Hiya dudes!My computer got formatted so the chapters for Peanut Butter and Jelly. ;;_;;
Yeah, I know you guys are waiting for it! I'll get to up it by the 19th of December if possible. So, I'll leave you with this fanfic. This was actually meant to be published in tumblr but I figured out that my post won't be that readable considering the theme of my profile XD. I'm such an idiot.
Thus, I do hope you enjoy reading this! I've already finished this. It has 8 chapters but I'll up them one by one to do double check.
It wasn't a mystery not even a challenge for someone to know that England held feelings for America. However, this did not help the fact that the younger nation was 'completely' oblivious to the said matter. Even though the both of them spent so much time together, America was either too damn dense or he just wasn't paying attention to England who consciously and unconsciously drop hints of his actual feelings.
For England, it was pitiful, really, he, himself, found it so frustrating and sad at the same time. He couldn't blame America. The Oh-so Mature Representation of the UK was a nation who can't admit that he had difficulties in expressing himself clearly. It was bearable after their reconciliation, leaving the negative feelings brought by the American Revolution behind. They became allies in the times of the succeeding wars in Europe also, everywhere. England was happy but not satisfied. He loved American for more than just an Ally.
After the establishment of the so-called, "Special Relationship", a perfect description to their bond, nothing much changed. They were more than allies yet less than a union. In human terms, it was more than 'friends' yet less than 'lovers'. England would laugh at himself whenever he thinks about it. He laughs bitterly, truth be told, he wanted to tell his feelings to the other. So, he gathered up all his courage and agreed to act like the git for once but all went down the drain.
America got a girlfriend. Much worse, it was Belgium. The most beautiful country since Britannia and Mama Greece. She had a voluptuous body, a beautiful face and a warm and brilliant smile to offer. Much to England's chagrin, he did not stand a chance. Belgium was a kind and fun-loving lass, just like America.
How the two ended up or even dated, he didn't know. All he knew was he already lost without a fight. Some fate.
"Ah, mon cher, what a lovely day isn't it?" France smiled as he stood beside the Brit who was staring out of the window of the meeting room.
They were the only ones left after the others left when Germany called for a break.
"Oh belt up Frog… Find someone else to bother," England, too frustrated and melancholic, grumbled through his hand.
"Oh, Angleterre.. You do know that your dear eyebrows becomes more hideous when you're scrunching your face up…" the nation of love hummed and smirked. "Do enlighten me, mon cher, tell big brother France what is bothering dear rosbif…"
England glared at him and sighed. He crossed his arms and looked away, "I don't recall of hiring you as my therapist/psychiatrist…"
"Oh but I had been… for centuries now… So long that I can tell that it is Amerique whom lingers in your thoughts." eyeing for England's reaction.
A blush followed by a heavy and irritated sigh, England glared the Frenchman harder. He thought it wasn't obvious. He thought that no one would notice ((Given his short-tempered and cynical facade)). Maybe years, no, centuries of history with the wine bastard, had it coming.
"And so, Francy pants had something to say…" England loosened up and tried to act like a gentleman. or not. "Spit it out cheesy monkey. What's with this oh-so great speculation about America? Why would I think of the annoying git?"
France shook his head, looked at the Brit with an unimpressed face, "Well, the young Amerique is with the very beautiful Belgium… How they got together is still mystery to moi…" he paused and moved closer to the Brit, his lips almost on England's ear, "But the real mystery here is, how will the Great Angleterre face such twist of fate?" he grinned.
"Oh spare me,frog. I don't have time for your worthless speculations─"
"You can't fool me, Arrrtherr. I know your feeling for our Amerique… I'm not called the country of l'amour for nothing…" France rolled his eyes, "Do tell me, was it heartbreaking? To see your love find another when you are just about to confess? Or your love was too dense and an idiot to not notice your truly not-so hidden feelings? Everyone knew except the person concerned… seriously, why did you love that brat, Angleter─" he paused when he noticed England trembling with his hands covering his face.
"Angleterre…"
England bitterly chuckled and turned to the baffled Frenchman, "It's quite pathetic isn't it? Being all this bloody emotional over something so trivial. I am the United Bloody Kingdom, an ex-empire, even! But now, all I do is─" he felt a lump caught in his throat as a single tear trickled down his cheek.
"Oh Angleterre…" France sighed and held the other nation. Arthur tried to push him away at first but nonetheless, let his fellow European nation comfort him, like they were humans.
Of course, they were always arguing and trying to end each other or strangle each other at some point. But that didn't stop them from being at least friends outside politics, war or problems as nations. They were friends in the human sense of the word.
For Francis, seeing Arthur like this always reminds him that the 'punk' and 'black sheep of Europe' was still capable to feel things, not just anger and suspicion. This person, like him, not only had loved but continued to love someone. For him, it was Jeanne. For Arthur, it was America.
"It's alright, mon cher… You're still part human… we may be representation of our countries but the only difference from us to our land is our heart… We can feel emotions, get hurt, be saddened, feel happy, be discontented, to love and be loved…" France whispered caressing England's back to soothe the other nation. It was like the Old days again, he caring for England like this. Not that he didn't anymore, he still and always do.
England took deep breaths in futile attempts of stopping his tears. He hated looking weak like this, not to France, not to anyone. But he couldn't help it! France was the only nation whom he could confined with whom surely won't tell the others, for old time's sake (else he will burn down Paris if that was the last thing he could do). "Stop acting so mature, damn frog…" England grumbled and sniff.
"Much as I like seeing you like this mon cher, I will make you pay if you mess up my clothes, non?" France playfully scolded, which earned him a thwack at the back.
England stepped back and wiped away his tears, "I am not sorry for staining your clothes with tears… Knowing you, you probably enjoy that little torment…" he sarcastically chuckled.
France sighed and smiled slyly, "Well, seeing mon petit lapin, crying to moi in such a passion… it is. But seeing it too often saddens me, Angleterre…" he rested both his hand on the other's shoulders. "You need to get over this and move nowhere but forward, mon cher… That is my advice, as Francis…"
England's eyes widened and looked at the other with shock, then averted his eyes to the floor. His fists clenched, "I don't know Francis… I don't think I can…" he mumbled. He can't. At least that's what he thought. It was already too damn long since he had those feeling for America.
'It wasn't easy to just let go. It never was when it's him.'
"You'll…non, we'll find a way…" France smiled and placed a kiss on the other's forehead, just like when England was a little nation.
England offered him a small smile, as Arthur, "Thank you, Francis."
"Woah… Did I miss the memo that no one should enter the conference room right after the break or what…?" a familiar voice broke the innocent and friendly exchange between the two.
England's eyes widened, standing still and not looking up. France turned to the person by the door, holding a bag of McDonald's takeout at one hand and a cup of Cola on the other.
"You got back so early. This is new…" the Frenchman greeted with his eyes narrow and his voice dull from its natural brilliance.
At this, England looked up and saw the nation whom he cried for just a while a go.
America.