Okay, I understand that, by how the last chapter went, it seems like this is turning into a USUK fanfic. I DO NOT SHIP USUK. Not in the slightest, guys, although it was the first yaoi I'd ever read. I'm not hating on the ship, I just don't agree with it. Besides, FrUK is more kawaii, ja?

Oh, and this chapter is a little sad. Okay, very sad. But that's what makes it good, right? Right? Maybe? MAYBE?

...

I'm sorry...

England was walking down the hallways of the building where the World Meetings were held when he was suddenly being pinned against the wall, a pair of lips being pressed against his. At first he thought it was France, even kissed them back for a moment, but France didn't have such short hair, and France didn't wear glasses. No, France was standing behind this person with short hair and glasses, his blue eyes wide with pain and hurt and betrayal.

England pushed America away from him, hurrying towards the Frenchman and gripping his shoulders, searching his lover's eyes, desperate for the slightest hint of forgiveness.

"France, no, it's not what it looks like," England pleaded. "No, he kissed me, I swear. No..."

He kept repeating it over and over. No, no, no, no, no. He knew that France wanted to believe him, that he'd just walked in on some terrible mistake, that England still loved him just as much as he had yesterday. But there was something nagging at the back of his mind, telling him that the shame in England's eyes was a lie, that his words were lies, that everything that had happened between them during the last few months had faded into lies.

France pushed England away from him, slowly and gently, as if he were made of broken shards of glass and were about to shatter. And he was. They both were. The hurt, the pain flowing through both of them, it was tearing them apart.

"Why, Angelterre?" France asked, standing alone now. "It vhas all a lie, vasn't it? You used me.."

"No, France! No! I do care about you! More than anything! You can't leave me!" England pleaded as the Frenchman started backing away. He reached towards him desperately, but France didn't return the action. He was already rejecting his touch. "France, no... I love you..."

But France couldn't hear him. He was too busy trying to make sense of the desperate thoughts swirling around in his head, mixing in with the beautiful memories of every moment he'd spent with England, every time their lips had touched, their fingers had entwined, every blissful night they'd wasted together. Forgetting the ring that sat in his pocket. It was all fading away, turning into lies, turning into the poison that would stop his heart.

France ran from England, out of the front doors, into the warm Spring air that could bring him no comfort. Trying to forget that he loved England, that England had betrayed him, trying to forget about England in general. But he couldn't forget about England, just couldn't abandon his feelings for him. He loved England too much, and he knew that, deep, deep down, England loved him back.

England watched France run from him, anger and regret bubbling up inside of him. He turned on America, his fist colliding with the younger country's jaw. The American stumbled backwards, but England kept swinging at him, sobbing, his face bright red with anger and agony.

"You idiot!" he shouted, grabbing America by the collar of his shirt and shoving him roughly against the wall. "Why did you do it?! Why do you have to ruin everything?!"

America just stood there for a moment, leaning against the wall, a dead look in his eyes. The eyes of someone who was once so lively and energetic, they had somehow become the eyes of someone who had given up on everything.

"I'm sorry," he said feebly. "But I had to, just once. I didn't know that France would be there when it happened, I swear." He paused for a moment, summoning his courage before continuing. "I'm sorry that I ever fell in love with you."

England glared at him before letting him crumple to the floor. "You're an idiot," he said. "That's incest. I raised you. It would never have happened."

America stayed on the floor, curling up into a ball and refusing to respond. He was shaking with sobs, but wasn't crying. No, he'd cried so much already, he doubted that he had any tears left to shed.

"Well, was it worth it?" England continued, his tone cruel. "Was kissing me worth ruining my relationship? Worth ruining my life?" America didn't reply, and England kicked him hard in the ribs. "I hate you, America. I hope you die in a hole somewhere. Italy's front yard, maybe."

England turned and went after France.

America lay on the floor, his glasses cracked, bruised and bleeding all over. Was it worth it? England had demanded. No, Iggy, America thought. It wasn't worth it. Not if you're not happy.

America tried to get up, and pain shot through him. He barely managed to sit up. This pain will never compare to what I'm feeling inside, he thought, wincing as he dragged himself forward. He heard footsteps echoing down the hall, followed by a familiar voice as a dark brown gaze found him.

"America-sama!" Japan cried, hurrying over and helping his friend to his feet. "Are you arright? What happened?"

America shook his head. He couldn't rat out England. He'd brought this upon himself.

Japan sighed, letting America lean on his shoulder as he limped down the hallway. "Your seriousry hurt, America-sama," he said. "Whatever happened, just... just don't ret it happen again."

America nodded. He wasn't going to let today's events repeat themselves. He was ashamed, but also terrified. If this kind of pain was what came from being in love with someone, then he never wanted to be in love again.

England ran down the block, desperately searching for France. Where is he? Where is he? he wondered, the need to find his lover all that was keeping his feet moving.

"I have to find you, France," he whispered. "Just, please... please don't do anything stupid, Love."

It started to rain, but he ignored it, even though the water was causing his clothes to stick to his skin. He didn't know how much time had past, only that his worry grew and the rain came down harder.

England had almost given up when he found him. France, leaning against someone's wall, his light hair turned dark from the water, the rain shielding his tears. England ran towards him, wrapping his arms around the Frenchman before he could leave him again.

"I'm so, so sorry, France," he sobbed. "America kissed me, I swear. I never planned for this to happen. I promise, I love you."

"Angelterre," France choked out. "For zhe slightest second, you... you were kissing him back..."

"I thought he was you, Love!" England explained. "I'm an idiot. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please, just please, try and find some way to forgive me..."

France looked into England's eyes, and smiled, pressing his lips against his, wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him close. The Brit threw his arms around the Frenchman's neck, returning the kiss, returning the passion. After a few moments, France pulled away.

"I can forgive you," he replied quietly, leaning his forehead against his. "But only if you agree to marry me."

"Wha...?" England asked, a bit confused. His green eyes widened when he realized what the Frenchman was saying. "Oh my bloody... O-of course I will, Frog!"

France smiled, kissing him again and filling up with joy. He wasn't going to lose him again. No, England would be his forever.

America sat in the World Meeting room, staring blankly at France in England, who were no longer hiding their relationship. England had his head on the Frenchman's shoulder, and their fingers were obviously entwined under the table. They even kissed a few times, when they thought that no one was looking. But America saw everything...

And it made him sick.

How can they do this to me? he demanded silently. He was still bruised from the other day, and was covered in Band-Aids. Not to mention his glasses had been broken in the 'fight,' - which couldn't really be called a fight - so he was practically blind until Japan could get him a replacement. But it wasn't just the physical pain that was hurting him... He still wasn't entirely over England, and seeing him and his new fiance being all 'lovey-dovey' with each other wasn't helping in the slightest.

At least I have Japan to help me out, he reassured himself, playing with his thumbs. He'd told Japan everything, and he'd agreed to watch out for him from that point on. At least someone was still on his side.

The meeting ended, France and England being the first two to leave. America sat there for a while, waiting for the others to just go away. Everyone left, except for Japan. He walked over to America.

"It's time to reave, America-sama," he said, clutching his forearm and pulling him to his feet. America didn't object, letting Japan lead him out of the door and down the hallway. They left the building, Japan leading the stumbling American down the block to his house.

They stopped at America's front steps, Japan unlocking the front door for his friend. It opened, and they stood there for a moment.

"Okay," America said. "Thanks. See you later, Japan."

Japan stood there for another moment before leaning over and kissing America. Right on the lips. The American blinked, and Japan pulled away, blushing furiously. "Yeah. see you rater, Arfred..."

America watched him walk away, walk away as if nothing had happened. What just happened? he thought, still in a daze. He went inside. Does Japan...

No, it was too soon after England. And Japan couldn't like him... It wasn't possible...

Was it?