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England never kissed him goodbye when he left. It was still the same as when America was a colony: England would always leave when he was sleeping, thinking it would be easier for both of them. Instead, when America rolled over, he would only find a neatly made bed, sheets smooth and cool, as if England had never been there.

It left a bitter sting in his heart, and he constantly tried to bring it up with his lover. After so many years together, Alfred was being left behind like some kind of whore? He almost expected to find a stack of twenties on the dresser.

"Don't be silly," England scoffed gently, "I always kiss you goodbye. You know I like to keep my schedule; my leaving while you're asleep had nothing to do with you, Love."

He wanted to believe that, he really did, and so America hung onto those words and cherished them. He knew it was a step back to the days when he had been a child and England had been an ocean voyage away. When his letters had been few and far between. He needed those words now as much as he had needed the reassurance that England needed his resources back when he was young. If all that were true, then England would surely never leave him alone forever.

Lately, America had been finding thimbles around his house: Usually on the nightstand, but sometimes on the coffee table in the living room, or in his favorite coffee cup, and once perched on the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. It figured that England left pieces of his sewing kit behind- the man really was quite forgetful in his old age.

However, America could never find anything else the other nation had left behind after he visited. He simply shrugged it off; thimbles were small and easier to forget and misplace than most other things. Even if England did notice that he had forgotten one, he might've assumed that it just fell out of his pocket on the street somewhere. It wasn't like they were hard to replace.

And so America kept the thimbles that England kept forgetting in his desk drawer, but never returned them. After all, the other nation had probably replaced those thimbles three times over, and who the hell needed one-hundred and eighteen thimbles all at once? More than once, he considered throwing them away, but always changed his mind at the last second. England bought nice thimbles, pretty in their own way, and it seemed like a waste to just chuck them. Maybe he could find a way to recycle or reuse them (even though he didn't sew). It was one of the newest trends with his people, after all.

He collection of thimbles grew and grew and grew, until one day England- looking for America's favorite tie that he refused to go to the meeting without- flung open the desk drawer in a last ditch attempt to find the blasted thing. Bushy eyebrows rose as he gazed at the collection of little silver thimbles which now nearly filled the drawer.

"How can you say I never kiss you goodbye?" he demanded when America entered the room, looking like a wreck, "You've kept each and every one!"

Sure that his lover had gone off his rocker, America fiddled with Texas and looked in the drawer.

"England, those are thimbles," he said bluntly, "You can't keep a kiss. Unless they're chocolate kisses, but those are definitely thimbles."

He was met with an exasperated sigh.

"Honestly, all the time and effort and resources I poured into teaching you to read and write, and you've never picked up a book? A classic children's book at that? Sure, it's one of mine, but that Disney fellow of yours made a movie of it, so surely you would have known—"

England glanced at the clock. They didn't have time for this.

"We're going to be late for the meeting. Come along, I've got a spare tie that you can borrow. I'll explain when we get back."

Later that evening, when they were sitting on the couch, England thrust an old blue book into America's hands. Peeling gold letters spelled out the title.

"Peter Pan?" he asked incredulously.

"The boy who never grew up," his lover said with a vicious smirk, "I thought it was rather fitting."

"Oh hah hah," America replied sarcastically, trying to remember the details of the story. He had never really had a mind for words and books and all that.

"Don't tell me that you think of yourself as the Wendy to my Peter."

"Just read it, you great, sodding git!"

He tried to read, but found that the words swam on the pages and chased each other in circles. His mind was not on reading tonight.

"England… w-will you read it to me?" America asked sheepishly.

The other nation's bright green eyes widened in shock. America had not asked him for anything in that tone of voice for centuries! And he certainly hadn't asked him to read in a very, very long time. Once the lad had learned to read, he had wanted to read his books by himself, and that was the beginning of the end.

"C-certainly," the island nation stuttered, "Come here, get comfortable… yes, that's fine… now let's see… Chapter One: Peter Breaks Through. All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this…"

The older nation read to America all night, only finishing once the last words had been read ( "…When Margaret grows up she will have a daughter, who is to be Peter's mother in turn; and thus it will go on, so long as children are gay and innocent and heartless.") and the sun was beginning to peer over the horizon. The boy was unusually quite and considerate, bringing him cups of tea to keep his throat lubricated. Anything to keep him reading.

"So that's it," England said, closing the book.

"You really thought that I would make the connection?" America asked softly. There was pain in his voice, an old pain which had settled inside him and made its roost a long time ago.

"I had hoped so," the older nation murmured, "Besides, these kisses are so much more substantial. If I merely kissed you as you slept, it would have evaporated out of your memory by the time you woke, like dew on grass."

Blue eyes closing sleepily, America found a voice to ask one last question.

"England?"

"Yes, Love?" the older man asked, removing Texas and setting them aside.

"May I have a kiss?"

England smiled, producing a thimble from his pocket and placing it in America's lightly clenched hand as he dropped a butterfly kiss on his forehead.

"Of course, you silly ass."

Description
England never kissed him goodbye when he left. It was still the same as when America was a colony: England would always leave when he was sleeping, thinking it would be easier for both of them. Instead, when America rolled over, he would only find a neatly made bed, sheets smooth and cool, as if England had never been there.

It left a bitter sting in his heart, and he constantly tried to bring it up with his lover. After so many years together, Alfred was being left behind like some kind of whore? He almost expected to find a stack of twenties on the dresser.

"Don't be silly," England scoffed gently, "I always kiss you goodbye. You know I like to keep my schedule; my leaving while you're asleep had nothing to do with you, Love."

He wanted to believe that, he really did, and so America hung onto those words and cherished them. He knew it was a step back to the days when he had been a child and England had been an ocean voyage away. When his letters had been few and far between. He needed those words now as much as he had needed the reassurance that England needed his resources back when he was young. If all that were true, then England would surely never leave him alone forever.

Lately, America had been finding thimbles around his house: Usually on the nightstand, but sometimes on the coffee table in the living room, or in his favorite coffee cup, and once perched on the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. It figured that England left pieces of his sewing kit behind- the man really was quite forgetful in his old age.

However, America could never find anything else the other nation had left behind after he visited. He simply shrugged it off; thimbles were small and easier to forget and misplace than most other things. Even if England did notice that he had forgotten one, he might've assumed that it just fell out of his pocket on the street somewhere. It wasn't like they were hard to replace.

And so America kept the thimbles that England kept forgetting in his desk drawer, but never returned them. After all, the other nation had probably replaced those thimbles three times over, and who the hell needed one-hundred and eighteen thimbles all at once? More than once, he considered throwing them away, but always changed his mind at the last second. England bought nice thimbles, pretty in their own way, and it seemed like a waste to just chuck them. Maybe he could find a way to recycle or reuse them (even though he didn't sew). It was one of the newest trends with his people, after all.

He collection of thimbles grew and grew and grew, until one day England- looking for America's favorite tie that he refused to go to the meeting without- flung open the desk drawer in a last ditch attempt to find the blasted thing. Bushy eyebrows rose as he gazed at the collection of little silver thimbles which now nearly filled the drawer.

"How can you say I never kiss you goodbye?" he demanded when America entered the room, looking like a wreck, "You've kept each and every one!"

Sure that his lover had gone off his rocker, America fiddled with Texas and looked in the drawer.

"England, those are thimbles," he said bluntly, "You can't keep a kiss. Unless they're chocolate kisses, but those are definitely thimbles."

He was met with an exasperated sigh.

"Honestly, all the time and effort and resources I poured into teaching you to read and write, and you've never picked up a book? A classic children's book at that? Sure, it's one of mine, but that Disney fellow of yours made a movie of it, so surely you would have known—"

England glanced at the clock. They didn't have time for this.

"We're going to be late for the meeting. Come along, I've got a spare tie that you can borrow. I'll explain when we get back."

Later that evening, when they were sitting on the couch, England thrust an old blue book into America's hands. Peeling gold letters spelled out the title.

"Peter Pan?" he asked incredulously.

"The boy who never grew up," his lover said with a vicious smirk, "I thought it was rather fitting."

"Oh hah hah," America replied sarcastically, trying to remember the details of the story. He had never really had a mind for words and books and all that.

"Don't tell me that you think of yourself as the Wendy to my Peter."

"Just read it, you great, sodding git!"

He tried to read, but found that the words swam on the pages and chased each other in circles. His mind was not on reading tonight.

"England… w-will you read it to me?" America asked sheepishly.

The other nation's bright green eyes widened in shock. America had not asked him for anything in that tone of voice for centuries! And he certainly hadn't asked him to read in a very, very long time. Once the lad had learned to read, he had wanted to read his books by himself, and that was the beginning of the end.

"C-certainly," the island nation stuttered, "Come here, get comfortable… yes, that's fine… now let's see… Chapter One: Peter Breaks Through. All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this…"

The older nation read to America all night, only finishing once the last words had been read ( "…When Margaret grows up she will have a daughter, who is to be Peter's mother in turn; and thus it will go on, so long as children are gay and innocent and heartless.") and the sun was beginning to peer over the horizon. The boy was unusually quite and considerate, bringing him cups of tea to keep his throat lubricated. Anything to keep him reading.

"So that's it," England said, closing the book.

"You really thought that I would make the connection?" America asked softly. There was pain in his voice, an old pain which had settled inside him and made its roost a long time ago.

"I had hoped so," the older nation murmured, "Besides, these kisses are so much more substantial. If I merely kissed you as you slept, it would have evaporated out of your memory by the time you woke, like dew on grass."

Blue eyes closing sleepily, America found a voice to ask one last question.

"England?"

"Yes, Love?" the older man asked, removing Texas and setting them aside.

"May I have a kiss?"

England smiled, producing a thimble from his pocket and placing it in America's lightly clenched hand as he dropped a butterfly kiss on his forehead.

"Of course, you silly ass."