You jolt up quickly, bringing yourself from the verge of sleep.
The time is 2 am. The room around you is dark and quiet. No one else is awake on this fine Saturday night. You sigh and wiggle your computer mouse to reawaken your lovely computer. The black screen lights up once more, illuminating the walls and drawing shadows across your face.
'One more message. I'll reply to one more message…then I'll go to bed…'
You click with years of practice's speed. Images flash past quickly, yet you pay no attention to them, passing the Deviant Art homepage and logging in with extreme typing speed.
'50 Feedback messages? I just replied to them all.'
You click on the little inbox and wait for it to load. The seconds seem to take forever. Your alertness decreases, your eyelids drop. Your body wants to sleep, but your mind hasn't finished its duty of replying to all feedback messages before bed, as you try to do every night. You open your eyes and focus on the screen without blinking, refusing to the Sand Man's prevail.
The page is still loading as you hear the soft sound of footsteps.
You aren't too concerned with who it is because the inbox has finally finished uploading.
Like a cat on a mouse, your hand grips the mouse tightly and swivels about, clicking and scrolling.
The footsteps, still soft, grow a little louder until they stop at the door.
You don't care. You've got messages to attend to.
Your fingers jab repeatedly at the keyboard while you chuckle at an amusing comment.
Yet from the corner of your eye, you can see the silhouette of a person. You don't turn to greet them, you need to finish this reply. It's a lengthy one, but you have to say what you need to in this one post.
"It's pretty late, love." says the person.
You hear them, but don't respond. The next message down is just as funny as the first.
The person sighs and walks over to your side, setting a hand on your shoulder as you type hurriedly.
"Don't you think you should get to bed?" the person asks.
"Not now, Arthur. I've got to finish this message."
"You've replied to enough, don't you think?" Arthur looks down at you worriedly, the screen drawing light shadows across his face and tinting his hair a light green.
"There are 48 messages left."
"I'm sure they can wait until morning…"
"It is the morning, Arthur." You scoff and begin replying to the next message. Arthur's bright emerald eyes scan over you for a moment, before he speaks again.
"This isn't healthy." His voice is small.
"Meh, its life." You shrug, brushing off his hand.
"What do you mean by that? Never mind, I don't want to know. Listen, you really should get some sleep. Then you can actually reply without making so many grammar and spelling mistakes."
You frown as you repeatedly hit "backspace". "I'm fine."
England shakes his head. "You need to sleep. You really shouldn't sit at the computer for so long."
"I love you, Iggy." You say absently, scrolling down the profile of your newest +Watcher.
"I love you, too, which is why you're getting off of this computer!"
Arthur grabs your arm from the mouse. Your eyes sharply look at his hand around your arm.
"Let me go, England! There are people who need me!"
He shakes the mouse out of your hand. You gasp and try to cling onto something. Sadly, there's nothing to grab onto. Arthur pulls you out of the chair, a stern look upon his face.
"Oi! Let me go! I haven't got to reply to—"
"No, you aren't getting back on the internet!"
He wraps his arms around you tightly, restraining you from getting away. You whine and try to push him away but to no avail.
"Let me go, Arthur!"
You move around frantically, trying to break his grasp. Only thing you actually do is break his balance and the both of you go tumbling onto the floor.
Arthur impulsively lets you go upon hitting the cold floor. He stares up at the ceiling for a second, apparently stunned. As he sits up, he finds that you've sat down once again, typing furiously.
"That isn't healthy." he insists, getting to his feet.
"Drugs aren't healthy. This is perfectly fine."
"You can't be serious…"
"Serious about what?"
"You have a problem."
"Darn right I do! I forgot to update the story I'm writing! People keep asking about it and everything!"
"No, I mean you have a problem with the internet."
"Yeah, we just talked about the issue."
"Will you listen to me?" he asks sharply. You stop typing and slowly turn your head to him. He stands with his arms crossed, his face stern, and his deep blue cotton pajamas looking as sharp on him as ever.
"Okay, I'm listening, Artie."
"You've got a serious problem with that website 'Deviant Art', love. Do you even remember when you first at down at the computer?"
"My point exactly. You've sat there for nine hours. You haven't eaten dinner either. You've got serious bags under your eyes. You complain about your back hurting and being tired. You don't talk about anything else BUT the internet. Do you understand where I'm getting at?" Arthur's stern face softens into a caring, loving one. It is then that you realize that he just might be right.
"Uh…well, it has been a while." You scratch your head.
"Please, (Name). Come to bed."
"I dunno…I mean…my friend won't get offline and she keeps replying to me..."
Arthur calmly walks over and leans on you, reaching for the mouse.
"Tell her goodnight."
But after a second of you looking at the screen in utter horror and dismay, he pecks the keys himself and sends the message. Then he X's out the browser and powers off the computer. He turns the dials on the speakers so that they're off and pushes the power button on the computer screen.
"Come on," he says softly and affectionately. "Let's get you ready for bed."
You look at the blank screen for a second longer before sighing and allowing him to help you stand. Your legs are weak and your back hurts a little. England takes your hand gently and guides you out of the room.
"We'll start by getting you dinner, okay?"
You don't answer him. You just tiredly allow him to drag you to the kitchen.
He sits you at the table and begins to prepare soup.
"Finland brought over some carrot soup earlier, but you missed him."
"Th-thanks…" You smile, staring down at the table.
"That's what I'm here for, isn't it?" He pours the soup into the bowl with a ladle.
"To keep me from having obsessions?"
"No, to love you."
"I love you, too, England."
"That isn't exactly the answer I was hoping for, but alright, I'll take it." Arthur chuckles and turns back to you.
But to his surprise, you've laid your head onto the table and are sound asleep. With a smile, he shakes his head.
"Good night, love."