/ This is my first proper one-shot in a while. I really should get back into the habit of writing. Anyway, please enjoy.! :) /

I HATE YOU, LITTLE BROTHER

It's been two weeks since Scotland decided to ignore England completely.

He had forgotten exactly why he decided that; he just knew that he came home one day, saw England and decided that he's never going to talk to him again. Perhaps he thought that there are more important things to do than always remembering that he hated his brother and the things he does, like playing with Nessie and going bar-hopping with Ireland. Either way, he was adamant about it and nothing had been able to make him go back to talking to England.

So two weeks had passed.

And he found himself standing face to face with the person he didn't want to talk to.

"Do you hate me?" were the first words that came out of England's mouth. He was dripping wet, like he had walked through the relentless rain pouring down since yesterday. Scotland was surprised because one: he didn't deem himself important enough to his brother that he'd go seek him out personally instead of just asking Wales to fetch him, two: there was no way England would go out in the rain without an umbrella because that would attract too much unwanted attention, three: because his brother's shoulders were bony and slumped and, despite being soaked, Scotland could make out the wrinkles in his brother's clothes as if he had slept with them on, and four: his voice sounded weak and desperate.

The man in front of him was almost the opposite of the England he knew and it unnerved him.

"Do you hate me?" England didn't ask to be let it, instead repeated his question with the same meek voice. Scotland really couldn't bear it, seeing his brother like that, hated or no, so the question once again went ignored as he grabbed the other nation's wrist and dragged him inside.

He left England in the living room for a while, fetching some towels a cup of hot tea, an when he came back, the man was still standing where Scotland had left him.

"Do you hate me?" There was a tremble in his voice this time, Scotland wasn't sure if it was because he was cold or some other reason. The redhead ignored it again in favor of pushing the cup into his brother's hands and drying his brother's hair.

He stopped when he noticed something dripping from his brother's face into the tea that he was sure isn't water.

"Do you hate me?" England repeated the question a fourth time. Scotland frowned. Was his brother really crying because he didn't answer his question thrice?

"Yeah, I do. Now shut up so I can dry your hair and you can get out of my house and go home."

Scotland was confused when he heard a sigh of relief. England took a hold of the towel and thrust both it and the cup into Scotland's hands before turning back and heading to the door.

"That's all the answer I needed. I'll get going."

It was only when the door closed quietly that Scotland was able to get over his confusion.

"What was that?" he muttered angrily, stomping towards the door and running off to find his brother, not caring about the rain. When he found England, he once again caught the man's wrist and dragged him to the house.

"What was that?" Scotland hissed. "You come here, ask me if I hated you, cry, and then just leave like that? "

England gave him a shrug. "I got what I needed."

Scotland narrowed his eyes at his brother.

"I refuse to believe that you came here just to ask me a question that you already know the answer to."

England looked at him straight in the eyes. "Do you hate me?"

Scotland groaned in frustration. "This question again. Can't you just get to the point?"

"Do you hate me?" England repeated instead.

"Damn right, I do!" Scotland exclaimed. "But what does this have to do with-"

"Then say it." Scotland shut his mouth.

"Tell me how much you hate me and why. Tell me that you hate me every day, every time you see me." Tears sprung out of England's eyes while the redhead just stood there dumbfounded. "Because then, at least, you acknowledge me. It's better than being ignored, better than feeling like I don't exist to you."

Scotland felt himself getting angry, both at England and at himself.

"I hate you, from the very pits of my heart. You're a conniving little bastard, greedy and selfish, and have no regard to other people's feelings. You only ever think of yourself and turn a blind eye to the consequences of your actions."

England didn't reply. His eyes, however, told Scotland that he knew, that he accepted all of it, that he wouldn't defend nor explain himself.

Scotland sighed. He wondered what was going on in his brother's head, why England believes only what he hears and never tries to delve deeper. Perhaps that was Scotland's fault, for telling England only that he hates him, but never a word on what he'd always feel, and always have, ever since he knew that they were brothers. Perhaps, he thought, that he should also start on showing England what real brotherhood was like and not leave him believing that his brothers don't care about him.

If England believes only in what he hears and sees, then perhaps it's time to tell him and show him.

Scotland didn't understand why he never thought of it in the first place.

"I hate you, little brother." England visibly shrank at his harsh tone, but he continued. "But more than that..."

Scotland reached out and hugged his youngest brother, centuries' worth of love that he never showed, that circumstances made him bottle up. Okay, maybe he shouldn't blame circumstances for the recent years, but that was what he got used to and old habits die hard.

But he's going to try hard too. Because his brother's too much of an idiot.

"I may not always be able to tell you, I may not always agree with you, and I may not always show it, but please remember."

England clung to him tightly, silent cries still reaching his ears. The next five words were the ones he was sure the blond wanted to hear the most.

"I love you, little brother."