Song: Hypnotised

Artist: McFly.

Well, it wasn't like he hadn't liked it. Because he had. –He just did not really feel like saying so aloud. What the problem was though, was that America was able to walk beside him with his same cup of coffee and ordinary paper bag of doughnuts, looking like it was just some other ordinary, normal day of work, and like nothing had happened the night just past. Like they had not just- cough.

England followed the intricate pattern of the floor tiles carefully with his eyes as they walked, trying not to let on how sore his hips felt. He was not not used to it –England closed his eyes briefly-, God knew he was more than acquainted to that sort of act. Though it had been rather long since the last time. Things just did not work the same way they did when he was younger, he did not have as much spare time now as he did then. He had also –he had to admit with a frown- been a little –just a tiny bit- more easygoing on such things in his earlier days.

And now, the result of growing up and the loss of time was an annoying ache in his lower back regions.

They had reached their destination, England halfway through pulling in a deep breath when America opened the door without stopping in the least.

"Hey! Wai-!"

England's exclaim was too late; the door was already open and the puzzled blinking American had not given the island nation a single second to gain his composure before entering the conference room.

England froze, the humming chitchat filling the room less than a second earlier now dead to the world. Every head was turned toward the door. If he could, he would have grabbed America and sprinted for dear life out of there –though he was doubtful his hips would allow that, so there was no other choice than to grin and bear. Therefore he corrected his already straight tie and without looking at anyone, he headed for his seat. If only he could reach it without any obstacles, he would be fine.

Then again, as he kept his gaze locked at the desk and chair, he was not entirely sure how fine. And by the time he had walked three fourths of the way, he was not sure he wanted to sit down at all any more.

However, a bat of an eyelid later, that would no longer be his biggest concern, as France's voice suddenly bore through the room, halting England in his tracks.

From across the room, France sighed dramatically, Spain, Prussia and some others making a tiny audience in front of him. "I still recall the time when England was mine-" another dramatic sigh "-then one day he just threw me away, like I was worth nothing more than a dirty pence." France struck a dramatic pose of despair. "I believed it was destiny when we were put in the same room. 'Finally', I thought, 'this is a chance from the heavens for us to come together again in perfect harmony'. But then yesterday whe-"

England had opened his mouth to protest, but someone else stole his march: "Wonder how many times he has to throw you out for you to get the picture."

England's eyes grew round. "Fr- America?"

Without anyone noticing, America had crossed the floor and was suddenly standing right in front of France. And if that was not enough, he was displaying everything else than his normal, goofy self.

There was a moment of silence, and then America rummaged briefly through his bag, pulling out a thin, long object. "Here," he said. "You forgot your toothbrush."

France slowly reached out a hand and took it. Looking from the thin object, to England, to America and finally back to the toothbrush, his mouth opened again: "I feel like I've been here once before," he put the toothbrush in his pocket and stared straight at England. "You threw my bags out through the door and in the road," he leaned his forehead to his hand most dramatically, England muttering

"It was out in the corridor, though."

"I came home," France turned to all the assembled nations, "to find them on the floor." Fortunately enough, France's head was turned away at that moment, or else England would have murdered him for the wicked glint in his eyes. Instead everyone else's head turned to England who furiously tried to hide a blush; France had truly chosen to enter the hotel room at the most unfortunate point of time. Who could blame England for merely chucking all of France's belongings out the door in a hurry?

"And as the rain began to pour," France had made his way to the window "I got cold." He leaned against it, the sky outside a fitting grey.

"And I tried to compromise," his voice feigned perfect despair as he abruptly spun around toward England "But you keep telling all these lies!" He threw his arms open, mastering the art of acting to perfection.

"I wasn't telling any lies," England rolled his eyes annoyed. This Frenchie was just so full of rubbish today, England's imagination couldn't decide how best to execute him.

"Now," France's arms fell down. "I don't get to say my last goodbyes," he looked away again. "Good bye to you've been wasting," France tightened his fists and stressed the word 'wasting' with a sore voice. "All my time. You're no longer mine," he brought his hands up to his chest with false tenderness, Arthur huffing.

"And now you've left me." France closed his eyes briefly.

Prussia and Spain bumped into England on each their side of him. "That's really cold, dude," Prussia said, though grinning so widely England could only groan at how obviously entertaining Prussia found these singing-moments.

"I can't seem to get you off my mind," France sent England a meaningful long stare, taking half a step towards him, America frowning annoyed. "That's when I realised you had me hypnotised."

Then, the tempo suddenly changed. In the blink of an eye France had left his depressed window, and was instead walking briskly among the nations, who, to top it off, had started snapping their fingers rhythmically.

"Why am I now living on my own?" France lifted his arms with the question. "He keeps inviting people home all the time," he huffed like a worried parent, showing to England with an elegant gesture. At the other end of it, England's face heated up all the way to his hair roots.

"I do not!" he protested loudly, Prussia 'tsk'-ing at him from one side, still with his skull-splitting grin, and Spain laughing at him from the other side.

"I think he is hinting toward your colonial times, England-san" Japan tried to helpfully explain. A silently buzzing camera was securely hid behind his back.

"Why am I still paying for his phone?" France shook his head with a hopeless smile. "When all the luxuries he owns should be mine."

"What?" England glared at France. "You lying wanker! Who was it that tried forcing me to marry him, because he didn't have enough money?" France however, completely and fully ignored him.

"Now I start to wonder why," he sang, eyeing England as he closed in on him. "You shrug me off when I say 'hi'," he slid a hand along England's arm, the English nation ripping it away.

"Are you seriously wondering about that?" he snapped.

"You treat me so bad," France cooed, next having to jump back several feet to avoid an annoyed, English fist. "Despite how hard I try," France scoffed, shrugging as he strutted about the room, receiving several –over exaggerated, England noted- pitying stares as France dramatically continued:

"Goodbye to you've been wasting all my time," he dried away an imaginary tear, turning toward England again. "You're no longer mine," and he reached out for England, even though he was not actually within reaching-distance.

"And now you've left me," France's arms had slid back in place and he paced around America once, coming up behind England. "I can't seem to get you off my mind," he purred into the Brit's ear, sighing as he slipped an arm around England's waist. Prussia and Spain stepped away with each their –every different- grin. England deeply wished Spain had another armada, so he could sink it just for the hell of it.

"That's when I realised," France turned England around to look into is face, intruding way too far into the Brit's person space. "You had me hypnotised," France breathed against the smaller's lips, a glint in his eyes.

Though that was about where the mighty USA drew the line. With a frown and an annoyed pout he hooked his arms around England's shoulders and pulled him out of France's grip with a stare. France smiled, sighed, shrugged and shook his head.

"Boy, you can't hold me back no more," he eyed the gathering of nations, who echoed a sloppy

"more, more, more."

England groaned, America frowned and Italy sang blissfully next to them.

"You're not even worth me writing lyrics for," France tapped England's nose.

"It wasn't you who wrote these lyrics," the British barked back, but was yet again completely and fully ignored.

France sloped his head to the left, titled his hips, leaned his chin in his hand, the arm's elbow resting on his other arm draped across his midriff. He appeared to scan England for a second, before saying –if possibly a little calmer than before, but no one seemed to notice save for England who frowned- "We had something good together." Then it was gone. "Do you think you were being clever?" France looked England up and down again, the nations chorusing

"Ahh~aahhh" while swaying back and forth around them.

"To throw me out in awful weather-"

"It was out in the corridor darn it! There is no weather in a bloody corridor!"

"-How do I forget you now?" France started a new, leisure pacing around England who was still tightly in America's grip. The other nations inched closer. Behind them all, Canada retreated to his desk, giving up on catching a glimpse when no one noticed him pushing lightly to get a spot anyway. He had a feeling France was up to no good anyway, so he found it best to keep his distance.

France had given America's ass a quick slap, earning a yelp from the younger nation and a half let-go of England. But then he instead tightened his grip even more, following France with his eyes with a guarded look. The Frenchman on the other hand, disregarded the American all together and pulled a hand through England's hair before America could yank him away again. England himself was not really keen on being treated as a ragdoll and would have made America very well aware a long time ago already, had not the nation waiting for him to be freed putting him off just as much.

"I can't get you off my mind," France followed leisurely, not the least thrown off by the poor American, who next found himself pressed against a table. France was flamboyant, attention craving, a pervert and the country of love, but he was good at what he did. He smiled pleased at the now trapped American, leaning in and cupping England's cheek.

"That's when I realised," he sang coyly –a complete act, of course-, pressing himself closer to the English and giving him a pouting look. "You had me hypnotised." His lips were dangerously close to the English's own.

And that's when America copied his many action movies and did a rather bold back-role across the table, England squeaking surprised, and landing on his feet on the other side. He got quite a few surprised –not to mention impressed- glances.

France stared for a second, then he sighed and smiled, shaking his head nonchalantly. Between them stood the table, firm as the Berlin Wall.

"Goodbye to you've been wasting-" France lifted one his hands "-all my time," waving easily at them. "You're no longer mine-" he struck a dramatic pose "-and now you've left me." Francis gave America a last, quick –and very obvious- once-over as if to properly show the world exactly what England was 'leaving' him for.

"I can't seem to get you off my mind~."

Around them, the rest of the nations ended the song with very unfitting jazz hands. Canada sighed.