A/N: Hello again. I'm back with another ansty oneshot! Many thanks to my beta Kei Lawliet and to all those who have reviewed or favourited my stories! This one's for you guys.

Warnings: Angst, maybe a tab bit OOC, USUK

Two nations stood in strained silence, staring at each other and standing in the entryway of an old English house. There were no noises but the creaking of the house in the wind.

Alfred broke the silence by clearing his throat and sliding on his jacket. He smiled softly at Arthur, who scoffed in response.

"I hate you. You know that, don't you, git?"

Blue eyes blinked before lips slowly spread into a strained grin. A short, self-depreciating chuckle escaped as Alfred murmured a weary, "I know, ya' tell me every day, Artie."

Arthur shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking to the ground instead of Alfred.

"Good. Yes. Of course," he said with a terse nod.

Alfred worried his bottom lip between his teeth as he stared at Arthur, watching him wring his hands as dull (they always used to look so bright!) emerald eyes wandered aimlessly about the room. Something about the slump of Arthur's shoulders and the timid tone of his voice concerned Alfred.

"Arthur, are you okay?"

Arthur's head snapped up at the question, his gaze taking in the other's concerned face. His chest tightened in guilt and… something else.

Swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, Arthur looked away again, "I'm f-fine, you git! What are you still doing here?" He sputtered, the guilt churning in his stomach and making him nauseous.

With a delayed soft smile, Alfred winked. "I guess I'll head out, then. Ya' know the Hero's always here if ya' ever need to talk!"

Arthur scoffed, staring at the "50" on Alfred's retreating back.

"Good riddance, you arrogant prat."

Please don't leave.

"Why don't you come prepared for the next meeting, eh?"

I didn't mean any of it.

"The other countries already think you're an idiot, you know,"

I think you're amazing.

"Or do you just not care?"

Don't ever change.

Alfred paused at the door, his hand resting in the empty doorframe. He turned back with a smile.

"You know me, Artie! Not a chance."

Arthur couldn't help but smirk, and Alfred responded with a cheesy (fake, Arthur noted) grin as he turned on his heel and left the house.

The door clicked shut, and only then did Arthur sink to the floor.

"Yes, Alfred, I do know you. But not well enough."

I love you.

Alfred slammed his front door shut as soon as he walked in, and threw his leather bomber jacket unceremoniously in a corner.

His chest heaved with each rapid breath he took and his legs trembled as he held himself upright. Alfred wondered if running all the way from the airport was a smart idea, after all.

Shuffling into the adjacent living room, Alfred dropped onto a dark, leather couch. The room was dark, and the moonlight streaming though window blinds cast eerie shadows on the walls. Carpeted floors were littered with magazines, soda bottles and food wrappers.

A clock ticked loudly on the wall, and Alfred watched the second hand move on its path with a frown. He was tired. So very tired.

He was tired of being insulted again and again.

He was tired of leaving with Arthur hiding things from him.

He was tired of trying to gain Arthur's affection, only to have his heart broken.

Before Alfred knew where he was going, he was on his feet and going down the stairs two at a time.

The musky smell of dust and earth greeted Alfred as he stood in the storage room. Boxes were stacked against the walls, and piles of old souvenirs sat, forgotten, in corners.

Alfred moved over to a certain stack of boxes, and rummaged through its contents until he found what he was unconsciously searching for.

There. It was an old black and white picture of himself with Arthur next to him, both smiling at the camera. Back when he was a colony, and Arthur was happy.

A tear left a clear streak on the dirty frame, and only then did Alfred realize he was crying. It was a hopeless cause; he'd never get Arthur to smile like that again.

Alfred threw the picture as hard as he could, the frame shattering as it hit the opposite wall. Blue eyes widened, and Alfred stifled a sob upon realizing what he had done, but his gaze landed on an old tea set he had been given so long ago…

Grabbing onto the tray that held it, Alfred hurled the tea set, flinching at the harsh clattering of breaking porcelain.

Box after box Alfred threw, the crashing and commotion distracting him from his thoughts; this is hopeless. I can't do it. He hates me. I've ruined everything.

Memory after memory flew from his hands, breaking into tiny pieces, and he longed to forget everything that had ever gone wrong, to forget anything that had to do with him… because it was just too painful.

After an hour, Alfred stood in what remained of his storage room. Boxes had toppled to the ground, and glass crunched under Alfred's boots as he made his way to the first picture he had thrown.

His face was calm, expressionless, as he crouched down and slid the picture out from underneath broken glass. Staring at those smiling faces, Alfred felt the corners of his lips twitch into a small grin. Looking around the room, Alfred shook his head.

This isn't me. He thought, standing up.

I'm a hero. And heroes never falter under the weight of their problems. Even with a heavy heart, they carried on with a smile; never giving up, never failing, and never breaking.

Sighing, Alfred smiled to himself. He grabbed a broom from the corner of the room and ran a hand through his hair.

He had a lot of cleaning up to do.

Reviews would make me very happy. I'm considering writing a second part as a conclusion - yes or no?