A/N: Because we would rather write fluff than study for history, have some US/UK. XD Technically though, Hetalia is history…so nobody should be complaining, really. Not to condone procrastination or anything, but. It could be worse.

Hopefully you will enjoy it. :D

Disclaimer: I own a D. Gray-Man tie, a box of pocky, and way too much manga, but that does not mean I also own Hetalia. I am so sorry about that.




Pretending to Talk It Over Like Gentlemen


"So basically what you're saying is you're a slave to following all the new trends and find following a proven successful method is boring."

"That's not at all what I said! Where did you get that from?!"

"It is too what you said. You said, and I quote, that 'Monarchy is such a drag. Don't you ever get tired of seeing the same old crown up there all the time?' And I quote you. So does that mean that when the hamburger goes out of style you'll never eat one again?"

"Ah! Watch your mouth!" America sputtered; appalled England would so much as consider uttering such a sinful thing. (Just ignore the part about gluttony being one of the seven deadly sins itself, if you would.) Hamburgers were glorious. Hamburgers would never stop being glorious. He would know that if he ever disposed of his preconceived dislike for the fat content. Getting over the fat content was remarkably easy once you allowed yourself to savour the taste… "You're kidding, right?"

"No, not really."

"…I refuse to speak with you about the sainted hamburger ever again." He spat, ashamed to have any association with such an offensive man. "Hurmph. But as I was saying, democracy trumps monarchy any day. That's why I left, you know, Arthur."

Though they obviously hadn't been the point of the statement, it unsettled the Englishman very much to hear 'that's why I left you' all lumped together like that. He'd tried to keep it a secret the very best he could, but England had always had an unresolved pit left in his stomach after America had decided to be on his own across the ocean. Oh, the first few nights sleeping alone… England had been furious, but mostly just extremely lonely.

Later they'd made up of course (and made out), but that band aid only did so much to ease the lingering uncertainties decades later in England's heart.

What if America would ever leave him again? What was there stopping him?

Clenching his teeth, he gazed at his former colony steadily. Today he was going to seal off all that worry. He had to, or that cycle of doubt would never end. "Is it, now? Why you left? Because you got bored?"

America blinked, rattled by the sudden tense hardness to his voice. "Um… Partly, yeah. But also just 'cause sometimes it got so restricting, having to be under one person who never seemed to get it over with and die. Sometimes I wanted to have a chance to be on top myself, you know? And when I became my own country, I got that. And it's stayed that way since."

Oh, whether he was meaning to or not, America was sure as hell making it sound more and more like they were discussing themselves instead of only types of government.

"Really Alfred…? And is that all…?" By now, it was like England was purposely leading them down painful hallways. In a way he was, because that seemed like the only way to learn how to keep America happy if he really did want to switch out his lovers like his politicians. "How else does your irresponsible, inexperienced musical chair government trump mine?"

"Um, wow." America blinked again, feeling backed into a very tight corner unexpectedly. "Are you, uh, feeling alright? Man, you need to take a chill pill. Maybe several, come to think of it. Maybe with a Slushie or something? I think all this political talk is making you go way too far into debate mode. We're not at a world meeting right now, Arthur…"

"No! No, I refuse to take a bloody 'chill pill'!" England scoffed. Those damn American terms! How much more stupid could they possibly get with the years? Oh, but what was worse was when at times, England found himself saying them! (Too much time around America…) How absolutely degrading. Nearly more degrading than the paranoid perceived threat of being rooted out in a few years by his own lover.

"Geez! Okay, no chill pill! The Slushie, then?"

"No! No! I want to talk politics! I don't give a rat's arse about not being at a meeting right now. Bollocks to your bloody Slushie. One more word about that and I will beat you with your own baseball bat."

"Oh god! Please don't do that—"

"Then be quiet about your Slushies and your pill chills—"

"Chill pills." (Cross that off. What was worse was when he started saying them wrong.)

"Shut up!" Huffed the distressed Englishman, his hands raised and about to cover his ears in a frazzled tizzy.

The spectacled one winced. "…Shutting up. You want to talk politics, we can talk them… I guess… But can I ask you something first, Arthur? Without killing me? Please? 'Cause you're starting to scare me to tell the truth. You're not planning to take us backs over, are you?" His joke was feeble and fell short of so much as registering on England's interest.

Feeling his face glow with a blush, he glanced down, playing nervously with his hands. Now that he thought about it, he realized how silly he was probably going to sound. He hated sounding like a fool almost more than he hated being insecure. The two of them together were utterly awful. Biting his lip as he considered, England sheepishly eyed his curious partner. When at last he decided on something to say, he murmured it slowly. "If…If you had a president you really liked, would you like to keep him around?"

"Hm? Of course."

"And… M-metaphorically speaking, would you ever vote for me?"

America stared at him a short moment before smiling quietly to himself. Reaching out to touch England's red face, he answered, "I already have."

He swallowed. "And… But what about only allowing eight years total in office…?"

Laughing, his eyes had a mischievous sparkle to them. ""Oh, don't worry about that. I think we can bend the rules for you."