A/N: Ahh... I don't actually like this very much. But I saw that there were practically no England/Liechtenstein fics on here, save the one that's generally friendship orientated (though mine isn't much different) and just had to upload it. So, yeah. This is really short, I know, only like five hundred words or something... but it was just meant to be kinda short and sweet. Like I said, I'm not too fond of how it turned out, but I hope you are! Kindly read and review, please. :)

YEAH, YEAH, DISCLAIMER, YEAH. I DON'T OWN HETALIA, YEAH, YEAH, YEAH. xDD

"Why didn't you go with the others?"

It was strange that, even though he had known that that question would inevitably be asked, he hadn't actually given any thought as to how he would answer it.

England didn't dare look up, for he knew that as soon as his eyes met her own, large, emerald ones he would be unable to lie; and he wasn't planning on telling the truth. But unfortunately, even just feeling her soft, questioning gaze compelled him to do exactly that.

"I... don't like the beach."

"Oh? Why?"

She asked him all these questions with the innocent intention of trying to get to know him better, but in actuality each one was dropping on his shoulders a heavy weight and pushing her further and further away from her goal.

"I don't really know," he lied quietly, "I guess I just like the cold better..."

She paused.

"Ah. Well, that's another thing we have in common then!"

Instantly the weights dissolved. He turned his head to face her, to see the adorable smile that she was giving him, and he had to fight a flush from crawling up his cheeks but even so he couldn't help but smile back.

Now that was something that puzzled him; whenever she smiled, he felt happy, and whenever she frowned, he felt sad – like she was contagious... or something. But before he could wonder why, he caught the look of worry that she so desperately tried to conceal, and his own smile dropped instantly. Apparently she had been taking notice of his strange mannerisms and saw clearly through his terrible lies. How foolish of him to assume that it wasn't so.

She turned back to her embroidery for a moment, silent, contemplative. All the while he watched her, marvelling at just how... she was. There was something about her that he knew not of in anyone else, something that he admired immensely. It wasn't innocence – no, despite her appearance she had seen a lot of strife. But it wasn't genuineness either; oftentimes she lied. Perhaps it was just her simplicity; the way she was so straightforward, so clearly spoken, so gentle...

"Oh."

It was ever so soft, almost inaudible, but he heard it nonetheless.

He half expected her to question him, to act worried, or even to make fun of him like the others would. But the principality remained companionably silent, and England silently reprimanded himself for having thought that she would ever do anything the others did. She wouldn't.

Because there wasn't anyone like her.