A/N ;; Written for the thirty day drabble challenge on Tumblr. I might tidy it up a bit at some point.

Accusation

"I think I should call a cab for you."

England glanced up blearily, frowning. "I'm fine," he protested, absently swirling his fourth glass of whiskey that night. As he collapsed onto the bar counter, head hidden in his arms, Canada tried to edge the glass of alcohol out of England's grip, only to have the former empire's hand suddenly latch onto his wrist, tighter than what was comfortable.

England raised his head just a little bit, enough so that Canada could see his eyes peeking out from beneath the messy blond fringe that fell over his face. The grip on his wrist still hadn't loosened, and Canada could already tell that there was going to be a bruise there when he woke up in the morning. "You don't love me anymore, do you?" England muttered quietly, almost too softly for his companion to hear, and Canada could feel his questioning frown softening as the words reached his ears.

"You're drunk, Arthur," he replied, moving his free hand forward to loosen England's grip from his wrist. Thankfully, he hadn't drank anything but water tonight, or he had a feeling he would probably be in the same boat as England right now. He wasn't exactly a lightweight – very few nations were – but he had a bit of trouble stopping himself when he started drinking. He stood up from his bar stool, taking England's arm and pulling him up as well. "Come on," he said gently. "We're going back to my place."

"M'not drunk," Arthur insisted, slurring his words slightly, but did not protest anymore as Canada pulled him off his stool. He didn't fight his former charge as he was pulled through the small bar towards the entrance, weaving around a few of the Canadian's citizens as they went. He ducked his head, staring down at the floor. "You didn't answer the question."

The brisk January air hit them like a bucket of cold water as they stepped onto the street, and through the grip he held on England's arm, Canada could feel a shiver run up on his body. "Why is your weather so damned cold?" England demanded as Canada stopped them against a wall, reaching into his pocket for his cellphone. They had walked to the bar earlier in the evening, but he didn't trust England enough to be able to make it home, even with Canada accompanying him. "America is so much warmer than this," he grumbled. "Ahhh… he used to be so cute…"

Canada's thumb hovered over the 'end call' button as he finished reciting their address to the operator. He let out a deep, slow breath, asking himself why he was anything else but surprised that England had resorted to speaking about America. Of course he had. England always spoke about America when he was drunk – and even when he was sober, it was always about America, America, America. He wasn't disappointed at all – no, really, he wasn't. He had been expecting this all day, from the very first moment he had quite literally run into England earlier in the day. Eventually, everything came back around to America.

Always America.

He jerked slightly as he felt a peculiar weight rest against his chest, glancing down to find that England had taken to leaning against him. "Um, Arthur…" he began.

"You too, y'know," England interrupted him. "You were cute, too. Such a good boy. And always so eager for attention…" He smiled faintly. "America isn't cute anymore… but you… you still are." As Canada's cheeks heated against his will, England's smile faded. "So… why don't you love me anymore? What did I do wrong? You stayed with me, even when your bastard brother didn't… You fought with me, against him… I always took that as a sign that you would always love me, because you chose me over him… But it changed. When did you stop loving me, Matthew?"

"We're… family, Arthur," Canada replied slowly, unsure of what else to say.

He snorted bitterly. "Family means nothing, not among our kind. Just because we're 'family'… it doesn't mean anything." He stood on his toes, his breath ghosting against Canada's ear. "I worked so hard to make sure you liked me, don't you remember? I let you keep your religion, and made sure you were happy with me." He laughed slightly, and the sound sent a chill down Canada's spine. "You hated me at first, because of that damned frog, but after a while… you looked at me with admiration and… and love. And I wanted to keep you like that forever…" His arms came around the Canadian's waist, leaning more of his weight into him. "You grew up too fast, you and America both… much, much too fast. I wish you were like that still… it would make this all so much easier…"

Canada blinked confusedly. "Eh? England, what are you…?" he began to ask, but abruptly cut himself off at the warm, strange touch just below his ear, slowly moving downwards. As he felt a tongue brush against his neck, his hands quickly flew up to rest on England's shoulders, gently pushing him away. "Arthur, stop," he said firmly, one hundred percent sure that his face was as red as a tomato.

England frowned. "But I… You…"

"You're drunk, Arthur."

"And if I wasn't?" he demanded. "Would you let me then?"

Canada, thankfully, was saved from having to answer that question by the sudden appearance of their cab. Without a second thought, he steered England towards the vehicle, pushing him inside as soon as he could. He quickly told the cab driver his address, settled back against the seat, and closed his eyes. He could feel England's steady gaze on him, burning into the side of his head, and he ignored it the best he could, repeating England's question over and over in his mind.

Would he have let England continue if he were sober?

It was difficult to say.

Halfway through the forty minute cab drive, he felt England's head loll against his shoulder, though one brief look at the former empire told Canada that he hadn't fallen asleep. "Arthur…" he whispered, shifting his shoulder slightly. Having England rest against him like this wasn't exactly uncomfortable, but it wasn't completely welcome, either. "Sit up, please."

England shushed him quietly. "Just give me this," he said, and Canada could see the tips of his ears reddening. "Let him think I'm drunk and I just fell asleep."

"I'm not worried about that," Canada replied, shifting his shoulder again. The place where England's head was resting was becoming uncomfortably warm.

"Then what is it?"

"You shouldn't…" he trailed off, looking to the side. He watched the streets fly by for a distraction.

Canada looked back as he felt one of his hands intertwine with England's. "I love you, you know," he mumbled, his words muffled against the Canadian's shirt, and Canada had to strain his ears to hear him even as close together as they were. "Have for a long time… just never realized it until recently… It was that stupid frog who had to tell me, and then it finally sunk it… and everything made sense…" He met Canada's eyes head-on, and the younger nation could definitely say that England looked significantly more sober than he had just a few minutes ago. "I know… I know you don't feel the same way…" His frown deepened as he said this. "But can I be selfish just this once? Can I have you all for myself for tonight?"

You've always been selfish. "What…"

"You don't get it, do you?" He snorted. "I've always kept tabs on you, Matthew. Always. I know you thought I forgot you, and maybe I did a few times when we met face to face, but… I always wondered about you, always wanted to make sure you were safe. And I don't want you… to be influenced… I want to keep you with me. Is that so wrong to want?"

"I suppose it isn't," Canada said thoughtfully. In a way, he knew how England felt. He had experienced the very same feelings once upon a time, and had been rejected… "Who could I possibly be influenced by?"

"Prussia," he mumbled in reply.

Matthew shook his head slowly. "Gilbert and I are friends."

"And you better stay that way, no more than that." He squeezed Canada's hand, but didn't say anything else. After a long while of silence, he finally spoke up again. "Can I have a chance? Just one. Please."

He sighed, nodding jerkily. "Yeah, okay… just one…"

Just as England let a large smirk slide across his face, Canada felt his eyes widen.

"How long have you been pretending to be drunk?" he demanded, pushing England off his shoulder irritably.

That smirk didn't disappear at all – if anything, it only seemed to widen. "Hm, the whole night."

"You bastard."

England held up their entwined hands. "Sticks and stones, love."