"Je t'aime."

"I know."

"Je t'adore."

"I do too."

"Je ne peux pas vivre sans toi."

"Me neither."

Circles were drawn repeatively around the small of a back soothingly as the embrace became tighter; neither of them wanted to let go. Never. They hated this; that they had to be apart. On no account did they ever expect this to happen, yet here they were, tired, beaten, and worn from war. The sun had no mercy towards them as it burned harshly upon their backs , and neither did time. It was only a matter of it.

It was only an hour after the British forces had taken the American fort of Niagara, and they had their eyes set on Buffalo. America had been taken by surprise, yes, but not for the same reason as most of his troops was. They had killed 67 of his people, and captured 350, of course. Arthur was known to hold grudges, of course.

But this had gone too far.

His "father" could not, would not, accept the fact that Alfred loved his little brother. Perhaps a little too much than he should have, but how was it his fault he had fallen in love? Matthew was perfect to him. He was smart, patient, understanding, and completely adorable, and although Alfred knew the Canadian wanted to beat his head in sometimes, he also knew Matthew just worried about him.

Why couldn't England understand?

America tenderly patted his brother's back comfortingly, wincing himself as Canada winced at the touch, despite Alfred's careful affection. He knew Matthew's wounds must've hurt like hell; the burning of Newark had affected the both of them; Canada had been, unfortunately, the one to suffer for it.

"Matt, I'm-"

"Sorry, I know." The blond boy smiled weakly, tears stinging his eyes. Cringing, Alfred drew more of his brother into his arms, careful of his wounds. In response, Matthew sighed lightly and rested his sweat drenched forehead against his brother's. This felt nice. To say farewell like this. To see his normally arrogant, "hero" of a brother crying as hard as he was, that America truly regretted this.

Both their heads jolted up at the sound of cannon fire. It had begun. The British were burning the town of Buffalo to the ground. And it sounded almost unreal. Alfred closed his eyes and imagined it to be an approaching thunderstorm instead, though as soon as he did, the image of people screaming and burning in their houses appeared, and made him ill.

"Matthew, please listen, I don't-"

"Adieu, Alfred."

Said American was taken by surprise as a pair of soft lips met his in unbelievable warmth and passion. His brain refused to function properly at the moment, so he watched his little brother walk away in silence as his body sudden felt terribly cold.

And, for the first time in a long time, Alfred cried, tears flowing freely down his face in a mixture of confusion, anger, and loneliness.

This is supposed to take place a little after the War of 1812, when the British easily overtook Ft. Niargara and soon after burned the American town of Buffalo and Blade Rock. (obviously).

But I FAIL at historical accuracy, so yeah.