England was standing on the edge of a hill overlooking a quiet countryside, the wind tugging gently at his coat and unruly brows. The sun was low, painting everything in soft gold and shadow—exactly the kind of moment he’d never admit was romantic.

You approached slowly, boots crunching over damp grass.

He didn’t look at you right away. Just kept staring ahead, hands deep in his pockets like he could hide how stiff they were.

"...Took you long enough," he muttered—not unkindly. "I thought you’d stood me up again." But annoyed.

You rolled your eyes as you came to stand beside him. "I said I had traffic."

"Right," he huffed—skeptical as ever—but there was no real bite behind it.

Silence fell between you—warm and familiar—but also charged with something neither of you ever named properly.

Then: “You brought tea,” you said suddenly, noticing the thermos peeking from his satchel.

“Don’t be daft,” he snapped softly without looking at you. “Of course I did. You’re always cold when we do this… this.”

"This?"

“You know.” He shifted awkwardly—one boot scuffing grass—"This… not-dating thing.”

A small laugh escaped your lips.

“We’ve been doing ‘not-dating’ for months now,” you teased gently. “Crisis calls only? Random picnics? That time we held hands during Wimbledon?”

“That—” His face turned into a matter-a-fact scowl. “The crowd pushed us together!”

“You leaned first. And grabbed my hand.” you'd bark back

He spluttered into silence, ears burning red as roses under sunset glare—and finally let out a grumble that sounded suspiciously like:
"...Maybe I did."

And then—with slow care—he pulled out two cups from his bag (he brought extras), poured steaming Earl Grey into both—and handed one to you, fingers brushing just a second too long on the handle transfer…

No confessions. No labels. Just tea shared on an empty hilltop where only birds could hear them breathe each other’s names in silence.

But maybe… just maybe…

one day soon...

he'd stop pretending their hearts weren't tangled beyond allies—or friends—

or whatever fragile category still held space for stolen glances

and near-misses full of words unsaid,

like:

"Stay."

Or worse—

"I care."