Eerm... this is a fic I wrote ages ago. ^^ (last year or something... I think) and I just saw it and... well... yeah.

I Love USUK angst, and so this happened. It's based on the Doujin by Kaiten Mokugyou - Yakusoku no Millenium (Promise of the Millenium). As for the flashback scenes, they're USUK subtexts from Official(?) releases. (Valentines Special, Drama CD, the scones are obvious. yeah ^^)

^^;;

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.

He knows.

"C-Cold…" he whispered, barely audible as he curled further into himself at the freezing breeze in passing.

"I won't do anything" a voice called out, nearly making him jump. Slowly, hesitantly, he turned around to face the beautiful blue that was Alfred's eyes.

The other's face was impassive, unreadable behind that constant smile, and he couldn't help the flush colouring his cheeks as he tried to stutter out an outraged form of explanation, trying to clear some sort of misunderstanding that, in all honestly, truly wasn't a misunderstanding.

Alfred's expression never changed.

England couldn't deny the sinking feeling, deep within his abdomen, that he knows.

It's Valentine's Day… "H-Hey America…" he choked out, keeping his nerves in order as he clutched the delicately wrapped confection in his hand, not quite outstretched…"About those chocolates you wanted…"

"Chocolates?" the American turned to him, the very sweets near overflowing in the young man's arms, opened and half-eaten.

Arthur felt his stomach drop at the sight.

The curiosity the question in itself, might've entailed never did reach Alfred's bright blue orbs, so plain and knowing.

And somehow eager.

And England knows that he's making an absolute fool of himself still acting on this deranged fantasy of his, considering the painfully obvious acts of rejection being thrown right to his face, the humiliation he feels he receives at every instance... a sound reaching his inner ears that may just be his poor, deluded heart breaking each and every time.

"Yuck! Seriously England, these scones are disgusting!" Alfred never fails to exclaim whenever he's presented with Arthur's home cooking.

"I-If they're so horrible then don't eat them you git!" And as Arthur feels as if a razor-sharp knife lodges itself into his chest with every insult that comes from the American's mouth, he wonders why he still bothers…

And yet the younger Nation still eats them…

But in the end he still clings; clings to the shattered pieces of his feelings, clings to the slightest chances, hoping. Thinking that it's alright, it's not outright rejection if I don't confess, and I never plan to.

I can just pretend that my love is forever unrequited. He refuses to acknowledge a certain frog's words ("You kno Anglettere, ze most beautiful love iz always Unrequited, we?") and immediately dismisses it from his mind.

And pretend he does, and continues to do. Mending and mending the fragments of his heart as it breaks and breaks and breaks.

It's alright.

I don't need his acknowledgement of my feelings.

I can love him as much as I want from afar, undeterred by anything that may come to pass.

This is enough. He thinks, even as he watches that person laugh and smile in the presence of other nations, of everyone else. The brightest, most prominent and genuine of all reserved, it seemed to England, only in the company of Japan; the island nation, much like England himself, whom had once been his own treasured friend, long ago.

He doesn't feel jealous. No.

Perhaps a little disheartened, a little hurt. But he pays it little heed.

For, really, what could he expect? He smiles sardonically to himself and immediately takes his leave.

But fate has forever been a cruel mistress.

As a nation, an old nation who's seen the passage of time, the wars, the plagues, whom experienced loss too much to count… whom once became an empire that fell due only to the rebellion of a single colony… the same person whom he still clings to now…

He should've known this most of all.

And yet he finds himself crying and breaking and hurting (all inside. all hidden and out of sight. As he has long since trained himself to do.) as America, his beloved, precious little brother –no more– the person his heart continues to yearn for despite all… confronts him, out of the blue.

His signature smile, always so wide, so bright, nowhere to be seen on his handsome features as he tells England to stop.

Stop…

Ah… there it was again, the sound of something shattering just within his ears, his chest constricting painfully and he can hardly breathe.

"W-what? S…Sto— W-What on earth are you talking about America?"He speaks through the huge lump in his throat, his voice breaking as he tries to ignore how his world is shattering all around him. Inside he is praying, begging… No. No… Please no!

And America is all too serious. His eyes the colour of a cloudless sky perfectly unreadable as he speaks, all too bluntly "You know what I'm talking about England. And I want you to stop."

It takes all of England's will power to keep his tears at bay, his heart hammering much too loudly in his chest that he fears the younger nation is able to hear it. "I-I really don't u-understand… Am-merica…?" he flinches as a hand crashed roughly by the side of his head, and he noticed quite fearfully that he was trapped in the cage of the other's strong arms, his back to the wall.

"Don't England!" America all but yells, a touch of warmth, a touch of grief flashing through bright blue orbs as it gazes down, straight into England's emerald green. "Don't do this to yourself… Please…Just… just don't" he says, his voice pained and broken, almost begging, and England could feel the damn in his flooding eyes slowly crumbling.

Tears slowly trickled down the island nation's pale cheeks as the tall American unexpectedly pulled him into an embrace, the young man's arms trembling around him, and all he can think of is What? What's happening?

"A-Ameri…ca?"

"I Love You"

His eyes widened, terror filling his very being as he heard those words. No… No. I must be mistaken. I'm only hearing things. A crooked smile spread across his lips, his body nearly shaking in the warmth of the embrace. He did not— It's not… No… the smile dropped, and tears began to flow freely from his emerald eyes as America pulled back, looking at him with determined sky-coloured orbs…

A familiar look. The very same look, two hundred years ago…

I'm not a child anymore. Nor your little brother.

I'm independent from you.

The island nation's shaking only worsened as those eyes bore deep inside him. Breaking down everything. All his defences, his barriers, his soul. No.

"I Love You, England. I Love you."

And just like that, for the second time since that wretched day, England's world shattered.