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Deviantart link; thatlittlewriter(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/Alfred-s-POV-Nothing-happened-okay-270343153


He told me he loved me at the very beginning.

"Oi prick open the door!" He banged at my door.

He told me he loved me at the very end.

"England?" I called out, it was clear it was him, opening the door to find him on his knees, eyes red and collar wet.

But this.

He'd been drinking. Again.

"Let me in, you, you stupid twat. I'm cold."

This.

"Okay okay, come on then get up off the floor." I told him, lifting him up with his arm slung round the back of my neck. He reeked of alcohol, it was almost enough to make me feel sick.

This was different.

My shoulder suddenly felt heavy and sweaty, he'd buried his face deep onto me, he was- Was he sniffing me?

"'m gonna be sick.."

This was not the love he used to give me.

"Woah woah no, don't you dare." I spat, having him here was enough, I did not need that added. The slow pace was dragging on, carefully I swept him up into my arms, holding him 'bridal style' to speed things up a bit, taking him over to the couch. I giggled silently to myself looking at him sprawled out all over it, he was the one who brought this for me, and he was the one specifically telling me not to do just that.

Typical Arthur.

Did he know what he was doing?

"Am-Merica."

"Hm? What is it?"

"Come 'ere."

"Huh?" I questioned, suddenly being pulled down forcefully. My back ached from the stance, but it wasn't hard to tell he was clearly hugging me.

England. Was showing affection. To me.

Awesome.

"You smell nice." The smell of the alcohol so strong poured out as he spoke. His breathing was steady and small but I could feel his heart beating. It was so warm, and welcoming and-

No.. He couldn't have known what he was doing.

"Yeah well, you stink." I laughed, attempting to pry him off from my shoulders, I admit it was really odd. I always used to be the smaller one, never before have I actually felt him in this way, as subtle as it was.

His grip strengthened, and my breath caught on the back of my throat. A little too tight for comfort.

"Ahm, England, t-too tight." Slowly, my breath came back to me, he'd loosened up, by only a little bit. It was enough. I took another attempt to free myself from him, yet his grip was still as strong as before. I had no idea he was this strong to be honest.

Come on England, this wasn't fair.

The atmosphere became rather dull, and without warning my shoulder dampened, as England began sobbing, short painful sobs. It was heartbreaking to listen to, but he was drunk, so my sympathy only went so far.

Or so I'd hoped. My mouth opened to speak, to ask him what was wrong, and why he was doing this. But my voice never came to me, the words ran round in my mind, all scrambled and unreadable. Before I had even noticed my arms were wrapped fit around his back, pulling him up closer to me. He was being really stupid, but I'd always feared seeing him cry.

Do you not understand why I did it England?

"Why'd you leave me 'Merica." His speech had slurred terribly as he croaked out. He needn't say much for me to know what he was talking about.

This sly jerk.

I couldn't speak, I tried again, but nothing but empty whispers sounded. I felt terrible, yet I felt angry. This happens at least once every few months, he'd crawl his way to my door, bang senselessly until I bring him in, drunk out of his mind. But never has he began crying over it since that day on the field. Never has he shown any sign of affection. He really knew how to make me feel like utter shit didn't he?

England.

"Need to tell, something." He felt like a statue burdening my body, frozen stiff but breathing.

"Tel-Tell me what?" I faintly croaked out, if I could I would seriously consider stepping back in time to just say that again. Differently. I sounded terrible.

Wait this isn't about me.

Just then I felt his back arch a little, his head turning slowly to face my cheek. A cold feeling planted itself to the corner of my lips.

"..Love you. So much."

Did you mean it?

"Really England?" I questioned, a drunk man can say a lot of stupid things, whether they're true or not.

"Yes, you idiot." With that his arms suddenly fell limp on my back. He'd fallen asleep.

God fucking damnit.

"I love you too England." I laid him down carefully, his head resting on the arm of the sofa, I threw a nearby blanket over him. I wanted to kiss him, drunk or not his lips looked so inviting. His forehead was satisfactory enough though.

Let's just pretend this never happened.

It's not like you'll remember it anyway, even more so admit.

Just please know that I love you, even if you don't love me like I hope.

You jerk.