Chapter I

"... Happy Birthday to you!"

Cheers and claps erupted from a nearby table where a group of humans were celebrating someone's birthday. England smiled and took a sip of his drink, wondering when he had last been near someone celebrating a birthday. He was sitting in a restaurant at the bar, still in his military uniform, watching the humans around him enjoy the evening. He was nursing a drink in his hands and surprisingly, it was only his third drink. England didn't feel like getting drunk tonight. Not only was he alone, he was rather tired and he was in America's home. America's beer was always watered down and never got England drunk. He would have to spend a fortune to get even slightly inebriated. Besides, he had been warned by Germany that morning that he was not allowed more than 10 units per night and he was barred from drinking with Norway. England didn't blame Germany for his tough measures, not after what happened that time in Leuven. No, tonight was a night off from drink; he would go to bed sober.

England glanced at his watch. It had just turned 07:30pm and he was already considering whether he should retire back to his hotel room. He shifted on the uncomfortable bar stool, running a hand through his messy hair. He had no real reason to stay out; most other nations were out clubbing somewhere, which didn't appeal to him. Any other time he would be up for dancing, but tonight... maybe he was just getting old. Not that he would admit that. Maybe he was just worn out. That sounded like a better reason to get back to his room. He was tired, that was all. He took a large gulp of his drink, intending to leave, when someone sat down at the bar next to him.

"Sup England? You drinking alone? Need some company?" a rather loud voice sounded in his ear. England suppressed a sigh. He had been alone all night. He should talk to someone, he didn't want to get a reputation for being boring, no matter how tired he was.

"Hello to you as well America. What would you like to drink?" England offered politely, knowing full well America would ask for Coke or something without alcohol. Poor kid didn't know what he was missing. Why he had to have such a high age limit on drink, England would never know.

"Thanks, I'll have a Coke. Why are you laughing?"

"No reason," England chuckled, signalling the bartender. The man nodded and brought a Coke can over to America, who loudly thanked him and cracked open the can. He didn't use the glass he was given. England shuddered a little; America never did learn manners.

"So why are you all alone? Friends left you again?" America said with mock concern. England glared, his temper fraying. Somehow America always managed to put England in a bad mood.

"I'm alone because I want to be. What's your excuse? No friends?" he snapped. He tapped the edge of his glass absentmindedly. The prospect of his quiet hotel room was becoming more appealing by the minute.

America laughed loudly, gulping down his Coke as he did. England was sure the man would end up choking to death one day. Only America could die of excessive consumption in a recession. England rubbed his eyes, trying to fight off the urge to sleep. He hadn't managed to rest on the seven-hour plane ride. He wondered how the other European nations were holding up with the time difference.

"Someone's grumpy tonight. What, no fairy friends here to cheer you up?" America asked, swivelling on his seat to lean against the bar. England felt his eyebrow twitch at the last comment.

"What about you? Has Tony gone back home?" England snapped a little harshly. He couldn't resist a dig at America's friend.

America looked a little flustered, which made England smirk. He'd hit a nerve.

"As a matter of fact he has," America stated before taking a large gulp of Coke. "At least he's real," he added petulantly. England gritted his teeth and tapped his fingers against the bar, trying to remain calm. He took a deep breath, holding in the words he wished to say. Instead, he opted for a more civil approach.

"You know that magic exists America," he said with a shake of his head, amazed at America's ability to deny the truth. He finished the rest of his drink. "And you also know that magical beings such as fairies exist. How many times do I have to tell you and prove it to you?"

"It's not real!" America snapped a little too loudly. Heads turned to stare at him. England sighed as America waved away their concern and turned back to face the bar. He was still just a big kid.

"So you believe that aliens exist in the universe, but you won't believe in magic?" England continued, leaning his elbow on the bar. "Despite finding me as a girl that time?"

"Well... that could have been anything," America muttered, looking anywhere but at England. "You could have drugged my coffee or something!"

"You found me first!" England snapped in disbelief. "And in case you don't remember, you made sure I was a girl."

America had the grace to blush. England searched for a cigarette, feeling smug. There was no way America could deny magic existed after that interesting night. Yet here they were, arguing over something trivial. Yet again. England sighed, giving up on finding his cigarette packet. A warm bed, that was what he needed. He'd heard enough noise for one day.

"Whatever dude," America said dismissively, crushing his Coke can in one hand. "You need to grow up. You're how old and you still believe in children's stories?"

"Mock me all you want America, you're just in denial."

"What's to deny? Your magic isn't real. Even if it was, what could it do? I doubt you'd be able to do anything amazing with it. The best you could do is dust your old furniture with it."

England slammed his fists onto the bar and pushed himself up, knocking the bar stool to the ground with a loud clack. The crowd of humans started to mutter and point at the two men, who seemed to be arguing constantly. England turned slowly, an evil glint in his eye and his mouth curled into a snarl. His hand snapped out and grabbed America's lapels, lifting him up off the bar stool.

"Listen America, you know what happened that night when I was a girl," England growled, his face inches from America's. "You think you know so much, but you won't accept the truth even if it's staring you in the face. My magic can do much, much more than you friend Tony could. Remember that next time you insult me."

With that, England threw America back onto his stool and strode from the restaurant, leaving the red-faced nation all alone.

0O0

England sighed as he turned the key to his hotel room, stumbling through into the darkness. The walk back to the hotel and lessened his anger, but now he felt bad for snapping at America. Yes he was tired but there was no excuse for rudeness. Then again, the man had deserved it, especially when there was undeniable proof that magic did exist. A yawn broke free, threatening to break England's jaw. He stretched and tugged off his jacket and tie, throwing them onto a nearby chair. Sleep was calling him and he had no strength to refuse. He paused to rub his eyes and flick on the lights...

He jumped and landed in a pile on the floor when he saw who was waiting for him in his bed.

"France? What the bloody hell are you doing here?" he shrieked. He automatically went to cover himself before realising he was still clothed. Whenever France was around, it was always best practice to cover yourself, no matter the situation.

"Ah Angleterre, there you are," France purred, ignoring England's over-the-top reaction. "I've been waiting for you."

Pushing himself to his feet, England groaned. "France, I'm in no mood to play games tonight."

France pouted at England's words and let the bed-sheets fall into his lap, exposing his chest. "But Angleterre, I've been so lonely waiting for you."

"I won't ask why you're naked," England muttered as he sat on the edge of his bed. He tugged off his boots and began to unbutton his shirt. The mattress moved underneath him as France edged closer, but England was too tired to react. Instead, he threw his shirt to the floor and began unbuttoning his trousers, trying his hardest to keep his eyes open.

"My, you are tired," France mumbled. Hands settled on England's shoulders and began to trace circles on his skin. "Too tired for a little... indulgence?"

"Indulge all you want France, but I don't think I'd be able to reciprocate," England muttered. His hands had stopped undoing his trousers and his eyes grew heavy. He felt himself falling forwards and pulled back with a jolt. France chuckled behind him.

"Mon dieu, you've really become an old man England."

"Don't you start," England snapped, yanking off his trousers and socks. "Bad enough America insults me all the time, I don't need you to help," he grumbled under his breath. Sitting in just his boxers, he felt very vulnerable, especially with France's hands massaging his shoulders.

"Oh so it was little America that put you in such a mood," France said, giving England's shoulders a tight squeeze. England couldn't deny that France's massage was amazing, as usual. "What did he say now? The eyebrows again?"

"No not that," England said lazily, feeling far too relaxed. His eyes grew heavy again. "My magic."

"Ah that again," France said with a chuckle. He placed a kiss on England's shoulder. "Forget about it, he's always been into his aliens more than magic."

England jolted awake again as he felt France's hands travel down his back and circle his waist. He pushed France's hands away and rose slowly, raking a hand through his hair. With another wide yawn, England pulled the covers up and climbed into bed next to France. He settled down on his side, facing France, who smiled and lay back, propping himself up on one elbow. He ran his fingers through England's hair soothingly as England fought to stay awake.

"America can be such an idiot," England mumbled, relishing the feeling on his scalp.

"He learned from the best," France joked. England scowled up at him, but France merely laughed. "You know I'm just teasing you. There's nothing you can do to change him, so don't dwell on whatever he said."

"I'll never understand why America doesn't just accept that magic is real," England muttered, more to himself than France.

France shook his head and sighed. "Neither will I."

"You accept that it's real?" England asked, raising his head from the pillow.

"Does that surprise you?" France asked with a raise of an eyebrow. He flicked some of his hair over his shoulder as England averted his gaze.

"Well... a little," England confessed. He flipped over to lay on his back with his hands interlocked behind his head. "All the years you picked on me, I'm just surprised you would believe anything I say."

"I confess, it's not often I do," France said with a smirk. England slapped his shoulder with a glare. France just chuckled again and took England's hand in his own, licking the knuckles suggestively. England blushed and tried to yank his hand away, but France held tight.

"Let go," England growled, tugging again. He could his energy draining away.

"There are too many strange things in this world," France continued, ignoring England's protests. "All these stories you here of dragons, fairies and other magical things... every culture has them to varying extents. There has to be an element of truth in it. Just because I cannot see what you see, doesn't mean I don't believe in it."

"It's creepy when you talk like this," England mumbled, managing to wrench his hand free. He sighed and turned on his side, facing away from France. "Anyway I'm tired. Go to sleep here if you want or bugger off to your room."

England felt France shift closer, the mattress creaking underneath their combined weights. A hand snaked its way along England's waist and settled against his chest. The warmth England felt from France's body was very comforting... not that he would admit it. He was just very tired, that's why he felt so relaxed around France. Nothing more.

"Speaking of magic, how about you turn yourself into a girl again?" France muttered against his back. England lashed out with his legs, kicking France in the shins. He raised a fist to smack France in the face, but the man deftly caught his wrist and held him down. "I'm joking! I don't mind whatever form you are in," he added with a grin. He leaned in for a passionate kiss, sliding his way between England's legs.

"You've been hanging around with Spain and Prussia for too long," England gasped when he pulled away for air. He tried to wriggle free, but all it did was give France more access. He cursed mentally.

France's eyebrows creased in slight confusion. "How so?"

"Taking advantage of someone who's already said they are tired is definitely how they would react!"

"I don't think I could ever take advantage of you Angleterre," France mumbled as he trailed kisses down England's neck. England tried not to shiver, but the Frenchman's kisses were always just so good. "You always enjoy whatever I do to you."

"Not... always," England said through gritted teeth, trying not to make any noise as those amazing kisses slowly made their way down to his chest.

"We'll see about that," France muttered without looking at England. "I'll make you forget all about that bad mood you're in."

"I'm not in a mood!"

"Oui oui, now be quiet."

"Don't talk to me like... ah..."

As the night wore on and France's kisses travelled lower, England managed to forget just how tired he really was.