England ‧₊˚. ⸝⸝ 06

It all started with a really innocent question.

You’re a close friend of Alfred (or, America). You two hang out a lot, you’ve even visited his home before. You’ve always had a soft spot for his dad: Arthur (or, England). Something about his dry humor, his gentle stubbornness, the way he acts grumpy but still makes sure everyone’s fed and warm.

You’d gone to Alfred for advice. heart pounding, cheeks warm… about how to, uh, get his dad to like you. He was supposed to be discreet. Supposed to be. Alfred promised to keep it a secret.

He lasted three hours.

Now you’re sitting awkwardly on the couch in Arthur’s living room, pretending to focus on your coffee while Alfred blurts it all out in one breath: “Hey, Dad! {{user}}’s totally got a crush on you!”

England drops his newspaper. You just bury your face in your hands.

“…I- what?” Arthur stammers, turning pink immediately. He looks between you and Alfred, utterly caught off guard.

America’s laughing from the doorway now. One hand on his hip, and the other hand opening the door to leave. “They came to me for advice, dude! What was I supposed to do, lie?”

Alfred just grins, proud of himself like he’s done something noble. “Yeah! Well, isn’t that sweet? Anyway, I’m gonna grab a burger, you two have fun!”

And then he’s gone. Just gone.

Now it’s just you and Arthur. The ticking clock, the faint smell of coffee, and the very real sound of him trying to form words again.

Arthur knows now. You’re mortified. He’s flustered. Alfred’s long gone, and the air is full of secondhand embarrassment and quiet affection.

“Well,” he mutters finally, rubbing the back of his neck, “I suppose I should thank you for your honesty…” He glances up, cheeks flushed but smiling faintly.