So, so, so sorry it took this long for me to get this chapter up! I swear, the whole world has been against me for the past few weeks! First I got sick with stomach flu where I couldn't even hold water down, then I got a really bad cold. Oh, and all of that happened the week before final exams. -_- Oh, and then I got the wonderfulness of a ROOT CANAL! Guh… I was high on pain meds for a few days, and didn't even touch the story—believe me, me plus pain meds equals crappy writing and editing. The madness of Christmas didn't help much either. XD Oh, and I've just had straight up writers block too. :P Lots of fun going on over here! XD

Okay, okay, enough excuses from me. I really am sorry it took me this long to update. :( Oh, but there is another reason with this chapter being so hard to write: this is the very last chapter!

I just want to let all of you know how much I have loved writing this story. It's the first multi-chapter fan fiction I've worked on in years, and I have thoroughly enjoyed it. I have loved getting feedback from everyone and hearing the love. :) I wouldn't have been able to do any of this without you! Thank you so much for the support! I haven't had the pleasure to meet any of you, but I love you all anyways! :)

So, just quick warning for this chapter… One, it's a bit longer than the others… I had to sum everything up! And it's still going to be rated T, but… stuff happens! ;D Nothing too bad, but I figure I might as well warn you beforehand just in case. :D

Now, after an insanely long a/n, here's what you have all been waiting for: the final chapter of Curses!

x-x-x-x-x

England felt his throat close off, utter shock taking over his body. America gazed at him the same way he had under the spell. His cerulean eyes seem to look deep into him as if he could see into his soul; as if he could see everything there was to know about him. A look of understanding him perfectly, both the good and the bad, and loving him anyway.

"Everything?" England repeated, still clutching America's shoulders, now more for his own support than America's. "Everything about… about what?"

America smiled, his expression warm. It made England feel like he was melting. "I remember everything about the five days I missed," America explained. "I remember you staying at my house. I remember you saying that you loved me."

England felt himself blush furiously, both from embarrassment and something else he was so unfamiliar with—was it happiness? "Everything?" he whispered, clutching America's shoulders as if he let go, the moment would leave and never come back.

America's smile sent his mind reeling as he felt his hand gently rest beneath his chin. The distance between their lips closed, just barely touching. "Everything," he whispered back, his lips grazing England's as he spoke.

The whole scenario just didn't click in England's mind. For days, he had wanted this contact, wanted America to remember. But now that it was here, without even thinking, he jumped back, his eyes wide with shock. Why was he kissing him? Why did he remember? Why was any of this happening?

"How?" England whispered, cursing himself as he heard his voice quiver. "How did this…? Why do you remember?"

America paused, giving England a puzzled look. "I'm not sure," he said, his hands clasped together awkwardly in his lap. "The flashes happened randomly. I would look at a picture, and I'd remember. Then you said that you loved me, and…" He paused again as some sort of realization showed itself in his eyes. "They jogged my memories," America said, his eyes shooting up to England's. "I found a picture of you, and memories of you came to me. Then you said you loved me, and memories of us saying that came to me. It makes sense—they jogged my memories somehow!"

England thought this over, still trying to figure out how this was possible. The spell was meant to be permanent, so it shouldn't have been broken so easily. None of it made any sense to him whatsoever.

"England?" He looked up at him, and suddenly realized just how hurt he looked. "What's wrong? I remember. Isn't that a good thing?"

"N-no!" England said, clenching his fists. "You remember! You shouldn't be remembering! What if that means the curse is back? What if that means you still love me just because of the damn spell!"

His words made America jump back, seeming to shock him. England felt pain at making him feel upset, but he couldn't be happy. He couldn't be happy knowing that the only love he had in life was a fake one. England lowered his head, not wanting to look at him any longer. It hurt him far too much.

"I loved you long before the curse happened."

For a moment, England continued to let his head hang, the words bouncing around in his head, not quite making sense. Finally, his mind deciphered them, and he lifted his head to look at America. The American's face was so focused and determined, a kind of expression that made the thought of him lying absolutely impossible. America was speaking the truth. "Before?" he whispered, barely able to believe it. It couldn't possibly be true—who would ever love him willingly?

"I thought I wanted independence because I just wanted to be your equal," America said, his eyes never leaving England's. "I thought I just wanted to be my own country, be just me, America. But, now that I think about it, I think I did it all just…" He paused, his eyes flicking away for a moment as his face reddened slightly. "I did it so I could be an equal to you. So I'd be on the same level as you. So we could be…more than brothers, more than just allies." Ever so slowly, America edged closer to England, inches between their faces. "I've wanted to be with you all of this time. The curse just finally gave me the courage to act on it."

For what seemed like years, they sat there as England stared at America, all that had been said being processed. America had loved him since before the curse. Somehow, America had found a reason to love him among the thousands of reasons not to. Somehow, he remembered something that he wasn't supposed to. But, as England really began to think about it, he realized something—yes, things were confusing, and yes, there were unanswered questions. But what he suddenly realized was this:

He couldn't care less about those questions.

Not thinking about the questions that still needed answers, not caring about anything that could go wrong, he grabbed America by the collar as he pulled him into a kiss, his other hand burying itself in America's light brown hair. America seemed surprised by England's sudden passionate kiss, but he quickly began to kiss him back. Only unlike last time, England wasn't going to let America lead. He quickly shoved America down flat on his back, now hovering over him, his lungs already starving for oxygen. America stared up at him with those gorgeous blue eyes, looking confidant. England loved that look, and returned his lips to America's.

America's arms were wrapped around England's neck, holding him close. England used one elbow to balance himself over America, his other hand still in his hair. The scent of America was nearly overwhelming as England desperately breathed it in, now also able to taste him. He had missed being so close to him, being able to touch him. It had been the worst kind of withdrawal he had ever had to experience, and he never wanted to go through it again. "God, I missed you," England gasped, breaking away long enough to peer at his beloved American. Face reddened, he was also short of breath. However, he didn't seem to mind as he smiled up at him.

"I missed you too," he said, his hand trailing down the side of his face. The feel of his fingers grazing England's skin tingled, making England's nerves feel like they were short-circuiting. He gave another kiss to his lips, and then caught America's earlobe lightly between his teeth. America let out a little gasp, but made no attempt to make him stop. The taste of America's skin was one that England had never imagined could even exist. He tasted sweet, his skin softer than he thought was possible. England pulled America's collar away from his neck, leaving the skin of his throat bare. He placed a light kiss as the base of his neck where it and his shoulder connected, and then began exploring it with his tongue. His skin tasted sweet down here too.

"Ah!" America gasped, twitching beneath his touch. "Eh, England, the meeting…"

"I don't bloody care about the meeting," England replied, ignoring his protests as he began to pull off his bomber jacket. "I have been without you for too long. I want you, need you."

America pushed England away a little bit, only making England's movements more frantic. "C-can't we leave first?" he asked, his face turning red. "I mean, just so no one finds us? Cuz if we're gonna do it, then I'd just wanna be with you."

England looked down at him, his body cursing him as he tried to stop his movements. "I don't know if I can wait that long," he purred, his hand suddenly going much lower.

"I think—holy shit, England!" he cried as England's hand just happened to slip between his legs. "D-dude, c'mon! Let's just leave! If we're not going to go to the meeting—" England jerked his hand upward, causing America to cut his sentence off with a gasp, his eyes going wide. "G-God, England," he moaned, his face going another shade darker.

"You're that scared of being found with me?" England asked, feeling slightly hurt. America had constantly made moves on him under the spell, but apparently when he took the initiative, it was wrong. Damn hypocritical American.

America seemed to sense his hurt, giving a sigh. "I don't mind if people know we're together," America said. "It's just I'd rather them find out because we told them, not because they walked in on us banging each other."

England paused to think things over. He guessed that America had a point—it would be rather awkward for someone to walk in or even just overhear them. Giving a sigh of defeat, England plopped himself down on the floor next to him. "Fine," he complained, feeling a pout on his face. "Then let's go already."

America let out a chuckle, his hand lightly tapping England's head. "And you call me impatient. Jeeze, I think you've been around France too much."

Letting out a laugh, England sat up as he began to get to his feet. "He has been a rather bad influence on me lately," he admitted, straightening out his crinkled clothes. "But I guess it all worked out well in the end." Now to his feet, he reached out his hand in an offering manner. With a smile, he said, "Forgive me?"

A smile came to America's face. "Huh. I feel like I've heard this before," he retorted, a smirk on his face. He put his hand in England's as he pulled him up. "Yeah, I guess I can forgive you, seeing as I love you and all that jazz."

They kept their hands together as they walked out of the room, America laughing at England's eagerness to leave. But England finally had all he had ever wanted.

He finally had America.

x-x-x-x-x

England felt himself waking up, and despised the feeling. His head ached and his stomach hurt. He wanted nothing more than to just stay in bed and continue to sleep. Drearily, he thought back to the dream had had just had. It was a distant memory, but he knew that it had been a good one. America had been in it. He and America had been together…

Suddenly, he felt like his whole being had been crushed as he realized just what his dream had been. He had just dreamed that America remembered everything, that America had loved him for a long time! It was as if his body had become hollow as he felt his dream slipping from his reality. None of it had happened. None of it had been real. He had just dreamed the whole thing up, lost in his own little perfect world where nothing could go wrong. And how could he have ever thought that America would fall for him anyways? England knew he always acted like a git to everyone and always pushed America away. Of course none of it had happened. He felt tears come to his still closed eyes—why did he have to have such a wonderful dream? He wanted to die. He turned his head to bury it in his pillows, maybe even suffocate himself. However, he noticed three things immediately.

One, his pillow had a heartbeat. Two, his pillows were warm and soft and had the feel of skin. And three, his pillows smelled strongly of cinnamon sugar and coffee.

Jolting up, England finally opened his eyes to take a closer look at his 'pillows.' Lying next to him was a fast asleep America, his light brown hair poking out all around his head. His mouth was partially open, breathing soft breaths in his sleep. It took a moment for England to realize that both of them were shirtless and, on closer inspection, pant-less. Finally, the night before started coming back to him. He and America—they'd slept together.

And, God, it had been amazing.

Happier than mere words could ever explain, England wrapped his arms around his America, laying his head just beneath his chin. "It was real," he murmured to himself, getting closer to America as to absorb more of his warmth.

A small groan came from America, causing England to sit up again. America's eyelids twitched slightly, opening to reveal his sky blue irises. His eyes seemed to be unfocused at first, but quickly found England. He gave a smile, making England feel a rush go through his body. "Hey, hon," he murmured sleepily, his hand coming up to lightly touch the side of England's face. "Sleep well?"

Hon. America had just called him hon. A smile broke out across his face as he laid himself back down next to his America, his arms around his waist. "It was the best nights of sleep I've had in a long time," England answered, his head resting on America's shoulder. Just being able to feel his touch was amazing. He was so glad that it hadn't been a dream, that America was really here with him.

America chuckled slightly, patting England's head with his other arm. "I'm glad," he said. "Kind of random, but do you think you could get off my shoulder?" For a moment, England felt extremely hurt at the request—why didn't America want him cuddling like that, stupid git. Quickly, America added, "You've been on it all night, and I can't feel my fingers."

Oh. England sat up once again so America could bring his arm back in with a slight grimace, complaining about the pins and needles feeling in his arm. England sat back on the bed, continuing to let himself bathe in the moment. He was in bed with America. He had never been able to imagine something as great as this. Even after spending the night with each other, a shock went through England as America snuggled up to him again, his head now on England's shoulder, arms now winding around England's waist, twitching slightly as he grazed his ticklish sides. God, his touch was so warm! How was he able to contain all of that heat? England found his own arm wrapping around America's shoulders, running his fingers through America's hair. How he had missed being able to touch him, being able to just be with him. He let himself relax, letting his eyes close, just enjoying the moment.

"England," America said, only getting an 'mhm' as a response. "Kind of a weird question, but… well… Just how many times did we do it last night?"

The question sent a huge blush to England's face, his green eyes flashing back open. "Huh," he said, using his free hand to scratch his head awkwardly. "Um… well… we switched…b-being on top… an equal amount of times, right?" He cursed himself for being so embarrassed. Why should he be so flustered? They had had… they had… God, they had had sex! Why was it so hard to say?

However, he felt America's face against his shoulder become hotter at the discussion—so he was comforted that he wasn't the only one feeling awkward. "Yeah, we did," America answered, his hand nervously drumming his fingers against the edge of England's rib cage. "I remember…er…" He paused, England feeling his face growing warmer. Finally he just blurted, "I remember topping two or three times."

England looked down at him, cocking an eyebrow. "Two or three?" he repeated dubiously. "I clearly remember being on top five times. At least." America's face grew even hotter, England feeling his muscles tense. "Well," he said, his eyes flicking in the opposite direction of America, "you did seem…er…you were…"

"I got lost in it?" America filled in, his fingers quickening their drumming.

A small chuckle escaped him, patting America on the head. "Yes," he replied. "You were very lost in it. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing of course."

"Hah, yeah, you didn't seem to mind when I got lost in it," America teased, causing more blood to rush to England's face. "I mean, with the way you were moaning and—"

"Oh, shut it, bloody tosser," England quipped, smacking America lightly on the head, only receiving a laugh from the American in return.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better," America said apologetically, snuggling up closer to him, "it was probably the best night I've ever had."

England glared down at him. "Probably?"

America cringed at his wording. "Gah, sorry! Definitely!"

Still not convinced, England withdrew his arm from around America and roughly turned on his side facing away from him. "Probably," he scoffed, furrowing his thick eyebrows together. "Damn American." However, this only ended with America's arms quickly wrapping around him, now being pulled back against him.

"England!" America whined, nuzzling his face against England's. "I'm sorry. Last night was amazing! I loved every moment of it! I'm sorry for talking like an idiot!"

A smirk crept across England's face, liking to tease him like this. "I still don't forgive you," he taunted, stubbornly crossing his arms.

America huffed, his breath against his bare skin sending chills down England's spine—not that he was going to let America know that he liked the feeling. "England," he crooned, somehow managing to snuggle in even closer to him. "I'm sorry," he said again, slightly tightening his arms around him. "Please?"

"No," England replied. He wasn't going to give in that easily—he was still Great Britain after all!

America went silent for a second, making England worried that maybe he had pushed this too far. He was thinking of turning to make sure he was okay when a sudden shiver went through him as America's lips laid against his ear. "Arthur," he purred, sending another shiver through England as his human name was used. "Please, Arthur?"

Finally, England's stubbornness broke down. How could he deny when his human name was said like that? "Fine," he grumbled, slitting his eyes as America won yet another argument. How was he always able to do that?

"Yay!" America cheered, tightening his arms around England, causing the air to rush out of his lungs. After some violent coughing, America released England, letting him get up. Damn America and his ridiculous strength. England walked over to where their clothes had carelessly been tossed the night before, picking up America's pile.

"Get dressed, git," he huffed, unceremoniously tossing America's clothes at his face. America caught some of them before they hit him, but had to struggle to remove them so he could breathe correctly. England snickered at this, but stopped when he actually took time to examine him. Blood rushed up to his face as he finally noticed that there were bruises all over his body. Love bites? he thought embarrassedly, realizing that they had been made by him. The night before had been rather crazy, but… well, he hadn't remembered it being that crazy!

"Ya like what ya see?" America said, breaking through England's thoughts. It wasn't until then that England realized that he must have been staring at him for a while. He quickly shook his head, wandering over to his closet for clean clothes.

"I just noticed that you were…er… marked up is all," England muttered, not daring to look up as he rifled through his clothes, trying to keep himself preoccupied.

America laughed, causing England to get nervous. What was so funny? "Well, dude," he said between laughs, "I can't say you fared much better!" England's head shot up at that comment, glaring at the American. Just what did he mean by that? Random clothes in hand, he strode over to his bathroom connected to his bedroom, about to see just what America meant. The clothes in hand quickly found their way to the floor, the Brit's mouth agape at the reflection in the mirror. Right there on his neck was a huge love bite, there for anyone to see! It would be hard to hide even wearing a turtleneck! All down his chest and stomach, even on his arms, he was covered with love bites! What the hell had he been thinking? That stupid, inconsiderate, selfish, greedy, unbelievably sexy—

"BASTARD!" he cried indignantly, slapping his hand to his neck to cover the prominent bruise. He found himself stomping back to the bed, America actually looking fearful as what must have been a thick aura of murderous rage emanated from him. "You bloody, irresponsible, inconsiderate, idiotic friggin prick!" He so just wanted to slap the idiot across the face, but knew that that wouldn't help anything—hell, it would probably just make him feel worse! "At least when I did it, I kept it in places where you could hide them! But you? You, you bloody wanker, decide to put them where every damn person in the whole bleeding world can see them!" A huge line of complaints and profanities continued to stream from him, his rising anger only seeming to amuse America more and more. "—inconsiderate and selfish and stop laughing at me!" he cried, America's laughter only pissing him off even more. "What the bloody hell is so damn funny, you stupid bastard?"

America continued laughing, holding his stomach as he was doubled over, his face red. "S-sorry, Artie," he choked, doing best to look up at him through his huge laughs. "You're just so cute when you're angry!"

For a moment, England was about to yell at him for calling him cute until he caught something else he had said. "What?" he said, slightly cocking his head. "What did you just call me?"

America seemed a little confused by the question, but just laughed it off. "What, don't you like 'Artie'?" he asked, a huge smile on his face. "I totally think we should have nicknames or pet names! Something cool like that!"

However, England wasn't amused. "Don't call me that," he huffed, crossing his arms. "I don't like it. Artie sounds stupid."

Bringing out his best puppy dog face, America shuffled closer to the edge of the bed, looking up at England with those blue eyes of his. "Please?" he begged, even going so far as to have small tears in his eyes—though they may have been there because of his obnoxious laughing. "Please let me call you Artie! I'll let you call me whatever you want, just please let me call you Artie!"

England just glared at him, refusing to give in to his pouting—even though it was rather cute. "No," he answered. "Why can't you just call me England? I'd even be fine with you calling me Arthur. Why Artie?"

America stuck out his lower lip pathetically. "Arthur just sounds so sophisticated, so formal," he complained. "And I don't wanna be all formal with you! I wanna be informal, wanna just call you a by nickname when we're together! I wanna call you something special, something that only I call you!" America's words sent a small blush up to England's face, striking a chord with him. Something that only America called him? Even though it sounded nice, he was about to decline once again until America added, "We are boyfriends now!"

For some reason, the term 'boyfriends' made England somehow choke on air. "B-b-boyfriends?" he stammered, feeling like his face was on fire. He really didn't understand why the words bothered him so much—seeing as they had had sex and everything, it really shouldn't have.

America seemed to think the same thing. "Yeah," he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Boyfriends. And as your boyfriend, I want to call you Artie."

Since when was America able to make valid points? Giving a huge sigh, England gave up once again. "Fine, if it'll make you so God damn happy, call me Artie. Whatever."

"Yay, Artie!" America was about to jump up and give him a hug, but England stuck his hand out, palm facing out towards him in the international sign for 'Stop moving, idiot!'

"You can hug me when you get dressed," he argued, dropping his arm to his side. "Really, I'm tired of just standing and arguing when we're both naked. It's rather weird."

America gave him a weird look that—to England's sudden concern—quickly turned into a flirtatious one. "Well, you don't have to be standing up," he purred, abruptly grabbing England by his wrists. Before England could even attempt to get away, he found himself pinned on the bed beneath America, his blue eyes hungry.

"Is this how you plan to end all of our arguments?" England gasped, feeling blood rush up to his face and down to… other places. America smirked, suddenly devouring England's lips with his own.

"Of course, my Artie."

x-x-x-x-x

"Food isn't made to be glared at," England complained as he was somehow able to continue eating his scones that should have been outlawed decades ago. "I know that you have to be hungry."

Truth was, America was freaking starving! France had been right: sex was a hard workout! Though it was much more enjoyable than actually going to the gym and working out. No way that actual exercise could ever feel that good! But, even though his stomach was running low and he was feeling like he was going to die soon if he didn't eat anything, England's cooking still didn't sound too great. He knew that, with them being boyfriends now and everything, he should just eat it and not complain, but it was really hard! Besides, England was going to limit how much he could eat anyways. Right now, five double cheeseburgers with a large order of fries and a diet soda sounded really good. Not that England would even let him get close to a McDonalds while he was at his home.

Summoning up some courage, America began to nibble at the food, trying to ignore the burned taste of death that were scones. Deciding to just suffer through it and get it over with, he shoved the whole thing in his mouth, chewing it as fast as he could to just try to fill his begging stomach.

"Don't choke, twit!" England cautioned, his brows furrowing in both irritation and concern. He didn't really have to worry though—America inhaled his food half the time, so he really didn't have an issue with choking. Plus, as he had found out last night, he had a very good gag reflex—didn't have to worry about him choking on anything!

With the scones finally gone, America took a swig of milk, trying to get rid of the flavor. He really was trying to like England's food, he really was! He was just a picky eater—he couldn't help it! "So," he said before England could make any more complaints about how he ate his food. "I'm going to call you Artie! What do you wanna call me?"

England seemed surprised by the question, but his eyes sunk to the table as he began to think. "Couldn't I just call you Alfred?" he asked.

"Nuh-uh!" America answered. "I told you, I don't wanna be formal! It has to be a nickname or a pet name, something like that! Hey, how about Alfie?"

His suggestion only received a disapproving glare. "I refuse to call you Alfie," he said, spitting the name as if it was poisonous. England's eyes returned to the table, resting his chin on his entwined fingers. America smirked at just how much thought he was putting into this. "Perhaps I could just call you love? It's simple enough."

America gave a little sound of uncertainty. "I don't mind you calling me that, but it doesn't really sound like a nick name. Maybe you could call me Al or something."

England looked like he didn't mind the suggestion this time, but, still being England, was still being stubborn. "Or I could call you a Yankee," he chided, crossing his arms with a snide smirk. "I'm sure you'd like that."

"Aww, c'mon Artie!" he pleaded, putting his pout face back on. "Please? Just call me Al! Call me Al! It's nice and easy! Please?"

Giving another agitated huff, England said, "Fine, I'll call you Al. Stupid git."

He flashed a quick smile, feeling it grow only wider as he saw red rise up in the other's cheeks. "Thanks, hon."

Another huff escaped him, his beautiful green eyes drifting off to the corner of the room. "Sure, love."

x-x-x-x-x

"Why are you still looking at that?" England lifted his eyes for a moment to see America's curious face as he wandered back into the room after grabbing some Jaffa cakes. America had been pouting for a while that England had never introduced them to him before, but England just came back at him with how America had been too stubborn to try any of his food. His hands now full of the snacks, he sat down next to England, eying the spell book in his lap. "What are you trying to do now?"

Taking one of the Jaffa cakes before they were all gone, England returned his attention to the book, his eyes skimming the page. "I'm just trying to figure out how the curse was broken is all," he answered, taking a nibble of the cake. "I'm just still so confused about it all."

America scooted a little closer to try to get a better look at the book, but England moved the book away from him. "Not after last time," he said, giving America a slight glare. "I'm not going to let you almost kill me again."

A small scowl crossed America's face. "I didn't mean to!" he complained, slumping as he pouted. "I just thought it would be cool if we could both do magic, that's all."

Shaking his head, England shouldered him playfully, returning his attention yet again to the book. There had to be something that explained how the spell had been broken. He had meant for it to be permanent, and usually his spells worked quite well. This was just bizarre for them to be broken so easily. There had to be a reason for this to have happened.

"Do you think you could explain just what happened again for me?" England asked, flipping through more of the pages.

"Uh, sure," America answered, finishing off his sixth Jaffa cake. "Well, I was looking for my keys so I could buy more hamburgers, cuz all of my others were yucky and stale cuz I had missed five days and stuff. But then I couldn't find my keys, so I started looking in my shelves. Then I found a picture of you, and I suddenly felt like I had lost you—well, cuz I had! Then I had flashbacks of the five days, but it didn't make any sense, because I didn't remember them. If that makes sense."

England nodded, sorting out the story in his head. It was obvious that America seeing his picture had caused some of the memories to slip back into his recognition. But the reason for this happening was still shrouded in mystery. Why would they just suddenly be remembered like that?

Near the back of the book, England found a section that he rarely read—the section on emotions and spells. When he had first been learning about magic and spell casting, it had often been said that spells could be much more or less powerful, depending on the emotions of both the castor and the cursed. However, he always highly doubted this, seeing as he felt that emotions often got in the way of everything and were just overall useless. Surely they couldn't have that much of an effect on anything. However, after the past few days, he was beginning to believe that they did actually have some power. Finally, he found the category he had been looking for. Amor—love. He quickly skimmed the page, and nearly gagged as he read it.

"What's wrong?" America asked, England feeling his hand place itself on his back. "You okay? What's wrong?"

"This," he said, pointing at the line, feeling his brows furrow. "It's so… so…"

"What?" America pushed, his face concerned.

"It's so… cliché!" England finally said, reading it over again, trying to see if it could possibly mean anything else. "Quilibet potest frangi alica diligunt verissima," he read aloud, his finger trailing under it as he read it. "Any spell can be broken by love most true."

America switched from staring at England to staring at the book, his face disbelieving at first. Then he began laughing, loud. "S-seriously?" he choked, laughing into England's shoulder. England himself couldn't help but laugh at how cliché it was, how ridiculously simple it was. Love broke a spell that was supposed to last forever. How ludicrous!

"It sounds like the plotline to one of your stupid romantic comedies," England countered, hitting his American on the top of his head. "I mean, how is this even serious?"

"Well, whatever," America said, keeping his head laid on England's shoulder, still giving weak little laughs. "I guess whatever ends up with us together is fine with me." He snuggled in closer to England, wrapping his arms around his waist, and he swore that he hit all of his ticklish spots on purpose just to annoy him.

England looked down at his American, his Alfred, and stroked his hair—he was an annoying America, but he was his annoying American. "I suppose I'm happy with it as well, love," he added, setting the book off to the side on his coffee table. Adjusting himself, England settled into the couch, taking one of America's hands with his own. "So," he said, entwining their fingers as he spoke, "the spell was broken with love supposedly. Just how long have you loved me then?"

America again decided to change his position as he slid down, his head now resting in the Briton's lap, curled up on the couch next to him. England found his hand dragged along with America's, finally taking rest just above the other's head on his lap. The other hand was still in America's hair, waiting for him to settle down and stop moving. Finally, he seemed to finally get comfortable as his movement ceased, letting out a content sigh. "How long," he finally murmured, barely audible—which was rare for America, his voice always being so loud. "I finally started noticing something a few months ago, but… I really don't know when it started. I loved you so much when I was little, always looked up to you. But, I think as I got older, my feelings just grew with me. I think I've always loved you, just didn't notice or admit to it until recently." America turned his head slightly to look up at England. "And you, Artie?" he asked, a little smirk on his face. "How long have you been trying to resist me and my gorgeousness?"

Another indignant huff escaped the British gentleman as he rolled his eyes. "To be honest, I've kind of hated you since the Revolution," he replied, feeling America immediately tense as he mentioned it. "I was hurt by it, and felt like things could never go back to the way they were. So I thought it would be better to just hate you than try to fix what I thought could never be fixed. But of course as I tried to do this, you would never shut up or stop trying to talk to me. Which, in some ways, made me hate you even more."

"Wow," America drawled, his expression unimpressed. "You fail at romance. You realized this, right Artie?" This comment received a swift hit to the head. "Ouch!" he yelped, lightly holding his head. "Sorry," he said, hitting England's knee with his hand that wasn't holding England's. "Alright, continue."

England glared down at the American for a moment, but then resumed his story. "For a long time, I convinced myself that I hated you. But, as I think about it, I think that I was just trying to lie to myself, trying to convince myself that I had no other feelings for you. But I think I always have. We've always had…what has France called it? Ah, yes, we've always had some sexual tensions."

This caused a laugh to escape America, doubling over on the couch. "Ha, wow, France was right about something for once? Ha ha, it must be the end of the world!" For a moment, England considered telling America that, for the past while, he had gotten all of his romantic advice from France, but decided against it—it would piss the frog if he took all the credit for himself; so he would.

"Just think," America said, turning over on his back so he could look up at England's face correctly. "All of this happened all because you messed up on a spell!" He smiled, sending another jolt down England's spine—how was he always able to do that?

Smiling back, he brushed back America's hair from his face. "Curses," he said softly, leaning down to kiss his American. If only he could get something this good every time he failed. But as he thought about it, he really began to doubt that any of this had ever been an accident. Surely something this good couldn't have just happened all because of an accident. England wasn't one to admit he believed in fate, but this really made him believe that someone up there had decided to have fun coming up with making the path here as bumpy or as awkward as possible. Not that he minded now though. He had everything he could ever want out of life now.

"I love you, Alfred my love," he said between kisses. "I love you more than you could possibly understand."

"And I love you to infinity—and beyond!" America replied childishly, receiving a small smack in return. God, he really did love this fool. He loved him more than life itself.

He had everything he could ever need or want; just because of a little curse gone right.

x-x-x-x-x

-sniffle- It's done. –smiles and feels depressed at same time- I am so thankful to everyone! Thank you for your support—you have taught me so much! Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU! I hope you liked the story, and I cannot wait to write more! I love you all!

Thank you, and please review!