…_…_…_…_…

Golden eyelashes dotted with tears his green eyes couldn't seem to stop forming, no matter how much he willed them to, the young man sighed and shut the door behind him. He slid down its wood face, with years of wear and weathering like his heart.

'I'm so fragile.

I'm so damn weak.'

He sniffled and attempted to swallow the nonexistent rock lodged deep in his throat, but to no avail. The person who put it there was just too strong.

He was too everything.

His eyes were too blue. His voice was too loud, his humor too obnoxious. His personality was the epitome of annoying. His heart was too pure and he was too rowdy. He had way too many friends, and too many enemies; was far too stupid, was far too accomplished. He was too stubborn and too powerful and too persistent and too gorgeous. He was too much for anyone to handle.

And England loved it.

He loved his soft, golden brown hair. He loved his perfect sun-kissed skin and gleaming white teeth. He admired his kindness and keen sense of justice, adored his immense pride. He loved his taunts, his hits, and his laughs. He treasured every moment and memory, because being with America brought him a happiness that he had never felt, a happiness that existed only in fairy tales. America had always been tremendously different from England's other brothers. He was special.

But America couldn't see that.

He was unsurprisingly dense and ignorant. (There's something to add to the list of 'too's.) It came to be that England's absolute undying love was tossed aside and burned under the command of the one he'd given it to. And what was England to do about it?

He still couldn't take his eyes off of America.

Even when America burned his country's flag. Even when that same smiling boy who nuzzled into his chest when he'd had bad dreams shot at the troops who protected his borders. Even when the man he loved raised his own flag for the first time and glared back at England with the most vile, venomous, hateful look he could muster was England devoted to him.

What was he to do?

He couldn't kill that which he helped to create. He couldn't destroy that which he spent years caring for. He couldn't see the blood spilled of he who he adored.

England can't hurt his love.

Perhaps he's just as selfish as that ungrateful brat who destroyed their relationship. Perhaps he's just as arrogant and self-assured in believing that America would come back one day, since he was obviously unequipped and unprepared to run a country all by himself. Perhaps he's just as greedy for letting him live for the sole reason that he couldn't wait for that day when America would come crawling back to him.

And someone would love him again.

Friendless England

I lied to you guys. I LOVE USUK!

Might serialize this, but I have an extremely bad habit of not finishing what I start. So if I get enough reviews I'll write the entire thing and then post it in monthly chapters (so I won't get bored of it and become lazy;;).

So yeah, take it as you will.

A little sadistic of England to think, but how would you act if the first person who ever liked you, loved you, suddenly hated you and fought you away and you didn't even know why? And England's always like, 'I'll set them up so they'll come crawling back/I can easily overtake them again'.

So it ended up being post-revolution yandere-ish love. Alas, love is a greedy emotion.

Thank you for the read!

-Sam