A lovely update! I wrote this in between my busy schedule, but don't worry, I have something planned for Valentine's Day... *evil smirk* Enjoy! And as usual all rights to Hidekaz Himaruya.


It was dark and loud and hard to breathe through the haze of smoke in the crowded room. England stumbled through the crowd, pushing past people and bumping straight into others as he staggered across the floor. His whole world was tilting sideways and he wondered why no one else seemed disturbed by the fact that everything was spinning.

England ended up walking right into the back of someone else. He recoiled slightly and started to fall backwards. The person in front of him turned around and then England felt a pair of strong hands grab him by the shoulders and keep him balanced. The face level to his was blurry, but when he squinted England could just about make out the details of the man holding onto him. Light skin, blue eyes, wavy shoulder length blonde hair... France.

"Let me go," England writhed around in an attempt to escape, but the hands were like vices holding him in place.

"England?" France frowned and stared into the depths of the emerald-green eyes glaring at him, "Are you drunk?"

England stuck out his tongue, "So what? You're not my mum, are you?"

France chuckled slightly, "No, that I am not."

"Then let me go!" England wrenched himself away from France and stood defiantly to face the other nation.

France held up his hands in surrender and swept his gaze down to observe England's flushed cheeks and torn clothing. England also seemed to be missing a shoe. Peculiar. France glanced to his side, where Spain was standing and watching with mild interest. Spain grinned at the amused look France gave him and shrugged his shoulders.

"How about you join us for a drink?" France offered to England.

England's eyes lit up at the sound of the word "drink" and he nodded enthusiastically. Spain handed France a drink, who England snatched it from quickly. England consumed the entire glass in one gulp and smacked his lips when he was done. France gave England a skeptical look, but he took the glass from England without a word. England did not seem happy that his alcohol was already gone.

"I thought that you had cut back on drinking?" France asked England conversationally.

England rolled his eyes dramatically, "I have!"

"Then why are you drinking tonight?" France pursued the subject with innocent curiosity.

"It's just a bit," England protested angrily, "relax!"

"You telling me to relax? You must be very drunk, no?" France chuckled in confused entertainment. Something interesting always happened when England got drunk.

"Get your nose out of my business!" England snapped. His eyes were bloodshot and droopy. His messy hair and stupefied expression were entrancing.

"Oui, oui," France conceded to appease England and dropped the subject. England was drunk, so now the most important part would be to deal with the consequences. That would be difficult to do when England was pestering Spain for more alcohol.

"Sí, ok! Just give me a moment, please!" Spain cried as England began to threaten him with violence, albeit rather weak and uncoordinated violence.

When England got his second drink he quieted down and sipped on it contentedly. France watched him, at a loss for what to do. It was looking like less and less of a task of prevention and more and more like a task of damage control. Fortunately, the night passed by uneventfully and France managed to keep England still, though only through the enticement of several more drinks. At this point it was nearly impossible for England to stand without falling over.

"I think I'm going to call it a night, amigo," Spain mumbled to France.

France nodded slightly and sighed, "I guess I'll make sure our drunk friend gets home safely."

"Take good care of him," Spain sung and winked.

France sighed and watched the Spaniard's retreating figure. The crowded room was emptying out and time was ticking away the late hours of the night. France decided he would call it a night too. He tapped England on the shoulder and nearly got a slap to the face.

"Wha'dya think you're doing?" England slurred angrily and leaned away from France.

"It's late," France informed him patiently, as he had been through this routine before, "I'm taking you home."

"I never agreed to this!" England looked scandalized.

"It's just to make sure you get home alright," France sighed, "nothing more."

England glanced at France suspiciously, but the Frenchman just smiled politely and waited. When England was done scrutinizing him, he nodded slightly and France grinned. He rested one hand on England's back and waved with the other hand to the door.

"After you," France offered politely.

England stumbled forward and immediately tripped on his one shoe. France caught him and steadied him out. Step by step, they repeated this routine and slowly made progress. That is, until England stopped and clung to France.

"I can't go back home," England hissed suddenly.

France tried to gently extricate himself from the drunk Brit and asked, "Why not?"

England shook his head furiously, "I don't want to be alone."

France furrowed his eyebrows and managed to push England back so he could look into his green eyes.

"Alone?" France echoed with concern evident in his expression.

England grabbed France by the collar and for a moment France flinched and braced himself for a sound thrashing. Instead, he found that England had pulled him closer and kissed him. It was quick, desperate, and smelled heavily of alcohol. Then England drew away and sighed. France blinked and realized just how out of it England really was.

"England?"

France heard a voice whimper in horror to their right. Still trapped in England's grasp, France awkwardly titled his head to the side to see who it was. Standing there with his eyes wide as saucers was America, and he looked... Disturbed, to say the least. France gazed into America's eyes and finally he understood. He knew that look. He had made it his life's mission to cultivate and encourage that look. He also knew when it was being shattered right before his eyes, and this was one of those cases. Now he knew.

England switched his attention to America and the two of them just stared at each other. France really wished England would let go of his collar, but England didn't. France didn't want to draw attention to himself so he stood still. The atmosphere was charged with silence, ready to burst.

"What are you doing?" America strangled out a whispered question.

France felt England's fists clench as he responded unsteadily, "Shut up, you don't care!"

"To hell I don't care!" America snapped suddenly. His eyes were clouded with pain.

"That's right, you don't! So just fuck off!" England yelled, his face completely red from alcohol and anger.

America stormed up to England and forcefully pulled him off France. England's body was like a rag doll in America's hold, but America was gentle enough. He pulled England close and forced him to look in his eyes. France debated whether or not to stop America, though there was little he could do.

"I love you," America hissed quietly, "I love you, so don't you ever say I don't care."

America let go of England with a shove. He looked about ready to punch something repeatedly. England staggered back and stared.

"America?"

America turned away and shrugged his shoulders. He made to leave the room, and England attempted to follow him.

"America!"

"Leave me alone," America spat as the distance between England and himself grew.

France caught England as he began to fall forward in his attempt to chase after America. England strained to escape but France held him still.

"Wait, America!" England shouted desperately.

Suddenly, England felt his head clear as the room around him dissolved. Instead, he fought his way out of the blackness and his eyes flew open. He jerked his head back and blinked at the harsh sunlight. He was sitting in a chair in front of a desk, and he felt a distinct lump on his head. He saw a couple of the other countries staring at him, including Russia, China, and France. He had fallen asleep in the middle of a meeting. It had just been a dream.

England mentally cursed himself. That had been the fourth dream this week in which he found America and himself in some sort of romantic situation. They all involved kissing, confessions, and jealousy, and they all made England feel extremely uncomfortable. He'd been having these dreams ever since he woke up on the floor of Russia's kitchen. England was thankful that America had been so drunk that he apparently did not remember any of their kiss. It was almost as if the younger nation was messing with him, putting him through all these awkward situations. Their friendship had been more than turbulent over the past couple of weeks, and England could not fathom why except for the thought that perhaps America was causing it all on purpose. But why?

There was also still the matter of America's mystery love. England had been watching America as discreetly as possible to try to figure out who it was the nation acted different around, as that would indicate who America had fallen for. So far, he had not noticed anything out of the ordinary in the way America acted with any of the other nations. Either England just had not noticed or America was really good at concealing his emotions.

"Dude, England," England flinched as he heard America's voice right behind him, "don't fall asleep during the meeting!"

England rubbed the back of his head and realized that America had probably hit him to wake him up. He also noticed that America looked slightly flustered. England paled slightly. Had he been talking in his sleep?

America returned to his seat and the meeting resumed. England just let the voices drone on and on as he imagined the overwhelming din of his dream. He closed his eyes briefly and pictured the look on America's face when he saw England kissing France. England gulped slightly and shot a look at France, who was looking at the nation speaking with a far off look in his eyes. England shivered. His dreams really were getting weird.

The meeting adjourned for lunch and England stood up to stretch out his stiff muscles. Just as he heaved a tired sigh, America bounded up to him and smiled widely.

"England! Come get lunch with me," America invited him, though it was more of a command than anything else.

England glanced up at America and wondered why America was inviting him of all people when he should be pursuing his mysterious romantic interest.

"Very well," England replied carefully.

America gave him a thumbs up and the two of them left the meeting room to find a place to eat. America suggested McDonald's, and though England scoffed at his poor dietary habits, he was secretly pleased by the suggestion because McDonald's was a guilty pleasure of his. When America "forcibly" dragged him to the fast food restaurant, England made sure to put up just the right amount of a struggle. He let America win in the end.

"So," America began conversationally as they rounded a street corner, "why were you sleeping during the meeting?"

England shrugged, "I stayed up late working last night."

"You need to stop working so much," America told him, "live a little!"

"I think I'm living quite enough already," England replied crossly. America gave him a funny look, but England ignored it.

"What were you dreaming about?" America asked suddenly.

"Excuse me?" England was taken aback by the suddenness of the question.

America looked away awkwardly, "You were kind of talking in your sleep and I thought I heard you say my name, so I was just wondering..."

America trailed off and kept his eyes off England at all costs. England's ears turned slightly pink in embarrassment and he cleared his throat purposefully.

"It was nothing," England dismissed it nonchalantly, "you were just doing something stupid is all, nothing out of the ordinary."

America laughed in relief, "Oh, ok. Just curious."

"Right, yeah," England agreed with America quickly in order to smooth over the tension in the conversation.

America nodded stiffly and pulled open the door to the infamous fast food restaurant they would be dining at. He held it open for England, which startled the British nation. America was demonstrating gentlemanly manners, and to England no less! Maybe he was just practicing for when having manners would come in handy... Gentlemanliness is an excellent trait to have when courting another, after all. England sighed in relief at his satisfactory theory and walked into the restaurant. America followed him close behind and the door swung closed.

"Hey England," America spoke up to pass the time as they waited in line to order, "have you ever wondered why people dream?"

England froze.

"I heard somewhere that if you dream of a person it means they were thinking about you," America told England pensively.

England could not help but wonder if America was implying something. However, with that innocent expression of curiosity on America's face, England convinced himself that America really was just wondering. It was not uncommon for America to speak tactlessly in a situation or imply something he did not mean. This was just another one of those situations. England chided himself for being overly paranoid about everything.

"That sounds like a silly theory," England collected himself and responded casually.

"I don't know," America shrugged, "it could be possible."

England shook his head, "I doubt that. It doesn't even make logical sense."

America gave England a deflated look and sighed, "Does everything have to for things to be true?"

England nodded curtly, "Of course. Everything has to make sense."

"Can't things just happen? Why can't something be a mystery and still be true?" America persisted unhappily.

"Because that's not how it works," England snapped back.

America fell silent and England wondered if perhaps he had said something upsetting. Then again, who was America to try to stop England from thinking like a rational person? America's childish dreaming would get him nowhere.

England huffed and took a step forward in line. There was an explanation for everything, there always was, and England was determined to find out what that explanation was.


It was all a dream~ I based this idea off the episode in which England dreams of America wetting the bed. There is so much denial here it hurts. Maybe a certain special day will shed some light on the situation...?