So, like, Valentine's Day. Sweethearts Week. I did a thing. Again. Whoops.

This is a collection of unrelated one-shots.

Loves Me, Loves Me Not

GarryxMrChairFan

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A/N: Written for USUK Sweethearts Week 2015. Prompt: "Valentine's Day; work must be themed around Valentine's Day in some way, shape, or form."

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Day 1: Secret Admirer

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The doors to the conference room nearly came off their hinges as they slammed into the wall, and Canada looked over lazily as the ball of hyperactive energy that was his brother barreled into the room, expression frantic and suit rumpled.

"Mattie!"America cried, flopping down into his chair next to his brother's, and Canada sighed. "Dude, the hero totally needs your help!"

"What is it now, Al?" Canada shifted in his chair, knocking Kumajiro's hand away from his notes. "I told you I'm not risking incarceration to get you a burger because they banned you."

America blinked, looking confused for a minute, before slumping over on the long conference table. "Nah, I ate, like, an entire bag on the way here. No, I need your help with this!" Sitting up, America produced several pieces of actual yellowed parchment from the inside of his jacket, folded in half with "My Dearest America" in swirling cursive on the front of each.

Canada took them, looking one over carefully, before glancing back up at his brother, his glasses slipping down his nose. "Are these what I think they are?" A smile played on the corners of his lips, and he couldn't help a chuckle at the look of helplessness on America's face.

"They're love notes, Mattie!" he stage whispered, nearly sneering at the paper. "I've been finding them on the floor by my door in the hallway! It's been going on since the meetings started. No one's ever around, and I don't recognize the handwriting! At first I thought it was just someone wanting to mess with me, but they keep showing up!"

Canada continued hiding his sniggers as he opened the one in his hand, looking down to read it.

Roses are the deepest of red,
Your eyes an ocean of blue.
But nothing is as pure or everlasting
As my undying love for you.

It was signed "Yours Always", and Canada set it down to pick up another.

Shall I compare thee to the summer's days?
My breath is taken at your lovely smile;
The warmth it brings surrounding me always.
I wish to see it more than for a while.

He set that one down and looked at another, seeing much of the same. All were signed the same, and all spoke of different features the admirer adored about his brother, from his physical features to his personality, to even his ideals and ideas. Canada couldn't help the soft smile on his lips.

"Looks like you have an admirer, Al." America pouted at him, and he rolled his eyes as his brother stuffed the notes — gently, he noted — back into his jacket. Other nations were beginning to show up, France sending him a wink and England making a face and hitting him as they walked in together.

"I need your help to figure out who they are, Mattie!" America gazed at him imploringly from behind his glasses.

Canada looked back at him evenly.

America gasped in outrage, and Canada couldn't stop his smile. "You know!" he accused, pointing a finger in his face. "You know who it is! Tell me, tell me, tell me!" Canada laughed as America shook him back and forth, his grip tight and unforgiving as he forgot his strength.

Canada easily removed his brother's hands, sniggering. "Not a chance, Al," he grinned. "You gotta do this on your own. What fun is it if we give you the answer?"

America pulled back, crossing his arms as he pouted again. "You're no fun," he muttered, but he sat back, look over the arriving nations, eyes narrowed as he supposedly thought about who could have possibly sent him the notes. Canada saw his cheeks flush lightly when he looked across at his former caretaker, and the Canadian smiled.

"Tell you what," he said, catching his brother's attention again. He pulled Kuma into his lap as Germany stood at the head of the table, greeting them all and informing them of the list of presenters for the day. "I'll buy you lunch for a month if you solve this by Saturday, eh?"

America grinned back at him as he was called to start the presentations, clapping him on the shoulder as he headed to the front. "I like extra bacon, loser."

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Oh, this was so one of the smartest ideas he'd ever had. Canada remained in his seat, slowly making his way through his lunch as he watched his brother across the room. America was currently trying to pretend he wasn't obviously looking at other nations' notes, comparing handwriting to the ones in his jacket. Luckily, most of the countries were just giving him strange looks but ignoring him for the most part. Canada chuckled to himself.

A body seated itself next to him a moment later, and Canada smiled over at the hulking form of Russia, who was grinning pleasantly.

"Matvey!" Russia greeted. "Why is Fredka looking through our things?"

"Because he sucks at stealth, apparently." Canada shook his head fondly. "Someone's been sending him love notes acting as a secret admirer. I bet him lunch for a month he couldn't figure it out by Valentine's this weekend."

"Ah." Russia joined him in watching America looking through a pile of papers where Hungary was sitting, his eyes darting over to her and back to keep tabs. Canada couldn't blame him — that frying pan hurt. "Matvey knows who it is, da?"

"Yeah." His eyes travelled over to the corner of the room where his own lover was in a heated argument with the British nation.

Russia nodded in understanding. "I had a feeling. Mr. England has visited the hotel much more often this time than he normally does when he hosts. I had thought they already confessed."

"That'll be the day, eh." Canada sighed. The two had been dancing around each other since the second World War, and it was starting to get frustrating to outside parties that saw them together. "Special relationship", he scoffed internally, if only.

"Who do you think will confess first?"

Canada pursed his lips, considering. "In actual words to the other's face? I'd put money on Arthur, since he's the one that's taken the initiative with the notes and all."

Russia hummed in thought. "Then I shall put money on Fredka," he decided. "He's prone to stating his feelings, whereas Mr. England is not."

Canada smiled. "You're on. And feel free to add people to the bet," he added. "I'm sure the only people who don't think they have feelings for each other are Al and Arthur themselves."

"Very well." Russia stood then, waving at him. "I'll shall be here to collect my winnings at the end of the week. We'll settle a price then, da?"

Canada nodded and waved him away, returning to his lunch with a grin.

By the end of the day, their betting pool was staggering. As he'd predicted, most of the nations besides America and England thought the two were already in a relationship, and immediately joined in the bet when they learned of the love notes and America's intentions to find out who it was. Hungary and Japan had some of the largest amounts in the bet, and they'd agreed to rig the conference hall and building with cameras, as well as America's room at the hotel and some of the rooms at England's house with cameras in hopes of catching a confession.

It was just a matter of time, at this point.

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Canada wasn't sure exactly how he was "related" to his brother, because honestly his brother was an idiot. It had been three days — three days — since all bets had been made and America had taken on the case of the "Mystery Admirer" (because apparently "secret admirer" was "too mainstream"), and… nothing.

Oh, his brother and England had certainly been together in those three days. They ate lunch together, as well as catching dinner late in the evening, and Canada had left to his former caretaker entering their shared room two of those three nights. Watching the feed from Hungary and Japan's cameras later only showed that they sat and watched TV, sometimes arguing over actors and, surprisingly, plotlines (none of them even knew America cared for that kind of thing beyond explosions and action). Just every day, friendly hanging out.

All of the nations were desperate to see them together by now, and were even beginning to drop hints. At this point, no one really cared who confessed first as long as a confession took place period. Each chance they got, all countries left the American and English nation alone, hoping to prompt the spillage of deep feelings; excuses of having to go to the bathroom, forgetting notes, needing to find another country. Even Germany had made up a story of having to bail his brother out of something when it looked like he'd be stuck with them during a split-session.

It was killing them all. And it was now Friday.

"Mon dieu! It is like they are blind! And deaf!"

Canada huffed in agreement at his lover's exclamation as he and France watched America from across the conference room. Currently, his brother was in the middle of an argument with his crush, and it only seemed to be getting worse. "What did he say this time?"

France rolled his eyes, tossing his hair as he pouted across the room. "He insulted our rosbif's scones yet again. I see where he's coming from, of course, but really. This is getting tiresome."

Canada nodded in agreement, wincing as the voices shouting grew louder.

"You uncultured git!" England yelled. "As if you would know proper, healthy food if it shoved itself right up your arse!"

"At least my food doesn't double as poison!" America scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. His face was red and he was nearly in full pout mode. Canada could see the hurt in his eyes, the regret that a simple conversation was yet again being blown out of proportion. "When was the last time someone other than you even recognized your food, huh?"

They really needed to resolve that sexual tension.

"That's rich coming from you!" England huffed, puffing his chest out. His lip trembled, though. "Everything you eat looks like it's been digested at least once already! And it's packed with all kinds of chemicals that could mutate a lesser being." He laughed mirthlessly. "It's a wonder anyone ever appreciates dinner on you."

America gasped in outrage, looking dejected despite the fact that they'd argued about this very thing more than once before. Canada groaned lowly, laying his head on his lover's shoulder.

"This is painful," he muttered somberly. "They just need to kiss and make up already. Like, literally kiss."

"I agree, chou," France sighed. The other nations in the room had backed into walls, trying to stay out of the way of the arguing hopefully-soon-to-be-lovers-because-really-this-was-just-bullshit, but watching them all the same.

America was now right up in England's face, glaring down at him. "When was the last time you even took someone out to dinner, old man?" He sneered. "Bet you haven't had a date since your pirate days. And even then you'd've had to force it, right? Are you even capable of caring?"

England glared right back, arms firmly crossed over his chest almost protectively. His brows furrowed menacingly, and Canada was struck with a bit of unease at just how coolly he could take things. The British Empire was nothing to scoff at.

"Don't you dare say I am incapable of compassion," England said tightly. "I've loved deeper than you could even imagine in your shallow perceptions. I still do," he added quietly, looking away from the taller nation.

Canada felt France grip his arm as they listened. "Is this it?" he whispered, tone excited. "Is this torture about to end?"

Canada glanced around the room, and nearly everyone was intently watching the two nations closely. Both Hungary and Japan had cameras out, ready for anything. Russia caught his eye and smiled. He turned back to France. "Let's hope."

America was quiet, gazing at England with sad blue eyes. "I'm sorry, Artie," he said quietly, and there was nearly a collective intake of air from the other side of the room. "I didn't – I…" He took a breath, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't mean that. That was wrong of me to say. I just…"

"It's fine, Alfred," England began, but America cut him off.

"No, it's not," he asserted, turning a frown on the British nation. "You're one of the most caring people I know, and I had no right to say that. You give so much of yourself for everyone else, and all we do is make fun of you like that. What kind of hero am I when I'm no better than the rest?" He sighed, sticking a hand in his pocket and then pulling it right back out and looking awed at the tiny little notes he'd grabbed.

England looked at them and stilled, glancing up at the superpower with wide eyes. "W-What are those?"

America looked back at him, but didn't seem to notice his sudden panic. He smiled wanly. "Oh. Just some notes I've been getting. For Valentine's, ya know?" He chuckled, smiling at the little pieces of paper. "Not sure if it was just a joke or if the sender was serious, though. Haven't been able to figure it out."

"Ah." England shifted, looking anywhere but at America, and Canada just wanted to smash their faces together. "Do you… Would you rather them be real or a joke?" he asked.

America looked thoughtful for a moment. "I'm not sure, really. I mean, I'm kinda already in love with someone," he admitted, flushing to his ears. "I have been for… a while. Forever, feels like. At least if it was a joke I wouldn't be letting anyone down."

"Oh?" England's shoulders slumped, his expression falling slightly. "W-Well, have you told them yet?"

His brother shifted uncomfortably; Canada felt ready to smack his head into the nearest wall. "Nah." America forced a light chuckle. "Pretty sure they don't like me back, anyway, so…"

"If you haven't asked, how do you know?" England pressed. "Maybe they return your feelings."

"Have you told who you're in love with?" America shot back.

"Well, no…"

"Why not?" England remained silent, and America nodded as if that confirmed everything. "Not that easy, Artie."

"It could be," England said, looking up at America. Canada held his breath. "It could be as easy as three words. Or." Reaching into his own pocket, the British nation pulled out what looked like a folded piece of paper, looking at it before holding it out to America.

America stared at it for a moment, a look of confusion on his face as he took it. "What is it?" He looked down, and the expression of utter bewilderment that came over him was absolutely priceless. Canada really wanted to see it, to see what it said, but part of him thought he knew.

"Artie?"

"Or it could be as easy as sending a note," England said softly. "My dearest America, my Alfred, my hero. May you find love and happiness to last forever. You're eternally in my heart, and I wish more than anything I'm in yours, too. Yours always."

"Awww," France cooed bedside him, and Canada smiled. "That was magnifique! He certainly has a way with words."

America was stunned. The note was held loosely in his hand, threatening to flutter to the ground. "Artie… I…"

"I love you, Alfred," England interrupted, cheeks red and gaze on the American. "I have for a long, long time. I only wish I'd had the courage to tell you sooner. I understand if you don't—"

A collective squeal sounded from the corner of the room as America stepped forward, cutting the British nation off with a kiss. Applause, shouts of victory, and groans of defeat made half-hearted by the breaking of tension filled the room as England's arms slid around the American's neck, holding him close. Finally. Catching Russia's gaze, Canada smiled sweetly, leaning into his lover.

He so called it.