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On July 1st, 1867, the scratch of ink and paper echoed as the constitution act was signed, formally establishing the parliament and federal structure of British North America, what would now be known as Canada.
The new Canada didn’t quite know how to react to this event, even though he already replayed it countless times in his head. Should he now be beaming with joy, or put up a solemn face to honor the once relation that will be the same, yet somehow different? After all, he was still young – with a body no more than fourteen in human years – but for him, that hardly mattered, because the role of a nation is to live for its people.
Yet…
He couldn’t just simply sweep aside all the years spent “playing family” with the personifications of the United Kingdom, particularly England. Despite having spent all his years under him, waiting patiently for the rare warm touch of affections, the youth and clinginess of a child toward a parent is not something so easily set aside.
So… even though Canada’s independence will hold a substantial meaning to him, he is yet to be fully unattached – neither as a person, nor as a country.
Before the treaty was signed between both of them, he met once more with England. With a slightly trembling voice, he asked, “A-Arthur…”, he paused to draw a shaky breath, “Today will mark a new standing between us right? W-would that mean that after this… I-I could become your equal?”
England, who heard the question chuckled a bit because of the irony, “Well, you could say that, lad”, he replied, the lie easily slipping past the child’s ear.
“So then…”, with a radiant glow in his eyes, Canada braved himself, “we’re going to be closer as a father and son, right?”
Time felt like it froze on the spot, the only sound that could be heard was the bird chirping its lungs off. He was reminded of the way he and America once were – a real father who was close with his child, not just hiding between the word father, only asking never to give. He was afraid that it would happen again. He didn’t know if he could bear to feel all that resentment of betrayal ever again. But… just once, he let his paranoia go and just let himself hope, so after what seemed like eternity, a gentle expression fell on England’s face, “Sure… Matthew,” he replied, “I promise to you – not as the United Kingdom or the country of England – but a promise from me, myself, and I, as Arthur.”
Canada was stunned by the sincerity in that expression – an expression England only showed when he was talking about America- or the one once he warmly called “His dear Alfred”. Hence, he took the words like a testament, a vow that would remain true and never be false even with time, and he looks forward to a new beginning between the two of them, one that began on that day.
In the early stages of the new “independence” of Canada, England proved true to his words. Always guiding and assisting Canada with how to develop in this new shift, acting like a true father. Even if most of it concerned about his new government matters, Canada was content with what he had, because at least England is still with him nurturing the intimacy between them.
But as time went on, that closeness gradually but surely returned to it once was, especially around the time of the start of World War I. Canada understood, being a nation, meaning that all duties to the country would be prioritized rather than just playing a big ol’ family. So he kept his personal feelings down, focusing on doing his best to support the military to aid England during the war.
Everything was in chaos, buildings collapsed, bridges were burned, and most disturbing of all was the pile of bodies with the sea of blood spreading around the field. But thank goodness that at the end, America was willing to help.
Almost twenty years passed (which was not really a long time for these nations), out of consideration of both countries that needed to repair the losses, they didn’t meet at all, and were just sending letters to each other. And that was enough.
Because who suspected that the next war would come as soon as they let their guard down in 1939. During the war, bodies continued falling, blood continued spilling, and there was no time to focus on anything else but their country’s survival and victory. So, Canada held tightly those words, convincing himself, repeating it silently on the battlefield countless of times, “After all this… after everything is over, we can continue with that promise. But now, I need to focus.” The strength of those words became the ray of hope for him to keep fighting for the wars that he didn’t even start.
Finally, in 1945, the war ended, but the damage this time was too severe. Therefore, he persisted this time to be patient too… because it still wasn’t the time. However, doubts started to creep inside his hearts: Did England still remember the promise between them, or would it become an empty promise like the ones he casually break when Canada is still a child who childishly asks to promise that England won't leave him alone?
And then, as the cycle of blooming flowers went on until the white fuzzy snow replayed for no one knows how long, Canada became the only one between them that tried to keep in touch, with an extra mile even. With the monthly letters that never failed to be sent, countless tea parties that were set up, or just casual dinners to deepen their connection again.
Sure, England came from time to time, but more often than not, it was only the weight of his absence of importance that was felt, whether because he was late or just didn't appear at all. Slowly, regardless whether he wanted to admit it or not, it dawned on him that it was all meaningless, and lamenting over what was lost would change nothing.
As the popular proverb goes, ‘It takes two to tango’, so even if one person continues to try, the effort will fail without the other. Of course, even for Canada – or should we say Matthew – a quiet and obedient child who was content with minimum affection, there’s still a limit of what he could bear. Hence, he made a firm decision. If he waited for half a year and nothing came from England, he would stop hoping, and conclude that there will be no more Arthur-Matthew as father-son, only United Kingdom/England and Canada: purely diplomatic with no personal connection.
England, as expected, didn’t feel any changes of his usual routine. Well of course, typically, all the letters and tea parties were started and prepared by Canada himself, without England having the need to give a hand at all. Thus, months already passed (the deadline) when he realized how long it had been since the last time he saw that lad. He didn’t think much of it, really, brushing it up over the possibility that the lad was just busy, and didn’t have any time to meet up. But… was he really so busy that he couldn’t even spare even a single letter at all?
Well, perhaps it was a perfect chance now. A world meeting was scheduled in New York at the end of the week, and with it came an opportunity to sit down and talk, catching up for the months passed.
…
The world meeting went on as usual, chaos and echoing across the room, with almost nothing truly resolved. Still, the main points were made, and that was that. England shifted his focus to search for the blond waves–not to be misinterpreted for that frog–that should also have finished by now and probably packed up his things.
That lad was still so easy to overlook, blink once and then he was gone. Then, out of the corner of his eye, England caught a glimpse of someone that looked like Canada slipping out of the meeting room, so he took his chance and hurried to catch up.
As he finally caught up to Canada, he hesitated, as to what he ought to say, because there was no way– just absolutely no way– he could straight up invite him to hang about and talk just like that. And yet, the words that came out of his mouth first were, “Good day, Matthew. Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Bloody hell. Of course the lad was here. He winced inwardly, panicked because that was the very last thing that he should have said .
“Ah, good day to you too, Lord UK, Whatever do you need?” Canada replied back with the usual polite smile he reserved to other nations.
But… What was that? Did he just call him Lord UK? He couldn’t deny that he is the representative of the United Kingdom. However, for Canada, he was used to Arthur, heck, even England if the lad was angry—but this? Fuck.
Masquerading that everything was fine, England bit the inside of his cheek, and forced the words out, “It’s been a while since I last saw you, lad. Do you have any plans for a visit next month?” He observed the unchanging expression on Canada’s face–the same sympathetic shy look–but this time he sensed a sharpness lurking beneath it.
Canada didn’t hesitate, “Ah sorry, lord UK. If I remember correctly, there’s no plan between our countries to hold a meeting, is there? So… I don’t think there's any,” His tone remained polite, his smile intact.
England’s face crumbled a bit, which he hurriedly masked, however it didn’t go unnoticed by Canada. Desperately, he pressed on, “Well, you obviously have a bit of time after this,right? Care to continue some discussion over a cup of tea?”
Canada didn’t want the others to know–especially his men and England’s–about the deliberate shift in their relationship. And honestly, there was no real way to decline, as a discussion for the matter between countries was still required. With a faint trace of displeasure, he answered, “Well, sure then. Lead the way.”
The walk towards the cafe was as quiet as it can be, you could probably hear a needle drop between them. It didn’t change even when they went in and sat inside the cafe.
At first, they kept things strictly professional, finishing all the required discussion without a word out of place.
However as Canada began to stand, signaling that their business was concluded, England started to speak. “And how about you, Matthew? What have you been doing these few couple of months? Were you so busy that you couldn’t even spare sending a single letter? You remember we promised we’d work on our relationship, don’t you?” A flicker of vulnerability slipped through his usual guarded stern expression.
Canada stared at him in disbelief, a dark edge flickered in his smile. “You know, you’ve been calling me Matthew for some time now. Matthew? Who? I don’t think I know that name—especially if it’s coming from you. My name is Canada, and I don’t think you need to call me anything else, eh?”
“And you know,” he added, voice cracking slightly but going unnoticed, “if you didn’t hear any news from me, why didn’t you reach out yourselves?”
“Ah… right, and just for the record,” his usual tone returned, “do you know the word blatherskite?” His eyes glimmered with a strange mix of hurt and mischief. “It kind of reminds me of someone I know, you see. And given the circumstances… I hope you might be so kind as to offer a few of your wise words to that person, hmm? Will you?” The question was rhetorical, as he didn’t expect to hear any answer.
He paused, letting the weight of his words hang in the room. Then he continued, his voice calm but firm, “Well, my dear Lord of the United Kingdom… everything’s already become spilled milk, and there’s no use crying over it, you know.”
“Well then, if you’ll excuse me,” Matthew said lightly, standing and smoothing the folds of his coat. A smile curved his lips — a smile that, to anyone else, seemed gentle and polite, but which concealed a storm of emotions only he knew. “I need to be somewhere else.”
He then rose and walked away slowly, without a single glance back, leaving the heavy atmosphere that surrounded the room. Arthur remained seated, still shocked out of his wits, unsettled in a way he rarely allowed himself to feel.
Was this going to be the second time his relationship withered? Did he become too complacent and expect others to give them all while he gave nothing at all?
Did he… really lose the second chance?
So then…
At the lonely corner of the cafe, a man could be seen…
with his tears dropping silently.