England
It was two in the morning on the twenty second.
America had another nightmare, so he once again fell asleep beside England in their makeshift tent. England could smell America's intoxicating scent, which was a lovely mixture of bubblegum, shampoo, and fried food.
England inhaled his aroma once again, letting it fill his head until he became dizzy. He suddenly froze. What was he doing?
He shook his head and whispered, "I swear, America. You bring out the strangest side of me..."
He suddenly noticed that America was still wearing his glasses. They were askew on his face, making him look rather hilarious. England chuckled and removed them gingerly.
America's eyes slowly opened, and he let out a small "Huh?"
England put on his tough face again, realizing he had been smiling softly. "Go back to sleep! It's early!"
America smiled. With sleepy eyes, he slurred, "When are you gonna stop pretending that you don't watch me while I sleep?"
England's cheeks turned hot. "What are you talking about you-"
"I'm not stupid, you know. I'm also not a little kid." America smiled again.
That made England's heart ache. How he longed for America to look up to him like he once did...
"I... I know you are no longer a child."
"Are you okay, man?" America whispered.
"Yeah." England said quickly, trying to hide the tears beginning to form in his eyes.
"No, you're not," America said, cocking his head. "C'mere." He sat up a little more, and wrapped his arms around England, drawing him closer to his warm body.
England couldn't hold it in anymore. He let out a quiet sob into America's shirt.
"It's okay, man," America cooed. "We're gonna be alright."
England grabbed America's hand and squeezed it.
"Hey... Why DO you stare at me when I sleep?"
England took a deep breath. "I don't know... I have such mixed emotions... I guess I just really care about you and I don't even know how to protect you properly. It's kind of a weird feeling. Whenever I'm around you something comes over me, and I just want to impress you. But I always mess it up... I also get this weird fluttering feeling in my gut whenever you do something stupid. I also can't even imagine what life would be like without you. I literally cannot bring myself to do it. And... and France said..." He started sobbing again.
"I know what France said." America stated without feeling.
"You... you do?"
"Yeah... Germany told me."
"Oh..." England blushed, embarrassed at all the things he'd just said. He wanted to say "Never mind" but that would be terribly rude...
"Oh and I know what that feeling is called."
"What feeling?"
"The one you just described." America smiled down at him.
"Oh?" England was curious.
"Yeah... It's called 'Love'." America said with a smirk. England's heart leaped into his throat.
"Oh..." England said.
And in that moment, England realized. He pieced everything together. He finished the equation. in a single earth-shattering moment, he realized that he was in total, deep, mad love with America. And that would never ever change.
It was as if America could read his mind. His blue eyes sparkled with the biggest smile he'd ever seen. It was quite dazzling.
"I love you too, England." America whispered.
England's heart danced. And he let the grimace he usually carried around with him fall. He knew he probably looked like an idiot, but he let all the passion and wonder and awe show on his facial expression. He didn't even know how to put into words how much he loved America.
Without thinking it over, England wrapped his arms around America's neck and pulled his face against his. Their lips met, and after a single shocked moment, America wrapped his arms tightly around England's waist and kissed him back.
The kiss started off slowly, and then built into a desperate, passionate, and beautiful tangling of their bodies.
America pulled away for a second, and started to kiss England's neck. England moaned.
England pulled him back into a deep and rich kiss.
America's lips tasted of hamburgers and fries. England wondered for a moment what he tasted like, but banished the thought before regrets of not bringing a toothbrush along haunted his brain for the rest of this beautifully perfect moment.
He felt drunk. He was dizzy and breathless against America's lips. They were both getting a little bit sweaty.
America's hands went everywhere. They left goosebumps where they passed over, and longing where they were yet to be. England let out a shuddering gasp when America's cold hands were wandering across his back.
"You like that, huh?" America said directly into his ear.
He ran his fingertips over England's back, hands wandering beneath England's shirt. Then he began to use his fingernails to lightly tickle England's skin. England was in sensual heaven.
America then grabbed England's shirt and pulled it over his head.
...
England and America were just laying there, breathless, in each others arms.
America was absolutely glowing with joy.
"So... you really meant it?" England said.
America laughed. "When I said I loved you? I think I pretty much just showed you that I meant it..."
England laid a hand on America's bare chest, stroking it lovingly.
"You are so beautiful." America said adoringly.
"Shut up..." England said, blushing.
England loved how this felt. To hold each other, to touch each other... It was really quite glorious, actually.
America leaned down and kissed him again, more of a tender peck this time.
Suddenly, England heard hushed voices outside.
They looked at each other, shocked.
America quickly stood up, and pulled on his trousers. England timidly followed, slipping on his trousers, shirt, and shoes. America, fully dressed, quietly unzipped the tent. He peered out, and looked around. He then unzipped it all the way and quietly stepped out. England followed him.
"I'll check over there, you check over here." America whispered to England.
"Okay." England whispered back.
England turned away, unsure. He walked about fifteen feet in the darkness, squinting to see. There was nothing strange there, as far as he could tell.
Suddenly something hit him in the back of the head, and all went black.
...
When England awoke, the room he was in was dark. His hands and feet were bound, so he could not move.
Suddenly, he heard footsteps.
"Hello?" He called out.
All the lights turned on. He were in the meeting room.
And he was not alone.
"Bonjour!" France bellowed.
"Oh god... What is this, you git?"
"Oh... just my revenge," He smirked, and called to someone. "Pierre! Would you please bring the prisoner to me?"
England's heart began to pound. Oh god... No... He couldn't possibly mean...
A tall man dressed all in black dragged in a very beat up version of America. His shirt was all torn up, his body covered in dirt. He even had a scrape on his forehead. He was thrashing about, making it difficult for the man to hold him.
America had a blindfold on, and a gag in his mouth.
The man threw America onto the ground, landing with a thud. England winced.
America jumped up and ripped off his blindfold and gag. He looked around the room, frantic. When he saw England, he started to run to him, but the large man grabbed him by the waist. America looked so desperately scared that it broke England's heart.
The man punched the thrashing America in the face, making England choke out a scream.
"STOP! DON'T!" England yelled.
America fell to the ground, and put his hand on his head as if trying to steady himself. His glasses were cracked.
The man picked America back up and dragged him over to France, who had a knife in his belt. England's heart began to beat even faster.
"You see, America? We told you that you'd see England again!" France chuckled.
"Not COOL, man!" America sputtered.
France smiled.
"Here's the deal. You and I will fight. To the death. If you win, you and England are free to go. If I win, England will follow you in death tomorrow. I would say 'deal?' but you really do not have a choice in the matter."
America gritted his teeth. "Dude, you have a knife! That's not fair!"
"Life isn't fair." France replied simply.
France threw off his cloak, and began to advance towards America.
England looked on in horror. France would kill him and then make him watch. It was sick and cruel.
France unsheathed his knife and lunged at America, who ducked and dodged his blows. America had to figure out how to get that knife! Did he know this?
"America! Get the knife!" England screamed.
America seemed to understand, because he started lunging for France's legs.
He managed to tackle France to the ground, knocking the knife from his grip. America was much stronger than France, so he held him down easily. France struggled under America's grasp. America looked over at the knife which was simply five feet away, just beyond his reach.
"Honhonhon!" France laughed. "If you let me loose to get the knife, I will get there first and grab it! If you do not, that will get nothing done, and you and I both know you cannot hold me here forever!"
America looked around frantically.
England didn't know what to say. He wanted to help. He wanted to save them both, so he could keep his promise and make America safe again. But inside he knew, they would both be die soon.
America decided to take his chances, and reach for the weapon. It was a foolish move. France rolled from under him, knocking America out of the way. He grabbed the knife and leaped on top of the scrambling America.
England screamed again.
France picked America up by the throat, and slammed his back into the wall. He held the tip of the knife at the base of his neck.
If looks could kill, France would be dead and gone. America glared at France with such ferocity that it made him hesitate for a second.
England's throat was starting to hurt from the screaming. Tears ran down his cheeks in huge rivers of salt water.
"Any last words, America?" France grinned, a crazed look in his eye.
America looked over at England and raised his voice just enough for England to hear him.
"I... I love you. Thank you so much for everything you've done for me... You know what? I wouldn't trade any of the life I've spent with you for anything."
As if in slow motion, America looked bravely back at France, who hesitated only for a moment before stabbing America in the throat, then in the heart. America fell down.
England screamed, loud enough for the whole universe to hear him. His heart was split in two, a wrenching, burning feeling right through his whole body. He contorted, and made the chair he was tied to tip over. After much struggling, he got one of his hands free and reached towards America feebly. He felt like a child again, sobbing and screaming.
The noises coming from him were unrecognizable to be human.
The floor was wet with a puddle of his tears. He was pathetic. He was nothing.
"I love you... I love you... I love you..." He half sobbed, half screamed.
His heart was in two pieces. He was as good as dead. He was dead inside.
The sobs wracked his whole body, and a shadow built over him.
He looked up.
France stood there, looking down at the pathetic man.
"You will be tomorrow." He said simply.
"I'M LOOKING THE BLOODY HELL FORWARD TO IT, YOU FUCKING BUGGER!" England spat.
France called to the large man to take him to his cell.
As the man dragged him away, he craned his neck to get one final look at America.
"No... please NO! Let me at least touch him... PLEASE!" The door slammed shut.
England was all alone.
