A/N: Random one-shot for Valentine's Day! And yes, it is still the fourteenth here (even though it's around ten o'clock at night). This is also for you people who like Life is Undefined, as a message saying I'M NOT DEAD I'M SIMPLY HAVING A SLIGHT BIT OF WRITERS BLOCK. Anyway, this is USUK and is a one-shot, so it won't be continued. I apologize in advance for any OoC-ness. Enjoy~!

Edit: I posted this late at night and I was tired, so I fixed a few things here and there...mainly minor spelling errors and such that I caught. Also, this was my first attempt at romance, so I'm sorry if it failed.

Rejection Hurts

America liked England. He LIKED,liked him. Not just as a brother, and most certainly not as simply a friend; he had a legitimate crush on the man. The poor nation had no idea when his attraction towards the other had begun – he most certainly didn't know what could have triggered it – but he DID know that he would always try to sneak peeks at him, attempt conversation, and try to get as close to him as possible for as long as possible, all without seeming like a love-struck moron.

But it was getting harder with every meeting, and it honestly scared the crap out of him. He was a man, in love with another man. A man who used to be his older brother/father figure. What would England think? Was he, in England's eyes, still that little boy? Still his brother? Would he be okay with it? Doubts and worries and fears spun endlessly around in his mind, so he slammed his head against the table. Table? Oh yeah, he was at another meeting for the Allied Forces.

"…Bloody hell, do you have something you want to say, America?"

The blonde's words caught in his throat as the Brit's voice pierced the air, and he managed to get out a muffled, "No," without lifting his head.

A short silence followed, and then England let out an audible sigh, standing up from his spot at the table. "Well then, since it seems like we're not going to get any work done, I suggest we end our meeting here." His suggestion was met by the nodding of heads and a few grunts of approval by the other Allies. The sound of wood scraping the ground, footsteps, and the beginnings of conversation filled the room as people began to move, yet America remained in his seat, refusing to move from his current position.

The superpower felt something warm and heavy drape across his back. "You know, sulking doesn't really fit your image, Amerique…" a familiar voice hummed/whispered seductively, blowing hot breath onto his ear.

"France, get the fuck off me before I shoot you."

"Well then, fine, Mister Grumpy-pants," the European nation huffed, peeling himself off of the other, who then promptly stood and distanced himself from the Frenchman, "So, what's going on with you? Is it that time of the month again?"

America scoffed. "Har, har, very funny," he snorted, rolling his eyes, "What do you want with me?"

A smirk grew on France's face and he moved over to the American, flinging his arm over his shoulder. "You do know that today is San Valentin, non?" he asked, though it was a rather rhetorical question since the answer was fairly obvious, "…Is it a lady friend…? Ohonhon…" America's face lit up with a strong blush (mainly at the thought of England dressed like a sexy lady) and he pulled away, turning so that the other wouldn't see his face.

"I-It's none of your business…!" he stuttered, all the while thinking, Smooth, America…smooth. Well, it's not like he'll figure it out anywa-

"It's Angleterre, isn't it?" Fuck. America shot France the nastiest glare that he could muster (which is in fact extremely terrifying and could make your average full grown man piss his pants), but the older nation simply brushed it off. "I am the nation of love, America; of course I can figure it out. …The way you've been acting these past few weeks haven't really helped with your situation much either." He smirked again, "You loooove him~!"

"I do not!"

"You're in denial~!"

"SHUT UP!"

"Mon Dieu, you're acting like one of your people," France sighed, "You know…all those over-dramatic, temperamental teenagers on American television." Again, the look was given, and the European nation threw up his hands in resignation. "Fine, fine, I won't tell anyone. But you should at least tell him by the end of today," he said with a wink, "…the day of love."

America deadpanned. "Please, there's not even anything romantic about Valentine's Day. Some people even call it 'Single's Day'," he groaned, "I'll confess when I want to confess."

"…So it is England…"

"Bastard…"

The room was silent, the only sound being the slight buzzing of the air conditioner. America sat on the couch in the center of the room, in front of a television set that was currently off. The blonde stared at the screen of his phone, debating whether or not to text the Nation that had caught his eye. What France said had resonated with him, and now he really felt the urge to tell his secret. I mean, it was Valentine's Day, right? And England was a gentleman (sort of) so would he refuse? Answer: probably yes. America sighed and closed his phone, flopping down into a lying position and falling off the furniture in the process.

"Fucking?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, Tony," America sighed, sitting up and looking over at his alien friend, "It's just…you remember England, right?"

"Limey bastard."

"Yeah, him," America said with a laugh, "Well, uh…dude, this is kinda awkward but…I think I have a crush on him, but I don't know if I should tell him or not…" He scratched the back of his head, "I don't know, man…he wouldn't think I'm weird or gross, would he? I mean…he kinda raised me…"

"Fucking, fucking."

The young country stood suddenly, grinning widely. "You're right! I should go talk to him! I mean, I've got nothing to lose, right?" With a new resolve, America rushed out of the room to grab his jacket before heading to the door. "Thanks, bro, I owe you one!"

The little gray alien flashed the man a quick thumbs up before he left. "Bitch!"

Knock, knock!

"Hey, France, you in there?"

Five seconds later: Knock, knock, knock knock knock knocknocknocknock! "HEY FRANCE ARE YOU IN THERE?!"

…And after the discovery of the doorbell: Dingdingdingdingdingdingding dingding! "HEY! FRANCE! FRANCIS BONNEFOY! FR-AN-CY-PA-N-TS!"

"For God's sake, America, calm down before you break something." America nearly jumped out of his skin, not expecting a voice to come from behind him. Slowly, he turned to see…who?

"'Sup, Canadia, what're you doing here?" he asked as casually as possible, trying to seem as though he hadn't been startled at all. The other simply sighed.

"It's Canada," he said, sounding slightly dejected, "And I always come over to hang out with Francis. What are YOU doing here?"

America looked away, feeling his face begin to heat up at the thought of his request. "I just…uh, needed something from him," he responded, nearly smacking himself for sounding so lame. The younger North American opened his mouth, as though to say something, when the door opened and France stepped out, yawning.

"Jeez, Amerique, you're so loud…" he mumbled, looking as though he were still half asleep, "Oh, and you're here too, Matthieu. Did you two need something?" Canada simply gave a half shrug and glanced at America, who then felt a slight blush grow on his face again and he stepped up to France, whispering something in his ear. The long-haired blonde smiled. "Ah, of course I can help you with that. Come on in. You too, Canada. We've got work to do."

"Okay, so that took way longer than I thought…" America mumbled to himself, the small box of freshly made chocolate tucked away safely in one of the secret pockets inside of his bomber jacket. So maybe cooking wasn't his forte…and maybe he also almost completely destroyed France's kitchen. But it had been so totally worth it, especially since now he actually had something to give to his 'Valentine'. "Now, I just need to knock on this stupid door."

Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be happening anytime soon considering that he had been standing in front of Britain's house for a good ten-fifteen minutes or so. "God damn it, I am the United States of Fucking America! I can do this…no, I WILL do this, or my name is not Alfred F. Jones!"

And in that single moment of bravado, he knocked on the door.

Twice.

And then almost ding-dong-ditched.

The door creaked open. "Hello? What do you ne…oh, it's you," England huffed, pulling the door in the rest of the way, "What do you want? And no, I will not watch another horror movie with you. " America laughed a very half-assed laugh, praying to whatever deity out there that he wasn't blushing too badly.

"Haha, of course not, Iggy! It's not all about movies, you know!"

"It's ENGLAND, and I refuse to go 'alien hunting' with you as well."

In his mind, America face-palmed. Did he really ask England to do those things with him that often? "Nah, dude, I just wanted to know if you'd…like to go out for a few drinks...?" Great, now I'm trying to get him drunk…

England raised an eyebrow, clearly catching onto the fact that the Western nation was acting strangely, but said nothing about it. "What, not spending the night with some lady friend of yours? It is Valentine's Day, after all."

Grinning, America responded without thinking, "Of course not, I'd rather spend tonight with you!" England felt his face heat up, for the words sounded very much like some cheesy pick-up line. America too, blushed, when he realized what he had said. "L-Let's just go, c'mon!" he said loudly, with perhaps a bit too much vigor, grabbing the island nation's hand and dragging him down the road.

America was extremely dizzy and dead tired after having consumed far more alcohol than needed to kill your average human being. The fact that he was attempting to walk back to Britain's house, with said Brit ON HIS BACK no less (who was yelling something about frogs), was nothing short of nearly impossible. But of course, nothing is impossible for the hero, and after a few hours of wandering aimlessly and getting continuously lost, the two finally made it back. "Yo, Britain…dude, give me your key…" he groaned, shaking the mostly incoherent man whom of which was still using him as a vehicle.

"Hrmm,mrummphrummmph…"

"…Dude, I have no idea what you just freaking said…"

England removed his face from America's back and placed his chin on his shoulder, "I don't have it, you bloody idiot...and you bloody dragged me away before I could bloody lock the bloody door."

Well, that makes things easy. "Hah…you say bloody a lot when you're mad~," America hummed, receiving a irritated grunt, before turning the knob with his foot and pushing the door open. Not bothering to close it behind them, he made his way up the stairs and through the halls, staggering into the first bedroom he came across and ungracefully dumping England onto the bed; then proceeding to also flop down next to him.

…And he would've completely forgotten the purpose of doing this if not for the feeling of something hard jabbing him in the side. Shit, the chocolate! No longer feeling quite as groggy as he had just a few seconds ago, America rolled over onto his side, pulling the (thankfully undamaged) box out from his jacket, hesitating for only a second. It's now or never, dude…do it! "Hey, England, can I tell you something?"

Said nation also snapped out of his drunken stupor upon hearing the seriousness in the other's tone of voice. "Of course, what is it?" They both sat up simultaneously, America still facing away from England. He took a few deep breaths before turning to the older man and holding out the box.

"IREALLYLIKEYOUANDIWANTYOUTOB EMYVALENTINEPLEASEGOOUTWITHM E!" he said quickly, nearly tripping over his words; feeling his face heat up far more than it had before.

England's eyes widened as he attempted to process the words that had just been flung in his direction. Did America just say that he…liked him? That he wanted to GO OUT with him? As in a bloody ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP!? "A…Ah…America…I don't…" he struggled to find the right words, and the poor boy in front of him looked positively crestfallen, "…America, I…"

Great, now he's going to say no. He's going to say no, he's going to say no, he's going to say no… America chanted the mantra in his mind, as though if he repeated it enough it wouldn't come true. And he'll probably think I'm so weird and gross and…no, he's going to fucking HATE me… "You don't need to say it, I get it…" he mumbled, looking down and dropping the box onto the mattress. Slowly, he got up, and made a move towards the door, "I guess…I'll be seeing you…"

"Wait!" England's hand shot out, grabbing hold of the superpower's arm, "I…I don't really know how to deal with these situations…but…" There was a slight pause, as the shorter nation looked uncertain for a split second, before steeling his resolve. "…But I think…I think that I'd like to give you a chance…So yes. Yes, I will be your Valentine and…I'd rather like to go out on a d-date sometime."

America's face lit up almost immediately, and he pulled England into a bone crushing hug. "Yes!" he cried, laughing, "Yes, yes, yes! Thank you, England, I love you so, so much! The hero always wins!" He then fell over, back onto the bed with the Brit still in his arms.

Flushing, England spat, "I'm not doing it for you, git! I'm just doing it because you seemed so…so desperate…!"

"Sure, sure, whatever you say," America chuckled, pulling the other closer. The two stayed in like that in silence for a few minutes before the younger nation spoke up again. "Hey, Iggy…can I kiss you?"

"…Of course you can, idiot." America smiled, and then bent his head down, placing a soft kiss on the other's lips.

Meanwhile, from up in a nearby tree next to the window of the room where the two new lovers were currently in, France sat on one of the branches; smiling proudly at his work with a video camera in hand. "Ohonhon…Hungary and Japan are going to love this…"