A/N: I do not own Hetalia.
This is just sort of something I wrote in the wee hours of the night solely because I realized I hadn't
written anything in ages.
America brushes his thumb across England's cheek.
The tears come effortlessly, and quicker than he imagines.
He had shoved him away before, hit him, kissed him...
Now only he could do was sink to his knees, just like on that fateful day.
He tugs on America's jacket, and clings to it like it is his only tie to the world.
Maybe it is just that.
America wraps his arms around him, holding him until he has no tears left to shed.
He knows.
He loves England, heart and soul and body and mind. He really does.
He knows it is his fault for this.
It always was and always will be.
He watches his lover choke up and tremble, shudder and dry-heave; and he watches the endless pool of
tears forming on the ground.
He knows he did his to England,
But no matter how much he loves him,
He cannot apologize for it.
He does not want to, and even if he did, would it change anything?
He does not regret it; he only regrets that England could not see why.
He must be the hero, because it is this day when he remembers what it feels like to be the villain.
He feels like he should be in England's place.
But, like a hero, he must stand and watch the 'villain'-
The man he has hurt-
The man he loves-
Crumple down and sob openly.
He wonders if all villains feel this guilty.
He wonders if they bear England's pain-
The pain of betrayal and defeat, and being told that after you lost so much, you were the one who was
evil.
It is times like this he sees himself as a villain of the worst kind-
The kind that gets away with it.
He knows why they never show up in comic books-because nobody is willing to call heroes by their true
name.
He turns toward England, and kisses away those tears.
The tears he should be crying, the ones England does not deserve.