England simply didn't get how America could be so dense, on top of other things.

He was loud and pretty obnoxious most of the time. At every meeting, he would start by shoving his ideas about being a 'hero' and 'saving the day or some other utterly rubbish idea. (He hadn't been raised like that, England would think to himself.) Unfortunately, despite his constantly irritating presence...

Arthur was (still) madly in love with him.

And America (still) didn't have a bloody clue.

Granted, America didn't even know how to get most anywhere in the world, so perhaps it was understandable that he was oblivious to any of the subtle advances Arthur had made over the years. Arthur wasn't the type to simply go out of the way to make any advance painfully noticeable. Nor frequent. But they were there.

The first try at expressing love towards the other nation had been while America had been a young man. Back then, things were so much easier- the younger colony had always been so eager to please. While America wasn't quite to the point of understanding what kind of relationship England was planning with him, the seeds of it had begun to be planted in his heart. However, England never got the chance to encourage that kind of love to bloom between them, because of...that incident.

Afterwards, their relationship had considerably soured for quite some time, and only in the last century had England resumed his subtle gestures to a dim America.

During the World War was a prime example. Arthur would come, bicker with Alfred on tactics, on troops, on maneuvers, on everything you could imagine. Alfred would simply shoot right back with his loud mouth, waving his arms up and down, and trying to shove whatever idea was opposite of Arthur's. And even during those times of tenseness, where England felt nothing more than an urge to kick America back across the pond... he still had tried to give America a clue how he truly felt. Slight touches. A brush on the hand. A steady gaze.

None of these which were picked up by Alfred.

Again, World War 2. England was once again in the same dance with America. But when those planes hit Japan, Arthur had to all but force his former ward into a semblance of collected revenge, instead of the frightening fury he had developed into overnight. The younger nation had indeed become the 'sleeping giant' everyone had been terrified of. England had comforted him in his own way, bickered the rest, but still had looked out for him. Even in a time so desperate in his own country.

By the end of the war, Arthur simply had all but given up on every having Alfred ever understand his feelings towards him. They were locked in the war of misunderstanding. England was unable to express himself so strongly to America without knowing if that love was returned, and America was simply too self absorbed to even realized he was being pursued.

So it came as an utter surprise to England when one evening he actually outright tried. Perhaps all these years of frustrated waiting had finally demanded an answer.

Said answer seeking had been inspired when he had been drinking with America after a grueling world conference in London. The circumstances hadn't been different from any other instance where he and America had gone to the pub. At the time, he had been extremely drunk, while a somehow still-sober America watched on. This was also staple occurrence every time the two countries would go drinking together, (bloody Alfred and his ability to process liquor.)

The combination of alcohol and lowered inhibitions, Arthur finally made an actual pass at Alfred. He didn't understand so much why he chose now, as not earlier, or later… but somehow, NOW was the time.

200 years later, America still was clueless. America had laughed at him, patted him on the back, and grinned with his same, beaming smile as he commented to Arthur,

"England, you're gonna feel like shit tomorrow."

But the American hadn't rejected him. Even after Arthur had trailed his hand down near the lonely state of Florida, America had simply shifted away. No shout, no curse, no tearing out of the establishment. He just acted like it hadn't happened. All was evident was a slight flush of the face, an ever so slight intake of the breath- and one more drink later, the two of them leaving the pub, America escorting the drunken nation home.

By then, England was so hammered he could barely focus on walking, letting alone trying again. Only when he reached the doorstep did he even bother a second shot.

"Stay wiff me," he mumbled, with a pathetic look in America's direction. Despite his intoxication, the feeling that pulled on his heart was reminiscent of when he had told a small colony the same thing. But Alfred had left him all those years ago. Left him in the rain with his bloody Revolution-

"England, I got a flight out of Heathrow tomorrow morning. Y'know, American hero type stuff going down in Washington. I can't miss it." The blue eye winked at him, and England's stomach lurched. Arthur had then grabbed America to steady himself. He distantly recalled Alfred tensing up immensely at the touch, and a small, choked off noise.

But once again, America didn't shove him off. He simply used that godawful strength of his to pry England off him, walk him into his flat, and set him up on the couch. By then England was feeling drowsy, so he barely cared, only mumbling nonsensically to America.

The last thing he recalled was the half-dreamed feeling of someone gently running fingers through his hair.

And then, the sound of the door shutting.