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Author's Note: De-anon from Kinkmeme.
Oh Harry Potter.
The night creaked through the room, and America gave a half-yawn, rolling slightly the other way, and curling his arms about the pillow that England had very cunningly placed there. Meanwhile, England was scrambling all about the room in search of one of his shirts. Failing to find it, he picked up a stray of America's and pulled the oversized (too much, too much) button-up over his head, gave his hair a scruff, and carefully slipped downstairs and outside.
Walking past the pool determinedly, England sized up the door of the sauna. It was dark, but not hot – no, instead the darkness lathered a slight chill on his bare legs, and with that in mind, he seized the door handle and wrenched it open. And there, on the bench where America had let them drop, are the two pieces of Texas.
Picking them up gently, England tapped them once with his second and third fingers, and murmured under his breath; "Oculus repairo."
A satisfied smile crept over his face as the glasses are repaired, and England clicked the sauna switch off – all but blushing at the energy wastage – and retreating back upstairs to the sleeping America. Perched the glasses on the bedside table, and forcibly wrestled the pillow away from the sleeping America, and curled America back across him, snuggled up to the warm just-right heat of America and settled down to get back to sleep.