Author's Notes: Ok! Here's chapter 2! There is no Russia in this chapter, though he is mentioned in dialogue. There is however, Arthur Kirkland! Oh, and I use both country and human names, but they are countries. So, when an age is given, it is the "appearance" age, or how they seem to act, not how old the country actually is. Please review! Enjoy!

Chapter2 – Facing Fears

"England, I'm scared. I don't understand, I...!" Alfred wailed out as he ran in the door, his voice frantic as he spoke. "He should have killed me, oh my god, he should have killed me, and, and he almost did, but he didn't, and then we kissed and, Arthur! I think I-"

"Alfred!" The concerned Brit snapped with a stamp of his foot. "Bloody hell! Calm down would you?!" He walked over to the crazy American, and placed a hand on his shoulder, while taking the other one to give him a swift slap across the face. "Pull yourself together, and explain slowly." He commanded.

Alfred stumbled back a bit, and readjusted his glasses. Arthur walked behind him, and closed the front door as Alfred began to speak. "Ivan… he… didn't kill me. He didn't kill me, Arthur. I was right there, and he just… stopped."

"So, let me get this straight. You are all worked up because Ivan spared your life? Is that correct? I mean, honestly, America… you're alive, so quit your blabbering, you git."

Alfred shook his head. "No, no, no. You don't understand! He likes me… and I think…"

"He likes you? What on earth gave you that idea?"

"He kissed me."

"He did what?"

"He kissed me, Arthur… and I kissed him back." Alfred stated flatly. He leaned backwards against the wall as he remembered the moment he and Ivan had shared.

Arthur raised an eyebrow out of curiosity, the gesture being quite visible underneath his dishelved hair. "You really are something. I thought you two were rivals. Out for each other's blood."

"We're supposed to be! That's what I don't get! We had like, a moment and everything though! I don't know man; I'm starting to think I actually might really like him, but… I'm scared. Arthur, I don't know how to feel." The young American said as he swallowed hard.

"Alfred F. Jones, you are twenty years old. Now, correct me if I am wrong, but you should know how you feel about Ivan."

"But I don't!" Alfred protested.

Arthur rolled his eyes, and let out a heavy sigh. "Alfred, boy, come here." He said as the American reluctantly complied. He sat him down on the couch, and sat down next to him, looking into his eyes. "I've known you longer than anyone else has, Alfred, I mean, bloody hell I raised you. Now, are you trying to tell me, that Alfred F. Jones, no, America, the country of freedom, is afraid of falling in love?"

"LOVE?!" Alfred's eyes nearly popped out of his head at the words. "I, I, I might have said that I like the guy, but what in tarnation makes you think I love him?! You've gone off the deep end! You're crazy! You're mad! How could I possibly love the man I've spent so long trying to kill?! How could he ever feel the same way?!" His head was now reeling with questions.

"Did I or did I not say calm down?!" The British male snapped. "Obviously, you have feelings for that brute of a man, or you wouldn't have come to me blabbering about it, now would you?" He held the Americans face firmly in his hands.

Alfred looked at him in bewilderment, eyes wide, and he found himself unable to form words. Then, he found the strength to form a few. "He's not a brute."

"So, you're defending him?"

"N-No… I… umm..."

"You're defending him, you git."

"Ok, ok! I am defending him!"

"Why would you do that?"

"Because… because I don't know!

The American sank back into the couch, and threw his hands to his face, and he tore his glasses off, sending them to the floor with a crash. They shattered, but he did not seem to care as hot tears began to streak down his face. "I don't know!" He screamed as he ran to his room, effectively slamming into a wall before finding the door. Even after all these years, despite his independence, England had kept a room for America. The latter was sobbing, and crying, and he violently slammed the door before locking it. Arthur let out a deep sigh, and decided that going after him was not for the best. Instead, he took to picking shards of Alfred's glasses out of the carpet.

"That poor git…" He sighed out.