"Oh, so this was all your bloody fault." England sat the chair upright, finally giving France the dirty glare he'd been saving all day. He gave a scoff. "I wouldn't buy anything for you, you moronic French scum."
Without a second thought, Arthur grabbed Francis' hands and slammed the pies into his face, then used the moment of Francis' shock to quickly drag America into the coat room. He leaned back against the door, knowing France would be after him shortly, looking around for something to bar the door with.
He came across an empty coat hanger and positioned it against the knob, then leaned back again and sighed, looking up at the sleeping Alfred. "You'd better be sleeping well."
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