A/N: Happy Holidays!...Well, early enough. I don't think I'll be able to finish any of my other oneshots by around Christmas-ish, but we'll see.
Geez, this took a while. It's very important if you read the warning, guys; if you don't like seeing one or two swear words, you might be uncomfortable with England's part in this story.
Title: maybe it's most certainly love
Rating: T
Warning: Human AU, a bit of swearing
Gernre/s: Drama/Romance
Pairing/s: one-sided!EngBel?
Summary (excerpt): She knows she could love him. He knows he already does.
Inspiration/s: Someone who I will not name for privacy purposes. Also, I think reading some EngBel stories influenced me to write this pairing in particular.
I do not own Hetalia (by Himaruya Hidekaz) or Misty (by Errol Garner, lyrics by Johnny Burke).
She knows she could love him.
But her heart doesn't thump fast when he's near. No, she doesn't even feel it skip a beat. Her chest quickens in anticipation though, because she's happy to finally be able to tell the joke she heard in fourth period.
Her eyes don't dilate when she sees him, her cheeks don't redden when he touches her, and her smile doesn't turn shy when he grins back.
She does know she's comfortable with him around, more so than anyone else in the world. She can laugh genuinely. Smile genuinely. She can tease him all she wants and she knows he won't get angry at her for it. She could be at her weakest, or she could be the most sociable person in the room, and he would still be there for her. She likes him for that at least.
They're perfect together, she knows that too, but only because everyone else thinks so. Maybe it's because they're childhood friends, and they're never seen without the other, but she's certain that's not a reasonable explanation.
She always dismisses it without further thought. Many stories don't have the childhood friend end up with the main character. Why would hers be any different?
But she thinks she could love him. His company makes her giddier. Simple eye contact could make her flustered in embarrassment. The way they share an umbrella makes her feel like the rainbow is already there.
He's aware of all her darkest secrets, and keeps them all close to his heart. He could give a twenty-paged essay about all her strange quirks, and he'd probably list more than she could ever do. Of course, she could do the same for him.
Like how he always stands at her right side, because he says that the driver's seat in England is on the right too, or how he writes in American English when he's dead tired, with all the u-omitted words and zs.
He knows everything about her, and she knows everything about him.
His concern for her is always whole-hearted, and although it's likewise, she can't help but understand it as mother-like worries. When they bicker (which is quite rare), their classmates think they act like a married couple. Their parents like teasing them about that too.
She shakes her head every time she hears it, because she knows they say that to every boy-girl pair that fights.
Her thoughts are about him a lot, like why isn't his hair combed this morning, or the time when his stove explode because he's just that bad at cooking. Sometimes, it's his British accent, and the fact that it makes girls swoon all over him, so he could easily gain world domination with his fangirl army.
(That does make her chest ache a little, she has to admit. The thought of her best friend being stolen away from her makes her feel lonely and jealous.)
But she doesn't think about him constantly, because what's there to think about?
All that comes to mind is that she still has to lend him one of her CDs, and his thick eyebrows that makes her giggle every once in a while.
So while it's not quite there yet, while it's only halfway through, she knows she might be able to love him.
She knows she can.
He knows he already does.
Sometimes he wants to let her know. Sometimes he doesn't. His mind wavers too much.
He thinks his feelings are such a burden that he'd rather throw them away in the trash, because they're nothing but garbage. Those emotions are only there to dirty his heart.
But then he catches a glimpse of her sun-kissed hair, or the way her cheekbones rise every time she laughs, or the tiny scar on her left elbow (she got it when she was six, trying to teach him how to ride a bike), and he stops and blinks, deciding that they're not so bad after all.
Then the cycle repeats over and over again, because he's too stubborn and she's too close. Whenever she's near, his skin feels like it's going to burst into flames, scaring so deep that it reaches his heart. It hurts; it hurts every damn time that it makes him think he doesn't want to love her anymore.
But he still does, and he's secretly convinced he's a masochist, like everyone else in love.
Because really, who wants to feel the aching pain in their chest when the person they like is with someone else? Who wants to scream internally all the time because their crushes don't like them back?
Who truly wants to experience the pain and suffering that comes with that pesky emotion called 'Love'?
He doesn't, but he can't help it. He can't help it and it makes him sick. Her angelic smile only further twists his gut, because he knows, he knows that she doesn't feel the same way. She doesn't make it obvious, but it's obvious to him.
Everyone around him can say all they want ("You look so cute together!", or "Any news about your relationship...?", or "What's up with your boyfriend/girlfriend?"), but she'd only nod and awkwardly grin.
He could call her in the middle of the night, dead tired and only wanting to hear her voice, only to have her scold him and hang up a moment later.
All his friends coo and subtly hint about them every once in a while. Even though he snaps at them in embarrassment and tries to hide his blush behind his hands, he can't shake off the feeling of dread that comes with it, and it haunts him everywhere he goes.
But her eyes (he fucking loves her eyes) haunt him even more. In his dreams, in reality, he can never escape from those green, green eyes that seem to follow him. Or her name. Or her lips.
They steal his breath and he forgets how to move. But she doesn't look his way, she never does, and he can't help but crumble a little every time that happens.
Sometimes it's the little things that make him shake and tremble, like the scent of her newly-made waffles, or how she changes her ribbon daily (it alternates between green, red, and black, he's noticed, although he's seen a few yellow ones in between). It's just so...tantalizing, the way she bats her eyelashes, the way her fingertips move like smoke, the way she does everything, anything, everything, and it makes him stumble on his words.
She makes him tongue-tied and helpless, like a kitten up in a tree. The song 'Misty', he thinks, suits him perfectly.
Because she makes his eyes misty, half of the time because he's hopelessly in love, and the other half because he's close to tears and ready to give up.
But he thinks she could love him, hopes she will. At the slightest possibility of them holding hands, exchanging kisses on a rainy day, or sharing a cup of hot chocolate during the winter makes him sigh wistfully.
Forever. He'd wait forever for something like that to happen, because he thinks it'll be worth everything he's been through in the end.
He knows he can love her that long.
"I think the world has too many things that I cannot see, although I can almost touch them. I can almost feel the sensation of the warmth of a burning passion, or of the roughness of a sharp insult. Of how easily my fingernails can dig into the ends of the earth, of how difficult it is to break a diamond. But you are something I realize cannot exist in my world or universe, no matter what I do. I can see you, but I cannot touch you. The galaxies in my eyes tell me I have no space to make you known to the rest of me; I have no room to have you enter my world, not because I want you to be, but because you will not let me. I am hidden from your own galaxies. I am hidden from your heart." - M.V.C.