I am so sorry
This is so cliche I can't even
Tbh this feels really rushed, so sorry if it kinda sucks >.<
Since yesterday, the personification of England, was a mess. Tissues were everywhere, he was rolled up in at least 500 layers of blankets, and he wasn't even in his bed. No, he wasn't depressed or anything, he was just terribly, horribly, sick. He'd been used to getting severe colds from time to time, it wasn't really anything out of the ordinary. He was an island famous for rain after all. But it was much worse than usual this time. Last night he had fallen asleep on the couch, and now lacked the strength to get up and go to bed. Not only was the couch starting to ge uncomfrotable, but he was bored out of his mind. He might have turned on the TV if the remote wasn't broken, that would have at least kept his boredom away. But his stupid American friend had decided to barge over and watch a horror movie with the Brit, who tried refusing profusely. Everyone knows how bad America is with movies, and he inevitably broke the remote with his idiotic strength trying to turn the bloody TV off. He had a TV in his room but again, he couldn't get up without getting dizzy and falling over. He just thanked the lord that he didn't have to use the bathroom at all.
At the moment the poor Brit was in the middle of trying to get as comfortable as possible on his couch, while having absolutely no success at all. And to add to the frustration, his phone rang. 'You've got to be bloody kidding me.' He growled to himself. His throat was on fire, and answering the phone required talking, and he did not want to do that, at all.
"Hello?" He picked up the phone impatiently, probably sounding like a grumpy troll.
"Bonjour, mon amour."
Thank the Tardis, it was only France. And England just couldn't bring himself to stay mad at him for something as trivial as this.
"Hi." He murmured quietly, trying to be easy on his throat.
"I just wanted to let you know zhat I'm getting off a plane in London at zhe moment, I 'ope you don't mind." France teased. Don't get him wrong, England absolutely loved and adored surprised visits from his overly-affectionate boyfriend, but he wasn't really looking forward to having any company today.
"Oh that's great."
"Something zhe matter, Angleterre?"
"I'm just dying is all."
"Ah, you're sick?"
"Yes."
"Well I should be zhere in about...30 minutes?"
"Take your time please."
"Non, you're sick, I'm going to rush."
"Really, I'll be fine."
"See you in a bit~"
"Wait France-"
Click.
England groaned and buried his face in a pillow. He preferred taking care of himself and being alone when he was sick, and he definitely didn't need the bloody frog to come over and taunt him about how terrible he looked. He prayed he didn't look too pitiful.
~Time skip~
Just when England thought he might be able to get some sleep, he heard a knock at the door. He groaned and pulled his blanket up to his nose, knowing he wasn't going to get any sympathy for the next ten minutes or so. He heard a thump from upstairs and saw a blur of orange and white trot by the couch and over to the door to see who was there. His cat hissed when it opened and backed against the wall, his folded ears flat.
