A/N: My hands slipped. Several thousand times.

On another note, I put a lot of symbolism into this piece. Try to figure it out, and post in review or PM what you think it means. I'll probably publish another chapter explaining this one, since their isn't a lot of background here. Anyways, please enjoy the story!

Warning: Major Character Death

EDIT: Man, I swear I had credited the song I used haha! It's name is "My R," or "Watashi no R," which I found on YouTube. The person who covers it (And the English lyrics that I use) is Hikaru Station. The original song she credited it to was KurageP, but her version was in Japanese, so obviously I couldn't use that. I've removed the lyrics thanks to a guest reviewer (though I would have preferred it to be through PM. If you see this guest, please PM me if you have an account because I am slightly confused). If you want to listen as you read, look it up

My footsteps echo up the stairwell. The air was cold and crisp from not being used much, and it sharpens my mind as it cuts into my lungs. My hand is clenched tight on the railing, letting the cold metal seep into my slippery palm.

I make my way up the last few steps, and find myself staring at a metal door. Not a heavy one—in fact, I bet I could break it if I tried—but in the moment it seems imposing, a heavy barrier between myself and the freedom I would receive on the other side. I take a deep breath, and let it go, taking my hand off of the railing and setting it on the handle of the door. Come on! Why am I so afraid?

I shake myself and open the door, being met with a gray overcast sky and a harsh wind buffeting me. I blink, then shrug it off and step out onto the rooftop. The is a waist-high guard rail across the edge, but I'm not worried. I bend down, ready to take off my shoes, when a flash of cloth catches my eye.

I look up to see a boy, a couple years younger than me, staring contemplatively off of the edge, on the opposite side of the guard rail, so close to the edge that his toes peek over the side. He hasn't noticed me yet, but before I know it, the words are slipping out of my mouth. Because I know what this boy is going to do.

"Hey, don't do it. Please!"

The boy looks over to me, surprised that someone had caught him up here as he was about to jump. I don't blame him. I don't come up here often myself. What a coincidence.

Then the anger rises in me. I had wanted to be up here alone! Why did this boy have to ruin my plans? I clench my fists and force myself to school my expression into one of indifference.

The boy doesn't say anything at first. He just looks at me, mouth working but nothing coming out. I notice, then, that he's was quite small for his age, and there is a streak of dirt on his cheek. How did he get dirty here, in the middle of the city? I dismiss the question. It doesn't matter, not as much as his age does. He has to be, like, fifteen, but looks to weigh as much as someone several years younger. What is a kid like him doing out here? I want to ask him, but at the same time don't want to pry. Whatever reason he has to be up here, it has to be good, right?

Then I shake my head. No, I didn't care. This boy could do whatever he wanted. Nothing he did could compare to what I have done.

Then the small boy spoke.

"My brother always said that he would be with me through thick and thin," the small boy speaks, eyes staring off into the distance. His voice is thick with grief. "He said that he knew what was best for me. But he kept on hurting me and wouldn't listen when I asked him to stop, especially when I told him that I needed something more. I tried to work on my own and he… left me. Now all I have are people who want to know me for what I own, not for who I am. What point is there to go on when all people see you as is something to get rich off of?"

"You have got to be kidding me," I hiss. Now, I can't keep the anger off my face, and I scowl. "That's the reason you're here today? Come on! That's most likely one of the stupidest reasons I've ever heard." I scoff. "No, that's not even a reason. That's just an excuse."

The boy looks even more surprised, but says nothing, just dragging his bright, sky-blue eyes to stare into mine. They unsettle me for a moment, but I'm going now. It's rare when I let out my feelings like this, and I'm not about to stop.

"Honestly, you act like you've never gotten robbed of anything! If you think you have it bad, kid, you have another thing coming. Honestly, I just can't believe that you got here before me." I point to the door leading back into the stairwell. "You go home and figure out a way to get those people to pay attention to you. Rise through the ranks. Make it so everyone has to recognize you for who you are. One day, they will respect you and see you for the person you really are."

"You think so?" The small boy murmured.

"Even your brother should eventually come back to you. I should know."

The boy then smiles softly, staring up into the overcast sky. He leans back on the railing that separates the two of us, moving away from the edge.

"I'm feeling much better," the boy chuckled airily. "Thank you for listening. I think I'll try your advice."

He then lunges forwards, and before I can stop him, has jumped. I rush to the railing and peer over the edge, trying to spot him. Nothing. Just empty air until the sidewalk below. From this height, people are only specks on the ground below. Not that there's a lot of them.

I smile to myself, realizing who I had just encountered.

"You better keep on living, kid," I chuckle. "I can't have you going off just because of a flimsy excuse like that." I turn away from the edge. The moment's been ruined. I can't do what I wanted to now.

I'll come back tomorrow.

The door opens again, and this time, there's humidity in the air. I look up, noting the light, still-gray clouds that dotted the sky. The storm last night had been intense, but it had passed in a matter of hours. I walk onto the rooftop, letting the cool sunshine warm my face, before bending down and taking off my shoes.

Something catches my eye, and I sigh as I see another boy on the other side of the guard rail. He's a year or two older than the kid from yesterday, more filled out, and much taller. A pair of glasses, thinly rimmed, adorn his nose. Also different from the kid yesterday is that he's sitting, knees pulled up to his chest. He's just shouting insecurity, and I have to force back a slight chuckle.

"Hey, kid." The boy in the glasses is not a kid, but I address him as one anyways, knowing he is much younger than me. I sit down next to him, and now we're only separated by the guard rail. "What's up?"

He seems to know what I'm asking, but it takes him a moment to respond. In the meantime, I sigh. More than anything, I wanted this rooftop to be empty for just one afternoon. I guess it was too much to ask.

No one likes me," the boy in the glasses sighes. "All of my colleagues take every chance to ridicule me. They steal my items and don't let me present in meetings. No one has ever asked to go out to lunch with me, so I eat alone. I'm fat, so I exercise to try and impress them, but they don't notice or say I'll go back to the point I started within a month.

"My friends tell me I'm dumb, so I go to college and receive doctorates in physics and medicine, but they don't believe me. They tell me I can't strategize, so I join the army and fight war after war to keep them safe, but they tell me to stop butting into their business. I leave them alone, but then they ask why I'm not helping them. They tell me to stop fighting their battles, so I do, but then they drag me back in anyways. I can't please them, so what's the use of going on?"

I say nothing for a moment, digesting the words, and shake my head. Even though I can't see the boy in the glasses from my position, I imagine he's still wallowing in his self-pity. Honestly, the nerve of some people.

"You have got to be kidding me," I hiss. I find myself repeating the same speech I had given the small boy yesterday. "That's the reason you're here today? Come on! That's most likely one of the stupidest reasons I've ever heard." I scoff. "No, that's not even a reason. That's just an excuse."

There's a shift behind me, I feel the boy's eyes on the back of my head.

"You're loved by everyone at home, aren't you?" I cry, emotion and envy trickling into my voice despite my best attempts to filter it out. "Everyone back home is rooting for you. They care for you and will support you as long as you do your best. Who cares what your colleagues think!? They're just jealous and you don't need their approval. Why are you here on this rooftop when I can refute your excuses so easily?! Go home and smile. You need to be strong for them."

"It's my birthday soon," the kid whispers, voice choked with emotion. I stand up and the boy in the glasses follows. I notice with a start that he's crying. He raises a hand and wipes his eyes, careful not to jostle the lens perched on his nose. He smiles, much like the boy from the day before. "Thank you."

I shrug. "I just can't have people doing things without the appropriate reason," I replied, schooling my face back into one of indifference.

The boy in the glasses laughs and hops off the edge of the building. I turn away and head towards the door to the stairwell, knowing that he will never hit the ground.

The moment had been ruined again.

I'd come back tomorrow.

But I didn't do what I had planned to do tomorrow. Or the day after that. Every afternoon that I went onto the rooftop, there was someone there, sitting or standing on the opposite edge of the guard rail and about to jump. Every time I met them, I talked them out of doing what they were contemplating. But at the same time…

"Hey! Another one of your tourists ruined my day today! Keep your people in check, bastard!"

"Really, you must keep your promises, aru. Or people won't trust you anymore."

"Don't speak French anymore, child. I don't want to keep hearing you butcher it."

"Is it just me, or have you gained another ten pounds since I last saw you? It must be all of you burgers, da?"

"Can't you—can't you just be normal?! Let me live my own life!"

No one ever showed up for me. I always helped the people I met, but there was never anyone for me to vent to. Was it selfish to wish that someone could understand me? To actually try and get to know who I really was, not the obnoxious facade I put up every day?

Finally, I came to the conclusion that it was. After all, no one ever bothered to try and help me.

And so, I discarded the idea of getting help.

I open the door to a pure, blue sky. There is a slight breeze that made the sun's rays bearable, and I let out a breath, relaxing ever so slightly in the perfect weather. I pause for a moment, looking for the person who would be here today.

It was easy to spot him. He isn't hiding, or trying to remain unseen as some of the past people had been. He is right in front of me, back on the opposite side of the guard rail, in a faded, ratty old bomber jacket. He is staring off into the skyline of the city, and it is then that I notice that he looks similar to me. Same yellow hair, tanned skin, and part of me knew he would have the same murky blue eyes that I did, if turned around to face me. But we weren't the same.

Were we?

"I just want to stop the scars that grow every time that I go home," the boy monotoned, not needing me to ask him why he was here. A cold pit of ice grew in my stomach. And I notice, that if I look close enough, there are bandages hidden under his clothing. "They hurt me. They fight among each other and I'm the one caught in the crossfire. Those at home want the same things, but they won't talk to each other and choose to hurt me instead. My colleagues have not changed. Still they ridicule me. I don't pay attention to them anymore. My brother is no longer my brother. He never came back to me after I left him. My other brother… prefers not to speak with me. That's why I came up here instead. Better than facing the world below us."

No…. The day I had dreaded had finally come. There is nothing I can do for this bandaged boy in the old bomber jacket. Finally, I had met someone with the same pains as me.

And I have no idea what to do to convince him to not make the jump over the edge of the building. There is no reason not to, nothing tying him down to reality, but something in me desperately wants him to stay here with me.

"Hey, don't do it. Please!" The words I had spoken the small boy that first day on the rooftop slipped out of my mouth. Something finally broke inside of me, and in a cruel twist of fate, I am the one crumpled on the ground, crying my eyes out, while the boy in the old bomber jacket watches me emotionlessly.

Hot tears trickle down my face and I struggle to wipe them away. The routine! I have to stick to the routine that I had made in these past afternoons while on the rooftop. Convince him not to jump. It doesn't matter that he had every reason to. I can't let him go.

"I don't care if you have a valid reason to jump!" I finally cried out, staring at the ground and unable to look the boy in the bomber jacket in the eye. "Just go away! I just can't stand to see that pitiful expression on your face any longer!"

I clench my fists and close my eyes. This boy wouldn't listen to me. Part of me just knew it. I had no reasoning to get him to not do what he wants to do.

Then there was a pattering of feet, and a solitary pair of footsteps pass me by. I blink the tears away in shock, raising my head to see the empty guard rail. There is no longer anyone there, replaced with the gentle breeze.

"I guess today's just not my day." There is an opening and closing of a door, and the boy in the bomber jacket goes down the stairwell and to safety at last.

No one. There is no one here. I had looked the rooftop over three times already to come up empty-handed. Part of me was wondering whether I have broken the cycle with the boy in the bomber jacket, but I know that this isn't the case. I am alone. It is my turn to be the boy on the other side of the guard rail. Would someone come to save me? Maybe. Maybe not.

I walk forwards and take off my shoes, setting them neatly on the ground in a silent cry of farewell, and climb over the guard rail. I clasp both hands to it to make sure I don't fall just yet, and look to the ground. It's a long way—seven stories, actually—but I had never been afraid of heights. There's not a lot of people below, which is good.

I prepare myself slowly, continuing to wait for the person who would stop me. First goes the old bomber jacket, slung over the railing. Second is my glasses, gently setting them on the ground, taking a moment to remember the long-deceased little boy who had given them to me. I look over myself. I've grown and filled out a lot since my young teenage years, I muse, but the scars have accumulated well enough. Then I stand there and resolve to wait five more minutes for someone to save me. My mind wanders as I wait.

It's good I decided to take off Texas. I don't want to desecrate his memory by letting his old glasses shatter.

Four minutes.

I wonder why my jacket survived so long. It's been nearly eighty years, and I'd worn it nearly every day until the 1960s, when it started to fall apart. I wonder how much longer it'll survive without me.

Three minutes.

I should've asked Lithuania to take care of my cat when I'm gone. It would've raised suspicions, but I don't want Hero to go hungry.

Two minutes.

The sky sure is beautiful today. I'm glad I didn't do this on the first day. I don't think I would've liked jumping at the onset of a storm.

One minute.

Why isn't anyone coming?

The timer was up. I glance over my shoulder to the door to the stairwell, but it is still closed firmly. I sigh, for the first time reconsidering the decision that I had made so long ago. My chest is twisting, and I know that I don't want to do this. My mind flies back to what awaits me if I go downstairs, and what the boy in the bomber jacket had said to me yesterday comes back all at once.

"That's why I came up here instead. Better than facing the world below us."

I steel myself and suck in one long breath, letting it out slowly, and send a prayer up to God. I hadn't prayed in decades, not since Pearl Harbor, but I hope He will forgive me for that.

I chuckle nervously and take one last look towards the midafternoon sun.

"And so the hero falls."

I jump.

Canada frowned, running across the plaza. Right behind him, he felt France's footsteps echo his own. He was running back to the World Meeting building, trying to hurry.

"You think we have time?" France asked. Canada nodded.

"Yeah. If we hurry."

As the building came into sight, Canada noticed a crowd of people, along with several police cars, along the base of the building. He slowed, looking over at the scene. France followed his lead, looking over at the sight.

"What happened?" the northern nation asked. France shrugged.

"A robbery, perhaps?" He shrugged, and started moving again. "It's probably nothing. Come, we have to go get your phone before America's birthday party begins, remember? Do you remember where you left it?"

"Yeah. Come on, let's go!" Then the two nations rushed into the World Meeting Building to find the Canadian's lost phone.