(A/N) This pretty much starts out as a monologue, and then ends in a more normal-ie third-person perspective.
I shall be doing more chapters of this, the next one will start with a monologue from America's perspective.
This contains USxUK, this chapter makes England seem a little bit angsty, but don't worry, it'll get much better later chapters. I promise!
Also contains some France and England brotherly (or drinking friend) friendship.
So, please R&R, constructive criticism welcome! :D
Flames will be used for Smores WITH CHOCOLATE. HECK YEAH!
Disclaimer: I DO NOT own these characters or APH ect ect.
(Also, I had a bit of frustrating trouble with the FFN document... thing, so sorry if the spacing is weird, but I couldn't fix it! GRR! :/)
Contrasts: The End of Denial
To be a nation is a wonderful and awful thing to be.
We are personifications.
(To state the obvious.)
Our blood is the blood of every single person who wanders in our country,
who is a part of our country.
Who, in turn, becomes a part of us.
We are... indecisive.
Being made up of the minds of many, after all,
leads to not knowing exactly what to do if most of those minds cannot agree.
(What the hell do you mean get on with it?
I don't know why I even brought you along anyway!)
Do you see?
With all that considered, to fall in love with another nation, as a nation yourself,
is fraught with... difficulties.
As a Super Power, and a nation made up of millions,
I very well never expected to fall for anyone.
N-not that I'm even sure that I have!
Probably just a small infatuation or something of the like.
It's just...
Falling in love... is so...
Human.
Something so temporary, unlike being a nation.
It seems very well to be the exact opposite of what we are really!
Love is a fickle emotion (hey, don't give me that look!),
fraught with nights of not knowing What To Do.
Night, after night, after day, after fucking hour, after hellish minute of-
Longing. Feeling so. So.
Vulnerable.
Sickening.
I admit, I hate the feeling.
As if, whenever he is around...
It is as if I am under a fucking microscope!
As if he can see every move I make.
Then I don't know what the bloody hell to do.
I want to make him look away... Tell him to bugger off, an leave me alone!
While at the same time, I want to be the object of his attention...forever.
W-which, o-of course, is preposterous!
Forever is far too long a time to keep love.
...Of course!
I have seen nations fall in and out of love with each-other for centuries.
I know how this works!
Even if those nations manage to have mutual love,
manage to keep that love safe and cherished throughout time...
One of those nations will eventually fall while protecting the other-
or even by just being taken by another nation!
Then the nation who is left, stands alone.
Facing the endlessness of time by themselves.
Like the rest of us, except they feel worse.
I've seen them.
Unable to die with their love, but unable to move on for centuries.
Trapped by human emotions,
those emotions that are apart from the national consciousness.
That part of every nation that makes us remember...
Why?
Why would I?
Why, I don't even know.
I can not begin to even comprehend why I would fall for... Him.
Why would I waste many perfectly good hours per day,
hours better suited for more important things,
thinking about him?
I am a strong nation, I know this from all these centuries I have spent,
fighting and fighting.
I need no other nation.
Especially not like... That.
Alliances, trade, and cultural exchange, are normal.
Connections that must be made for health, and the happiness, of all concerned.
I trade with many other nations.
Many foreigners visit my shores, this is all well and normal.
But, then.
There are the things that are far from normal.
The more... personal things that I have been rarely effected by,
but have seen,
as I watched other nations in the distance.
I have never so wanted to be near someone.
Not all the time.
I have never sat awake at night, wondering how any other nation is doing.
Not hoping that they were alright anyway.
I have never lingered in another nation's touch, wanting to never let go!
It is demeaning!
Horrible!
Bloody embarrassing, a-and frankly I hate it.
With every fiber of my being, I loathe it!
I wish I could hold him close, but not if it hurts.
Why should I trust someone so much,
when I very well know they shall leave me?
Again!
Not that he would have me in the first place...
God, he probably wouldn't even understand!
He would give me that look, and either start teasing me-
Or worse, he would think I was kidding!
And then what hell would I do?
Keep going as if nothing had happened?
Could I do that? God, I don't even know!
I guess I could see why though.
Why he wouldn't want me, that is...
What about me could even hold his attention?
I don't suppose I'm even the 'best looker' in his eyes!
Why else would he tease me about my eyebrows?
Not that he's the best 'looker' either!
Too bloody tall is all he is!
Even if he has a charming smile.
And eyes the color of those bloody huge skies of his.
Skies that are almost always that ridiculous blue.
Always trying to be the fucking hero.
And those fucking silly glasses that make him look smart.
And that look in his eye, always being so bloody optimistic and happy.
And-and- fucking hell...
I suppose...
I am probably too far gone,
to just 'get over' him...
Aren't I?...
France shook his head at the nation who had drunk himself into a faint,
as England snored on the counter top.
He had attempted being quiet the entire evening,
listening as England drank himself into a lovesick stupor.
There was only one conclusion he could come to.
The same conclusion he always came to when he spent the evening
watching lovesick nations drown themselves in sadness.
L'amour could make a man, or ruin him.
L'amour could build bridges, just as fast as it could burn them to ashes.
And finally, L'amour had ways of making people act so different,
while at the same time, inexplicably enhancing their 'them-ness'.
France had known England had been struck with love for quite a long time now,
but he had not been prepared for how intensely afflicted England was.
How was France to know how far England had fallen?
He was the country of love, but he was not a love-detector.
Despite what many seemed to think.
France gave what advice he had to England,
but there was truly not much he could do.
Love this deep, is not meant to be tampered with.
No matter how much he liked to mess with England... This love of his...
was the kind that would benefit everyone,
or it would leave London burning, and everyone missing a piece of their hearts
that used to be labeled 'England'.
All France could do was smile, pull England's arm over his shoulder
and take England back to his own house.
France left his friend England asleep on the couch.
France, feeling slightly charitable, turned off the lights.
As he left England's house,
he couldn't help but look back for a second.
France smiled, and said
"Sleep well, Angleterre. I quite hope that, at the very least,
you dream of your America."