Christmas is… right?”
England nodded. “Yes, the holiday in December with the presents, lights, and man in the jolly red suit.”
“You got it!” America exclaimed, relieved he didn’t have to explain the whole holiday to the Brit. “So we’re gonna go to Finny’s party, and maybe seeing everyone else will jog your memory!”
England gave an optimistic smile that had probably not been seen by anyone for at least one hundred years. “I hope so.”
America noticed the gown England was wearing.
“Before we go, I think you should change. I brought some clothes from your house, they’re… somewhere around here…” he looked around, locating them on a small chair in the corner of the room. “Aha!” he exclaimed and picked them up, handing them to England. “Here you go!”
The English country took the clothes and quickly sprang out of bed, only to be met with such unease and lack of balance from not standing in three months, that he fell back onto the bed and plopped right down on his butt. A sheepish blush formed on his cheeks, his emerald gaze falling to the ground, and then back toward America.
“I hate to ask, love, but… would you mind… carrying me?” the Brit asked shyly, causing a blush to rise onto America’s cheeks as well.
“Uhm… sure, I guess…” America said. He took a few steps in front of England and reached out, sliding one hand under his legs and the other behind his back, picking him up bridal style. Without a second thought, England had his arm wrapped around America’s neck, his head resting on the American’s warm chest. He practically melted into America’s arms, as if it was perfectly normal. America’s muscles were tense as he took them out of the room and towards the restroom. He (very awkwardly) helped the poor Brit get changed into a white dress shirt, green sweater vest, black pants, and red tie. The American had to tie England’s tie for him, as it seemed that was another thing he had forgotten. It was a strange feeling, being on the other side, as England had tied his tie for him many times when he was a child. After, he picked the shorter male up again, carrying him out of the hospital, and toward the parking garage.
A thought crossed England’s mind as he noticed the stiffness of the other as he carried him. ‘Why does he seem so uncomfortable? We’re lovers, are we not? That’s the only thing I can remember, so it has to be true…’
America, oblivious to England’s thoughts, gulped, silently begging for his blush to disappear. He looked down at the Brit in his arms, admiring how cozy he looked. He had never seen England this happy to be near him, let alone be carried by him. But still, it felt wrong. Wrong in a way that he wished felt right, but new it wasn’t.
What America knew, and what England didn’t realise was that, while America had feelings for the blonde Brit, he had never found the courage to tell him. The same went for England himself. And so the two, although deeply in love with one another, never knew if the other liked them back. They always kept the tough, unopen (and somewhat awkward at times) friendship they had since England finally healed enough after the Revolutionary War to start talking to America again.
Even if it was possible that England liked him back, even if this was a sign that he did, America couldn’t be sure. It could just be from the amnesia. And America would never take advantage of England like that, especially when he was like this.
When they reached America’s dark blue Dodge Avenger, the American opened up the passenger side and gently set England down in it, the Brit muttering a soft “Thank you, love,” before buckling himself in. He felt an air of familiarity as he sat in the soft seat of the car, taking in the scent of the “Summer Linen” air freshener that hung from the mirror. It was like he had been in this exact seat a million times over, although all memories of an experience similar to this were void from his mind.
America hopped into the driver’s seat, giving England a worried glance. “Are you okay? You look a little out of it.” It was a stupid question, and America regretted it after he spoke. ‘Of course he’s not okay, he just woke up from a three month long coma and doesn’t remember anything except me!’
“I’m alright. I just feel like I’ve done this all before, but I can’t remember it… but surely I have, since we’re so close.”
America nodded. He wouldn’t exactly have described their relationship as close, although they did spend a lot of time together, they never could talk about their feelings. Their conversations were either small talk, insults, or arguing. And that wasn’t what you would find in a close relationship.
The blonde realised he had zoned out and quickly reached into his pocket for his keys, pulling them out and locating the car key, before sticking it into the ignition. He drove out of the parking garage and into the snow, which sparkled as it fell down, covering the ground with white. England pressed his face up against the glass of the car window in wonder, his eyes wide with a childlike giddiness.
“America, what’s this white stuff that’s coming from the sky?” the Brit asked.
“You mean the snow?” America asked. “You remember what Christmas is, but not snow?”
“I guess so, yes,” England said, not really paying much mind to the dissbelief in America’s voice. “Snow. I think I quite like the snow.”
“Yeah, a lot of people do,” America said. He was a bit annoyed at how England was still keeping his face to the glass.
“Hey, I just had this thing cleaned by a pro, I don’t need you dirtying up my windows, ‘kay? So look, but don’t touch.”
England blushed sheepishly and leaned back in his chair, his eyes still glued to the world outside the window. “Sorry,” he muttered softly.
America sighed, before changing the subject. “Finny normally has his party at his house in Finland, but when we all got the call that you had woken up, he moved the party here. So that it would be easier for you to come since you probably wouldn’t want to be in a plane this early after waking up.”
“That’s very kind of him,” England commented in return. “I will definitely give him my thanks.”
“You’re so much nicer when you don’t remember anything,” America mumbled to himself.
“Huh?” England raised an eyebrow at the American.
“Oh, nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
__________
When the duo reached the party, everyone was very surprised to see England there. And although it took a few tries to help him be able to stand and walk through the door on his own (no way America was going to carry him into a party with every nation he had ever met in it there to ridicule him), the amnesiac seemed to be enjoying himself.
He had (shocking most in the room) immediately gravitated toward speaking to Italy, Germany, and Japan, finding them to be the easiest to talk to. It was odd, but understandable, since he didn’t remember anyone and they were probably some of the most calm of the bunch. Plus, it didn’t hurt anything to for England to be talking to them. He was acting polite, and kind, not throwing a single insult at anyone, not even France who came over and called him a “the black sheep of Europe” (although this was likely because England hadn’t the faintest clue what a sheep or Europe was, and had promptly asked the Frenchman, who had just given him a strange look and proceeded to explain awkwardly.)
A large problem, at least in the American’s eyes, however, was that England refused to leave his side. He had his small hands latched around America’s arm, and dragged him along to each group he talked to. Whenever America would try to leave him, England would give him the saddest, most pleading, puppy eyes the blue eyed man had ever seen, and just how could he say no to that?
__________
By the end of the party, America was exhausted. Being dragged around by a clingy Brit was pretty exhausting, and because of it America hadn’t even gotten to drink any eggnog! It sucked.
Still, America hadn’t been able to bring himself to slip away from England. Puppy eyes aside, England was very vulnerable. In his current state, he was naive and trusting. Too naive and trusting. Any country could tell him things about himself or his past and England would believe them right away. After all, he had no point of reference to go on. Someone could have told him that the sky was falling and he immediately would have taken cover. He didn’t know any better.
Now, as most of the guests were filling out, so were England and America. They walked back through the snow to the car, England sitting back down in the passenger seat and America the driver’s. The tall blonde let out a sigh, just staring at the console, before looking at Arthur.
“Did that party help you remember anything?” he asked.
England shook his head. “No, although that nice Italy fellow did tell me I was a horrid cook.”
America chuckled softly, although it quickly dissipated. “That’s what I was afraid of…” he muttered.
“Don’t be so glum, I know things didn’t go as planned, but I had a great time tonight.” The Brit smiled, placing his hand on America’s. The taller male looked at him, with a sprinkle of pink forming on his cheeks.
A matching hue appeared on England’s face as he gently put his hand on America’s chest, tugging him down a bit and placing a passionate kiss on his lips.
America’s face lit up like a fire engine, and he quickly pushed the Brit away. “What are you doing?!”
England’s eyes went wide and his face heated up. “I-I’m sorry I…”
“You can’t just go and kiss someone! Especially me! Why the hell would you do that!?”
“I thought we were… we were… were boyfriends!” England finally managed to get out.
“Boyfriends…?” America repeated, shock overcoming his anger. “What… how… why…” he sputtered.
“Yeah… when I woke up and saw you… I felt it… I knew; it was the only thing I was certain of: that we were in love. But now I’m not so sure!” England said, pulling his knees up in his seat and burying his mortified and bright red face in them.
America watched as England’s body quickly went up and down, and he felt terrible, as he realised the older nation was crying.
“Hey, c’mon Iggy, don’t cry…” the American said awkwardly, patting the other’s back gently. It hurt him that England was crying because of him, but what could he do? He would hate himself if he led England on while the Brit was like this. But then again…
‘Would it really be a bad thing?’ America questioned to himself. He shook the thought away. ‘No… remember, it wouldn’t be right to do that to him while he’s like this…’
England looked up from his knees, reaching over and clutching onto America tightly. “I’m s-sorry…” he stuttered quietly.
America put his arms up, before reluctantly hugging the Brit back. He awkwardly patted the smaller man’s back. “It’s… it’s okay, dude.”
After a minute or less, England pushed away, sinking down into his seat. “So you don’t love me then… correct?” the Englishman asked sadly as he wiped his cheeks with his sleeves.
“Hey, hey, I didn’t say that! I just… I…” America paused and looked at the steering wheel. “It’s complicated.”
England didn’t say another word, and simply looked out the window, watching the snow fall from the rapidly darkening sky.
America huffed a loud sigh, putting the keys in the ignition and driving them to the Brit’s home.
__________
If the car ride there wasn’t awkward enough, the night that followed certainly was. America had insisted on staying the night, as even if there was an awkward tension between him and England, the blonde was still worried for England’s safety, especially since the Brit couldn’t even seem to remember certain simple things, like what a toothbrush was.
England’s house itself was rather dusty, obviously having not been lived in for quite a while. The lack of the usual decorations England would put up around this time almost made America sad. That’s when he got an idea.
America was determined to find a way to cheer England up. He just had to find something to do that would ease the overwhelming tension a bit. And seeing the sad, dreary home, it gave him exactly what he was looking for.
“So, I was thinking, how about I go and get the Christmas stuff from the attic? And we can decorate the house together,” he said, giving England a small smile.
“Alright, just be careful,” the Brit responded, brightening up the smallest fraction at the suggestion.
America nodded, giving a thumbs up. “Of course I’ll be careful, dude! After all, a hero is always careful!” And he giddily made his way up the stairs, opening the cover and stepping into the attic, coughing as he was met with a cloud of dust. England had to have not been up here for a long time, probably since last Christmas, or at least America assumed.
He began searching for the boxes labeled “Christmas” or anything similar, being filled with a sense of melancholy as instead he seemed to be finding nothing but old letters and items from when he was a child. ‘Why’d he keep all this stuff?’ he wondered.
After about twenty minutes of searching, America found what he was looking for. He stacked the three boxes on top of each other, carrying them downstairs, before returning for the large box that contained the Christmas tree.
England had always preferred real trees, but a while back, America had convinced him to get a fake one. “Just in case you can’t get a real one!” he had exclaimed. Boy, was the American glad he had. He wouldn’t have to go out and chop one down at ten p.m. on Christmas Eve.
He carried it downstairs, to find England sitting on the couch, already looking through one of the boxes, and examining a small snow globe with his and America’s picture in it.
“Whatcha got there?” America asked curiously.
“A glass ball. It’s got me and you in it,” he responded, holding it up for the American to see.
“That’s called a snowglobe, silly.” America set down the Christmas tree box, and grabbed the snowglobe from England’s hands.
America examined it. It had a picture of the two, as England had said, surrounded by Christmas trees and a snowman. It was something he had gotten for England; a cheap Christmas gift that he had bought in a panic. He never expected England to have kept it.
“I’m surprised you still have this,” America said, handing it back to him.
“Was there a reason for me to get rid of it?” England asked with an eyebrow raised.
“No, I guess not,” America shrugged.
“Then that’s why I kept it,” England said, and gently set the snowglobe down on the end table, prominently lit by the lamp next to it. America smiled softly at the action.
__________
Swiftly, in a large mess of tinsel, ornaments, glitter, and porcelain Santa Claus’, the house was decorated from top to bottom. England and America worked quickly, brightening up the place with each fake snowflake and string of lights they hung. And before they knew it, midnight came.
The large grandfather clock chimed twelve, and America looked over at England. “Well, what do ‘ya know. It’s Christmas,” he chuckled.
“Mhm,” England said simply, quickly standing up and walking to his room.
America, a bit startled by the action, got up and followed. “Hey, where are you going?” Just as he reached the doorway, England stood in front of him.
“I found this while we were decorating. I don’t know what’s in it, but it has your name on it. So I assume I got it for you,” the Brit said. He handed America a small box, wrapped in shiny green wrapping paper, and tied neatly with a glittery red ribbon.
America blinked in surprise, looking at the present. “Thank you…” he muttered awkwardly.
“Look, I get it. You don’t like me like that. But just open it, okay? I need to know what it is, even if you don’t care,” England said, crossing his arms.
“I never said I-”
“Just open it, please.”
The Brit gave America a pleading look. Turning his attention back toward the package, America slowly untied the ribbon, and ripped off the wrapping paper. He opened the small box that was now revealed, only to gasp at what he saw inside.
A ring. A real, silver, diamond holding, worth-a-fortune, ring.
England looked down at the ring, a bright red hue rising onto his cheeks and ears. Of all the things he was expecting would be in that box, that was not one of them. And from the look on America’s face, he felt the same way.
“America I-”
America put his finger to England’s mouth.
Overwhelmed with emotion, the American quickly thought about what he was to do. This was something prepared by England. Amnesia-free England. So this wouldn’t be taking advantage of England, if he was already planning to do this! That was all America needed.
He quickly reached his arms out, embracing England tightly. He softly whispered, “Yes.”
“Really?” England looked up at him.
“Consider it to be my Christmas present to you,” America chuckled.
“But I thought you didn’t like me?” England asked, confused. “You said-”
“I never said that, did I?”
“Well, no…”
America smiled softly, pushing some of England’s hair behind his ear. “The truth is, I do like you. No- more than that. I love you.”
England smiled brighter than the lights on the Christmas tree. “I love you too.” He hugged the American tightly. “Happy Christmas, America.”
“Merry Christmas, England.”