A/N: Again, I would like to apologize for not updating this story in such a long time. Please try to understand people, that I had a lot on my mind at the time, and was unable to focus on writing multiple stories at once. I WILL (and this time, I mean it) definitely be able to update this story way more often now.

Three weeks have passed since America and France had that date and so far, France managed to rid his body of seven pounds. Therefore, making his current weight be one-hundred forty-seven pounds. Of course, many individuals would've been satisfied with that weight, considering how tall he was. However, France was unable to bring himself to feel any pride for his progress, feeling as if he still needed to lose seventeen pounds in order to be thin enough. In fact, his initial goal was to only be under one hundred fifty pounds, but seeing as he still considered himself to be rather pudgy, France knew that he was going to have to lose more in order to satisfy his rapidly increasing standards.

After spending approximately fifteen miserable minutes pinching at the thin layer of fat on his stomach while glaring at his own very much despised reflection, France finally decided to slide his shirt back down, and leave the bathroom in order to find something to do that would hopefully take his mind off of his hateful thoughts. There really was no point for him to dwell on his weight any longer, since he'd already purged until nothing would come out of his stomach, and he was much too exhausted to do any more exercises that night. Besides, he'd already come up with more plans that he hoped would help him lose weight at a quicker rate. Yet as time continued to pass by during his diet, focusing on anything other than how fat he thought he was had become a near impossible task, so really, he wondered why he was even bothering to try and distract himself from his negative thoughts, since more things in his life have become triggers anyways.

France walked into the living room where America happened to be sitting on the couch, his full attention directed towards the television as he played a video game. His eyes remaining unblinking as if as if he was some predator stalking his prey; possibly believing that if he had his eyes closed from even a fraction of a second, his kill would disappear. Perhaps his boyfriend would be able to distract him from his thoughts. At first, France had become fond of that idea, but immediately changed his mind when a thought came to him, He obviously doesn't want to spend time with you right now! Then he decided to just give up on trying to ignore what was currently eating at him, and headed off into the kitchen. When he entered the said room, he decided to sit down at the table and stare at the floor. He was certainly grateful for the fact that he wasn't hungry, but instead his stomach ached and his throat was so sore to the point that even the very thought of eating food made him cringe. At least something was actually physically stopping him from binging for once, much to his relief.

Really at that moment, France just wanted to fall asleep, but instead, he was forcing himself to keep his composure so that he would not break down as more thoughts of self hatred continued to attack his diminishing confidence. As much as he just wanted to cry, he didn't want to risk the chances of America seeing him with a tear stained face. If only he could just silence his thoughts so that he would be able to curl up in bed, and fall asleep. In a way, he was sort of starting to feel equivalent to a sick dog in the gutters. Almost as if he'd caught some terrible sickness, and he was in the process of slowly drowning in some strange liquid that filled his lungs as a side effect. As it was already hard enough for him to breath this way, a mocking force would sometimes apply pressure to his lungs, and all he could do was watch as everyone else around him would bask in their endless amounts of air. Yet, the suffocation was never enough to drag him into an dreamless, eternal slumber, but instead would sometimes make him panic when he thought that he wasn't breathing.

Then, out of know where, a somewhat loud voice caused France to nearly jump out of his seat, "Aw France, you look so lonely over there."

Before France had the chance to respond, America enveloped him into his arms and asked, "I'm getting tired. Why don't you come cuddle with me?"

France turned his head away from America, "Maybe I will later."

America's bright smile immediately faltered at this response, "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing Amerique, I was just thinking about something, that's all."

Maybe America wasn't necessarily the best at reading the atmosphere, but he could tell that whatever France was thinking about was putting him on the verge of tears. He tilted France's head so that he could make eye contact with him, and stated, "You know you can tell me if something's bothering you, France."

But if I told you what was going on, you'd try to stop me. Was what France was tempted to say, but instead decided on saying something less straight forward, "Well, it's resolved now."

Of course, America still knew perfectly well that France was not over his internal conflict, but instead of trying to pressure France into elaborating what was going on, he gave him a soft smile and said, "Come on France, you look exhausted. Just go to sleep now, okay?"

France nodded in order to show his obedience, knowing perfectly well that if he continued to refuse America's company, the younger nation would start to become even more suspicious than he already was. The last thing France wanted was to receive pity that he believed he didn't even deserve. He already felt guilty for the fact that America was always going through the trouble of trying to make sure he was doing well.

Then, out of no where, America just lifted France up into his arms. The speed in which he did so caused France to give out a small cry of shock, which of course, was the reaction that would always make the nation holding start to laugh. Usually, France would chide America for being so rough with him, but at that moment, he was much too tired and upset with himself to really care much.

As soon as they entered the bedroom, America gently set France down on the bed and removed his glasses to set them on the night stand. Then, he crawled under the covers next to France, and turned off the light before enveloping his beloved into his arms once more. After shifting around some more so that he was in a comfortable position, America planted a light kiss on France's silky hair before saying in a voice just above a whisper, "G'night, France."

"Bonne nuit," France whispered, as he snuggled closer to America, "Je t'aime."

Unfortunately for France, he was still not over his internal conflict, and as soon as he believed that America had fallen into a deep slumber, he began to sob silently into the young nation's chest. Even when his shirt became soaked with France's tears, he still didn't seem to budge. Eventually, France had managed to cry himself to sleep, completely unaware of the fact that maybe, just maybe, America had actually been awake the whole time.