England was angry.

No, he was more than angry.

He was furious.

Along with quite a number of other emotions, of course. Things like sad, frustrated and depressingly nostalgic.

All of them were caused by that stupid, moronic bastard, America.

The aforementioned asshole country was having his two hundred and thirty eighth birthday next week. Or, the closest to a birthday he could get; Independence day, the day he split from England and became his own country.

America played it so casually, throwing a huge party to celebrate while England just stayed at home drinking ale and trying not to remember the day of his most heartbreaking war. The day he lost his little brother. The day he saw the person he loved turn his back and leave him forever.

This wasn't supposed to happen to countries, he thought. We have duty, not feelings.

~Earlier~

They had decided to get just the Allies back together in one room, just for old times sake. Once the tedious formalities that Russia insisted on doing had been pushed out of the way, America started on talks about his celebration.

England stared at the colorful invitation America had loudly handed to him and the other countries at the meeting. The moron always gave one to him, even though they both knew that the Englishman never came. It's like he's just rubbing it in my face, England said to himself. Well, of course that's what he's doing, the stupid yank. There isn't any other reason he would.

"Okay, dudes!" America shouted from the head of the table once he finished handing his invitations out. England instantly looked up and saw his detestable face grinning at them all. How could someone be so happy over such a little thing like becoming older?

"I sent one of these to every other country as well, so we're all totally gonna have an awesome time there! I, as your host, will ensure your enjoyment by only allowing the best-"

"Yes, yes, we get it. It is going to be the greatest party we've ever been to and it will be absolutely wonderful blah blah blah." France interrupted and took a drink of water. "You're not the only one who has an important day for their country."

"Hey! Becoming your own country and getting some guys out of prison are two completely different things!"

"They had the same result!"

"If I may interject I believe mine is the most important as I brought my people together with my excellent hosting skills!" China quickly joined the argument.

"Well mine seems to beat all of yours for it is the anniversary of an entirely new country all together, da?"

They continued arguing about who had the most important birthday, France saying that his got people out of poverty, Russia continuing with his new country arc, China smirking about his 'niceness' and America -stupid, idiotic, beautiful America- just repeating 'Freedom!' over and over again. England was just about to his limit of all this pointless arguing, even if it was kind of hypocritical.

"Oh shut it, all of you!" England burst out and slammed his hand loudly on the table, making all the water ripple in their glasses. "It's just a goddamn party, let him have his fun."

All four other countries stared at him in surprise. They all knew he was withdrawn and unsociable this time of year. They all thought it was impersonal, selfish even, that America's anniversary just brought back painful memories of when he used to be Britain with a 'Great'.

Nobody else knew how deep it run, how sickeningly human it was.

"I have to leave now." He stood up, pushed his chair in and took one, lingering look at the bright piece of paper taunting him before he walked out the door, not even bothering to apologise or come up with an excuse for not going.

The other countries continued with the meeting as if he hadn't been there at all.

England breathed in and out slowly, looking at the shattered glass of scotch at his feet and the blood from his hand when he punched the wall dripping onto it. He stepped over the mess, deciding to deal with it later, and sat at his desk, beginning to pull one of his witchcraft books out.

He had a plan.

He was always sick of the other countries relationships. Always looking out for each other, not romantically involved (to most of their chagrins) but a deep enough friendship to make no difference. They were countries! They had jobs to do and kissing wasn't one of them.

One of the worst pairs was Germany and Italy, probably because they were the ones he saw most. He hated how Germany looked at Italy, how he always came to his aid, how they had even made a pact to be friends forever based on a goddamn dream. Italy liked him back, that much was obvious, but Germany was so oblivious that he'd think a blow job was code for a new battle strategy. The moronic Italian would have to start the relationship if they were going to get anywhere.

But why didn't he? It was so infuriatingthe way he acted around his best friend yet he seemed so, held back about something.

It didn't matter though. England felt a hot burning jealousy for Germany. He might not be aware of them, but at least his feelings were returned.

England decided if he couldn't get his love requited, neither could anybody else.

And he knew just how to make it happen.

"Italy! Oh dieu, Italy are you okay?"

"What the hell did you do, Britain?"

"Italy I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it was just a joke!"

"Shut up he looks like he's having a stroke!"

Italy ignored the voices shouting frantically at him. He was frozen. Nothing mattered right now. Not the broken wine glass he just dropped, not the scratch received from the cat because it fell so suddenly, not even the unfinished pasta he left on the table.

Nothing except for the young, blond, blue eyed boy sitting in the chair which had been occupied by Germany fifteen seconds ago. Or, as he was more commonly known as;

"Ho-holy Rome," Italy gasped. The other countries instantly fell quiet.

"Holy Rome," he choked out again. "H-holy Roman Empire." He repeated. "Holy Rome. Holy Rome. Holy. Rome."

Italy tentatively took a step towards him. This couldn't be true, could it? He had been gone for so long, how could he be here so suddenly? Italy couldn't care less, he was so full of emotions right now, bubbling and jumping in his chest, happiness and confusion and he was just so so so glad his friend was back!

Italy felt the tears run down his cheeks and he fell to his knees, at eye level with the baffled Holy Roman Empire, who just stared back at him. This was the first time he had actually, seriously cried in such a long time. So long he didn't understand what emotion was causing it.

"Holy Rome. You came back. You returned to me!"

And then Italy smiled. He smiled the widest he could, the widest he ever had. He smiled even broader than when he had gotten a literal tonne of pasta as a birthday present from Spain, more than when Grandpa Roma found a way out of the afterlife again for a whole hour to talk to him, and even brighter than when a barmaid kissed him on the cheek.

He reached towards HRE. The younger Germany. He did say that he could be so stupid sometimes, and right now he agreed. How could he not notice the boy he loved had already returned to him? How could he not recognise him when he first opened that box of tomatoes? How could he not figure out the similarities in both appearance and history in the hundreds of years they had spent together being just friends?

Did that mean Italy didn't truly love the boy? No, it didn't, because he loved Germany, but he was still waiting for Holy Rome, but he was here now, he had always been here. Here, in his arms.

"You're here, Germany! Holy Rome you came back I'm so so so happy you came back!" He kissed the younger one on his forehead, his nose his cheeks, repeating his name and "you came back!" over and over again. When he finally came to his lips, it wasn't Holy Rome but Germany, who had gained his memories so suddenly he got a headache. But that didn't matter, because even though it had happened so fast, he was perfectly content with holding Italy and ignoring the other G20 members as they kissed, no matter how embarrassing it might turn out to be later.

England was snarling throughout the entire exchange.

He wanted to show Italy how weak and useless Germany could be, not reunite two childhood lovers

It had turned out that Italy was holding back with getting with Germany because of course he was the type of person who would make a stupid promise to wait for someone for a thousand years and then actually stick to it. Not even America would do something that stupid!

Austria and Hungary probably didn't tell him about the Holy Roman Empire's fall, England thought with a small pang of sympathy. He shook it off however and started on his next plan. This was no time for feelings. Who was going to be the next unfortunate soul? He looked around his darkened working room, trying to come up with ideas, until finally he caught glimpse of the dumb pirate-ship-in-a-bottle America had found and presented to him with a birthday card and a smile. He thought being a pirate was cool. Still such a kid.

But he thought back to his pirating days, the rare fond memories he had of sailing the seas in that amazing outfit he wore. But he continued to his worst ones, and smiled evilly because he had a way to get revenge now.

If he couldn't break people up by showing them how weak the other was, he was going to do the exact opposite.

And he knew exactly who to do it to.