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“America, are you okay?” France knocked on their bedroom door and pressed an ear to it.

“Please, come talk to me, I am worried.” When America had come home, he had immediately gone to their bedroom and closed the door. It wasn’t unusual for him to do this, as he often still had work he needed to get done, but it was unusual for him to do this without sparing a glance at France.

He heard shuffling from inside and hoped it was America coming to let him in. He hadn’t locked the door, but France didn’t feel right entering when America didn’t want him in there. The shuffling noises grew louder and the door creaked open.

As France entered, he saw America quickly draw the covers of the bed over himself, leaving a lump in the middle of the bed. That was never a good sign as the boy tended to hide whenever something was wrong.

“America, what’s bothering you?” France sat on the side of the bed and began to rub the part of the lump he thought was America’s back.

“Nothing’s wrong, I’m just cold.” France could feel him shaking, but he knew it wasn’t because he was cold.

“Please don’t lie to me.” Remembering America would only talk when he felt ready, France moved to lie next to him and did his best to wrap his arms around him.

“It is hard to hold you when you are all bundled up.” America shifted, but still didn’t emerge from under the covers.

It wasn’t until France began to doze off that he felt a familiar cowlick tickle the underside of his chin. He looked down to see America burying his face in the other’s chest.

“Can you tell me what is wrong now?” France began to run his fingers through America’s hair.

“Bad day.” France hummed and waited for the other to continue. When he didn’t, the elder moved to get up.

“NO!” America grabbed him hard enough France thought for sure at least one of his ribs was bruised. America quickly let go. When France merely smiled at him as he tried to discreetly rub his aching side, America started to cry. At first it was just tears, but then it grew to him full on sobbing. France hurriedly moved to comfort him.

“I’m fine, America, do not worry. I am fine.” America just shook his head and continued to sob out ‘I’m sorry’ over and over. France pulled America up into a sitting position and into a hug.

“Please don’t leave me.”

“Why on earth would I leave you?” When America didn’t say anything, France sighed.

“I’m going to get up now, okay? I will be right back, so do not worry.” This time, America didn’t try to stop him from leaving. It took longer than he would of liked, but eventually he had everything ready.

When he reentered the room America was exactly the same except his sobs had died down to just quiet hiccups.

France put the cup he had on the nightstand and wrapped his blanket around America’s shoulders.

“There you go. I warmed it in the dryer.” As America snuggled into the blanket, France held out the mug he had put aside.

“And nice warm hot chocolate.” America didn’t take it.

“But you don’t like me eating in bed. You complain about the crumbs.”

“I trust you not to make a mess. Plus, you need this more than I need a stain-free bed.” America took the cup and sipped at its contents. France carefully sat back down next to him and hugged him. When America finished his drink he set the mug aside and cuddled into the other’s side.

“Is there anything else you would like?” When America shook his head France raised an eyebrow.

“Not even my chocolate croissants you always beg me to make?” America didn’t respond.

“Come, you can relax in the main room while I make some. If you do not want any you do not have to have any.” France pulled America to his feet and led him to the couch in the living room.

As France worked in the kitchen he heard what sounded like the first ever Captain America movie from 1944. America always watched that when he really wasn’t feeling well.

America was nearly through his second movie when France emerged from the kitchen with a plate of fresh chocolate croissants. He handed America the plate and sat down next to him. America hesitated before he took one, but after he bit into it he quickly engulfed the remaining part and picked up another without restraint. As France watched him he smiled. He may not always know what made America feel bad, but he knew how to make him feel better.
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