Thank you, BookBird194 for reviewing!!! Thanks to you, I updated and didn't delete this story! I'm glad I didn't! Well, here's the next chapter! Please review! :D
x-x-x-x-x
Something wasn't right.
England groggily opened his eyes, an unsettling feeling forcing him out of his slumber. But when he attempted to, he was forced to squint for a while before he could actually make anything out, the light in the room being far too bright. As his vision began to clear, he began to become more and more panicked. He felt his heart beat uncomfortably hard as he realized he had absolutely no idea where he was. He prayed hard that he hadn't gotten drunk again and had broken into someone's house.
Or slept with someone.
Feeling his skin crawl at that horrid possibility, he jolted upright and threw the covers off of him. He prepared himself for the worst, but found that he was still fully dressed. Not even his shoes had been taken off. He sighed with relief that he wouldn't have to explain how he gotten someone pregnant. After he had calmed down a slight bit, he gave the room a quick look around. He suddenly had no difficulty finding out where he was once he actually saw his surroundings. This was without a doubt America's room. There were American flags all over the walls, hamburger wrappers crumpled on the floor, and several medals, trophies, and plaques all talking about how great America was. The only question he had was how he had gotten there. He remembered arriving here yesterday and finding out that he had done the wrong spell. His face flushed as he remembered how America had called him "freakin' hot" and then ran into his room. He also remembered hearing America swearing loudly for a good five minutes until he just faded into silence. England, with a headache, had decided to just give his eyes a rest for a few minutes. But, seeing as he had just woken up in a bed, it had turned into a few hours. England stood up, trying to straighten out his now wrinkled clothes. But he soon found it difficult to make them look presentable, seeing as he had slept in them. With a sigh, he gave up and decided that he would just have to change into something else. Luckily, he had decided to pack a few extra clothes just in case America hadn't wanted to beg for forgiveness. Which he definitely didn't want to now.
England exited the room and walked down the hall to the living room. Not even at the end of the hall, he could tell that America was sleeping in the living room—he could hear him snoring. He stuck his head in the room, and, indeed, America was sleeping soundly on the couch. One leg was hanging off the side, foot placed on the floor, the other leg dangling off the arm of the couch. America's head was propped up on the opposite arm, his neck looking like it was at an uncomfortable angle. America's left arm was lying across the back of the couch, his right thrown over his stomach. Why he had decided to sleep on the couch that was obviously too small for him, England had no idea. But, in the end, he decided that it was his house after all, so he really didn't care.
"Hey, git," England said loudly, trying to wake him up. He silenced himself though when he realized that the house would be a lot less interesting if America was asleep. Maybe if America just continued to sleep, he could actually figure out how to rid him of this damned curse and just get on with his life. So he gave America one last glare as he grabbed his bags he had left from the night before.
After some searching, he found the closest bathroom to change in, seeing as he didn't want to change in front of pictures of America. Things were already far too awkward between them; he didn't need to feel his eyes on him when he was undressing. As he rummaged through his bags, he sighed at the outfits he had chosen for this trip. One, in reality, he hadn't picked out that many. He was going to run out of them soon and have to ask America to wash them—ugh, the humiliation! Plus he had only picked out his usual suits to make himself look more intimidating, more powerful. But, once again seeing that the curse had gone wrong, he found this image that he had prepared was no longer needed. For a split second, he thought of maybe asking to borrow some of America's clothes, but he shoved that option to the very bottom of his list of possibilities. No way was he going to put himself at the level of needing help, especially from America. Not having any other good options in mind, England pulled out one of his simpler dress shirts and a neatly folded pair of pants. This would just have to work for now.
