The Last Kiss Goodnight

England had been gone for a whole year that time.

"The maids will even tell you, England – I waited ever so patiently!"

"Only because you didn't have a choice," England laughed, ruffling the head of hair that now reached almost to his chin. He ignored the sudden tidal wave of heartache that America was now so big – he didn't really a choice there, either. "It's not like you can do anything about it."

America tilted his head at the grief-stricken look in his big brother's eyes. Perhaps England also wished that they could swim across the ocean and see each other whenever they wanted, just as he did. Despite himself, America often found himself having the traitorous thought that England didn't miss him – that he was happy staying far away on his island to work.

But that was silly. Of course England missed him, too. As lonely as it was being apart, America knew that England wasn't doing it out of choice – only out of necessity.

"If you could choose," he began slowly, keeping his head still as England remained absently running his fingers through the honey, silk hair. "If you could choose to be here or there or to be able to be apart yet meet whenever we wished to…what would you pick?"

England, almost lost in his own little world of nostalgia, blinked and looked down at his little brother. Getting not-so-littler every time they met.

"I would have us be together. Always. Here or there, it doesn't matter where. It's just – "

Impossible.

He wanted so badly to reach out, draw the other into his arms and hold him close. But maybe America was too big for hugs now? His heart clenched in pain.

"I know: impossible," America smiled brightly, not sensing England's mood. To England's surprise, America pressed forward, head first into his brother's chest, and hugged him. "I understand. But that's okay: it was a very good answer. So that makes up for it."

England was speechless for a second, then quickly wrapped his arms around America and squeezed.

Now he really wanted to tell America that he loved him, but maybe America was too old for that. Maybe he'd think it was overly sentimental. Children didn't understand how much their guardians loved them…

"I love you very much, America," England said softly, deciding he didn't care whether America understood or not. America was his little brother: he would always want to tell him this, and it would never not be true, even when America was too old to want to hear it.

"I love you, too, England," America said into his brother's chest. He squeezed tightly, and they stayed like that for a moment, just trying to take in and memorise what it was like to be together again.

"Brother, can you come and see my horse? He's a beauty, and I've been training him so well!"

"Have you now?" said England, reluctantly pulling away from America to look down at his face. "Well, I'm eager to see. Come along and show me, then."

America beamed, took England's hand and led him away to the stables.

The day was full and wonderful.

England was dragged all over the estate as America showed him the changes that had occurred over the past twelve months. How the river had flooded last spring and was now two smaller rivers; how well the little vegetable patch they had planted together was doing; the progress America had made in his carpentry projects.

"Oh, and tomorrow, I simply must show you the design I've been working on for a new gun!"

"A gun?" England exclaimed, almost choking as he took his last bite of dessert. "America, you're much too young to be designing weapons! I like the work you're doing on your other inventions. I think you should focus on them."

"But you told me that story about how you were making bows and arrows out of twigs when you lived on your own in the forest, and you were much younger than I am now!" America complained.

England set his fork down and scratched at his chin. "But I had no choice," he said, trying to avoid an argument. "I was alone, having to fend for myself. You needn't worry about weapons. It's peace time here, and I will protect you, come what may."

America wanted to argue, but with the way England was looking at him he couldn't find the will to speak up. England just wanted to be a good big brother and protect him, and naturally that meant that America wouldn't need weapons. America was old enough to understand that. It wasn't that England didn't trust him.

It was all right. One day he would be old enough that England would realise America could take care of himself, just as England had. Then they could still be brothers, but they would be equals, too. America didn't always want to be considered a baby brother, after all, but it was okay if he was just the younger one.

"Now, time for bed, don't you think?"

"No," America smiled cheekily.

England laughed and chased him off to bed, America scampering away in mock terror, leaving a laugh echoing behind him.

"How long will you be here this time, England?" America asked. He had been avoiding it, not really wanting to know because then the clock would be ticking in his head all the while. But he had to know. How much time did they have?

"Only a month, I'm afraid, my love," said England, avoiding looking at America's crestfallen face. "But…I can try to come back sooner next time, to make up for it."

America nodded mutely, fingers fiddling with the bed cover tucked around him.

"I'm sorry, England. I shouldn't have asked," he said guiltily. He wasn't too perceptive when it came to people, living so remotely as he did. But he could tell by England's drooped shoulders and downturned head that England didn't want to think about it anymore than he did.

He sat up and reached out to embrace the bigger nation sitting on the edge of his bed.

"We will have a wonderful time. And I will make a note of everything you tell me to do before your next visit, so I can impress you even more when you return again."

England leant into America's arms, and hugged him back around the waist.

He wasn't just big. America was getting so grown up.

"That's very mature of you, America," he said, knowing America would delight at hearing such a compliment, even though it tore at England's heart to see his little brother becoming an adult.

Adult life for nations was even worse than their childhoods.

But sure enough, America wriggled in glee, beaming as he snuggled back into bed.

"Now, goodnight, America. And sweet dreams."

"Goodnight, England!"

And without giving it a second thought, England leant down and kissed his little brother on the lips.

It was what they did after every goodnight. They had always done so, and they thought nothing of it.

Until this time.

As their lips touched, England knew something was off. He pulled back quickly, hoping it wasn't too quickly as to startle America. Perhaps the boy hadn't felt anything wrong with it.

But no. America's eyes were the same as his own must be: wide and surprised and a little confused.

It just felt wrong. A kiss on the cheek perhaps, maybe on the forehead. But kissing on the lips was wrong now. America may not be too big yet for hugs and "I love you"s – but their goodnight kiss was over. For good.

And as England left the room in an awkward hurry, he felt his heart break, knowing that the hugs and "I love you"s wouldn't be far behind.

A/N:

Written for the USUK Olympics on LiveJournal.