And how did Vietnam feel about this? What did she think of America's obvious feelings for her, and, more importantly, about his change in behavior towards her?

To understand, we must go back to the beginning.

When they met years ago in that rice paddy, Vietnam's first impression of America was that he was nice, but also too childish, extremely arrogant, and ridiculously happy-go-lucky. She also thought that he was shallow, and quite dim. It's important to realize that she was comparing the actual America to the idea of the miraculously successful United States that she had formed before she actually met him. So of course her initial opinion was somewhat distorted.

He still is happy-go-lucky, Vietnam thought as America hummed and smiled beside her as he tried (and failed) to help her cook.

And arrogant, she added with an eye-roll, when he started bragging about his own cuisine. He then showed off his maturity by dangling a spoon by his nose.

So maybe her first impression was not such a bad guess. But what she had drastically underestimated was America's intelligence and his depth. America was not shallow. He was a young country who changed much over a short period of time, who was still trying to figure things out, yet always sharper than he portrayed. And he was a soldier, the best she had ever met. Yet he kept that military mentality behind a smile, and at first he had successfully fooled her into thinking that he didn't have a darker layer within him at all.

Vietnam needed a close friend, not a relationship. Romance had simply never crossed her mind. Therefore, great was her shock when he poured out his compassion to her, and infinite was her relief and appreciation when he ended his ridiculous courting.

She had always admired him, of course. She marveled at his success, his strength, and his generous heart. She would never understand why he was so kind to her. She could never portray how thankful she was for him.

But that was different from what was happening now. Recently, Vietnam found her cheeks heating at the smallest of compliments, her hands fidgeting with her hair at his mere presence, and her lips fumbling to form words when he struck her with a smile. She did not understand it nor like it. These reactions were distracting and childish. Surely she was not falling for him. Of course not, she convinced herself. How could she fall for him if she had felt nothing during his flirtatious phase? It defied logic. And it was with logic that she planned to shake off these sudden sensations. Perhaps she could do the same for America.

She confronted him about it when they were relieving themselves from training, and America had tried to hold her hand while they took a stroll. She stopped walking and shook her head. "This isn't going to work, America."

Disappointed, he withdrew. Alfred had noticed her changed behavior recently, and had been fueled by hope. "What do you say that?"

Vietnam heaved a sigh. "America, I know you are not as dumb as everyone thinks you are. Just look at us. Find the difference."

Obeying her command, America studied her intently. His eyes made her self-conscious. Her farming clothes were baggy and worn. Dirt from the day's work was still smeared on her tanned cheeks. Meanwhile, the Westerner was clean and pale-skinned; his uniform crisp and his glasses gleaming. Sunlight shone through golden, lightweight hair. America patted the top of her head. "You're so short," he cooed. "Don't worry, Vi. I think height differences are cute."

She threw her hands up in the air. "You are impossible! We're different, so obviously different. You're out there flying planes and working in factories while I have been collecting rubber with a pail and farming with tools that you gave up years ago! You shouldn't like me. You're a huge, strong country while I'm just a tiny colony. There's no reason to care this much. I am of no importance."

Vietnam flushed. She had not meant to say so much. But her emotions had suddenly peaked, as they often stupidly did when she was around the American.

America blinked and stared at her. "You're just a tiny colony," he repeated. "Being ruled by another person doesn't decide your importance. Neither does your size! I don't believe that baloney for a second Viet." Vietnam felt disconcerted as he carefully searched her face. "And I don't think you do, either."

Vietnam bent her head to look at her hands, furious that he had figured her out. "You don't think our differences matters at all?" she huffed. "What would the other countries think?"

"Who cares what they think? But if you're really that worried about status quo, darling, I wouldn't mind a forbidden romance," America added slyly, briefly slipping back into his former flirtatious element.

"Oh my god!" Vietnam complained as America laughed. "Explain why you like me so much. Why me, out of all of the countries in this world?"

She felt triumphant when America hesitated. Then, he explained, "Well, at first you were just a pretty face that I wanted to make smile. I mean, I like making people happy, you know? But you always make me happy instead. That's because you're different than anyone I've met. You think that's a bad thing, apparently, but it's not! You're different in a cool way. Trying to understand you is like a puzzle most of the time. But I - I guess I fell in love with that puzzle." He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. It was the first time he had tossed around the word love in front of her.

Vietnam gaped at him in equal parts horror and captivation. Love! He said 'love!' This man was beyond saving. "And wh-what will happen once you solve the puzzle?" she blubbered, her feverish reactions acting up again.

America smiled at her strangely (somehow, knowingly). "Then I'll be able to appreciate the finished piece in all its clarity. But I'm not sure if I'll ever solve it, y'know. I mean, maybe I'll get close. But I think that depends if the puzzle wants to be solved."

He had flustered her. He could tell by her dark-red cheeks and the way Vietnam was fidgeting. She crossed her arms to her chest and looked away, as if trying to find a response in the horizon. America stayed quiet and decided to let his words sink in. If Vietnam was confused about anything, she ought to figure it out by herself. He could be patient.

Vietnam could feel herself thawing, and she despised it. What was happening to all of her walls? What was happening to "being careful"? What happened to focusing on herself?

You're different in a cool way.

He made her feel so special. He made her feel a lot of things, actually. Exasperation, wonder, frustration, amusement, affection. The emotions weren't always positive. But he made her feel so much, and that was somehow addicting.

At night, Kim would lay in her bed and remind herself why she couldn't think in this way. He was a very busy nation; he was bound to forget about her. Love was weak; it had no place in the heart of a revolutionary. He was so kind, so beautiful, so good to her; she did not deserve him. Nations weren't supposed to fall in love, anyway...

She would fall asleep, curled tightly into a ball, and sometimes dream about a night many years ago...

It was a very important event that Vietnam often thought back to, whenever she and America accidentally touched, whenever he did something unbelievably sweet, whenever she caught herself locked in his gaze.

It happened a year after she became known as French Indochina. Vietnam's eyes flew open that night at the sound of glass shattering, followed by a string of unintelligible French. She was furious: no doubt the Frenchman had just broken something of hers. Hadn't he ruined enough? she seethed, as she climbed out of bed and walked briskly to his chamber.

The door to the guest room was ajar. Moonlight shone on a pool of red in the middle of the floor. Vietnam almost mistook it for blood, but the stench of alcohol and the gleaming shards gave it away. She could see the Frenchman's hunched back and the bottom of a bottle flash in the moonlight as he lifted it to his lips. He was muttering a name. She stepped in angrily. "What do you think you're doing, at an hour like this—?"

He whipped around and grabbed her shoulders. "Vietnam," he breathed, and she knew that he was drunk, drunker than she had ever seen him before.

"Let go of me! Let go of me now!" she shrieked, too scared to convert her words into French, but France stumbled back without further command. She then saw that his face was wet.

"We're damned!" he moaned.

"Wh-what?"

"Loneliness," he gasped. "That's what every country - all of us - are damned to. Any bud of romance is quickly ground to dust by fate! Politics, affairs - anything - always gets in the way! We're wretchedly alone. I'm the country of love," he laughed bitterly. "But I am doomed to never achieve a happy love. Alone!" he cried, and he collapsed onto the ground, weeping.

To Vietnam, France was a strong country. He had to be, for such a large empire. To see him in such devastation terrified her, and she fled the room with her heart pounding in her ears.

That's the damned fate of a country. Doomed to never achieve a happy love.

The words resonated more than the smashed bottle did.

The night air felt deliciously cool against America's skin as he strode up to Vietnam's door and knocked. He strained his ears for her light, quick footsteps and was alarmed to hear a crash instead. He shouted her name and pounded on the door, with no response except a series of metallic clashes in quick succession. Panicking, he grabbed the doorknob and wrenched it off of the door with a sharp turn of the wrist. "Vietnam!" he cried, bursting into the house, only to see Vietnam knelt on the floor, circled by a ring of cooking ware. Vietnam looked up from the two pots she was banging together. "Oh hello America. I didn't hear you knock." And if he wasn't already surprised enough, she smiled at him.

"Wh-what on earth are you doing?" he stammered, effectively dazzled. "It sounded like a warzone in there!"

"I'm trying to figure out which two pots will make the loudest noise. How else will the evil spirits be scared off?" Her gaze dropped to America's hand and her eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Is that my doorknob that you're holding?"

"It...fell off."

She unsuccessfully tried to shove the doorknob back in its place, and she frowned worriedly at the gaping hole in her door.

"Oh dear. I hope this isn't an omen. But then again, it's not quite Tet yet. I shouldn't be thinking so negatively."

"Tet? What in Christ's name are you talking about?"

She laughed. Another surprise for America. "Tonight is the eve of my New Year, Tet. It starts at midnight, in fact."

"But it's February!" he exclaimed as Vietnam invited him to sit on the couch and have some special holiday food.

"It's different here," she explained, chewing on a cake. America looked around the room. Everything was spotless from multiple dustings and scrubbings. The house smelled of burning incense, plates of food crammed onto her kitchen table, and tangy orange trees. There was another tree, a fake one, draped in flowers and small ornaments, and some sort of altar.

"Yeah, I figured," America said. Excited by the unique traditions, he urged Vietnam to explain more.

"Tet is my most important holiday. It is also my birthday. It is the marker of a fresh year, so everything you do during New Year influences the rest of it."

"Jeez! Sounds serious."

"Of course it isn't. You want to have a fun year, don't you?" Chuckling, she popped a clump of sweet rice into his mouth, something she would never do. This holiday, America thought, must be why she in such a good mood all of a sudden.

"Since Japan, the holiday hasn't been so great...as you know, recently there hasn't even been enough food around for a proper feast. The Japanese authority - they're frightening. The celebrations in the streets aren't what they used to be. But we are becoming rebellious, and perhaps that will show through our Tet this year.

"On the first day, my people-"

"Woah, what?" America interrupted. "You mean there's more than one day to your new year?"

"There isn't for yours?" Vietnam asked, surprised. "We have three important Tet days, but the celebration is often weeks long."

"Holy mackerel. This sounds fantastic. I can't wait to see this all for myself! I mean, I obviously have fighting to do, but the first day is the best one, right?"

Vietnam smiled sadly. "Um...the first day of Tet is for family only, America. But visiting friends is allowed on the second day," she added as a softener.

His heart sank a little. "So I'll have to leave soon, huh?"

"It is best to follow tradition," she stated simply.

America was disappointed, but he didn't want to spoil her night. "Of course, no problem," he chirped.

Vietnam felt bad. "You don't have to leave until midnight. I can tell you all about Tet until then."

"That'd be great! I'd love that."

"Hm...well, the first visitor of Tet is very important. They must be a person of good standing. Their character impacts the whole year."

"Cool! Who's going to be your visitor? Ho?"

"Perhaps. But he might be busy with his own celebrations. Likely, I will leave the house a few minutes before midnight and re-enter just as the hour strikes, just to be safe."

"Oh."

Vietnam continued. "Giving money to little ones and worshiping ancestors is important, too." Reminded, she went over to the altar. America watched her nimble fingers light sticks of incense. Thin curls of smoke climbed into the air as Vietnam shut her eyes and clasped her hands together. America knelt beside her and followed suit. "Who are you worshiping?" he whispered, recognizing the sacredness of the ritual.

There was a long pause. "I don't have any ancestors. Any I remember, at least. So I honor all of my people who have passed," she replied. "Every one of them has done so much for me."

America nodded. He knew exactly what she meant.

Hours later

Laughter rang through the house as Vietnam beat America, once again, at another New Years game that younger children liked to play. Grinning, America glanced at his watch and quickly stood from the floor. "What's up?" Vietnam asked, gazing up at him from her seat.

"We lost track of time. It's minutes before midnight! I better go."

Vietnam had not even realized that she was smiling until her face fell at that moment. "Oh…right."

She accompanied him to the door, where he slipped into his boots. "Your new year is fun! I've never seen anything quite like it. I'll come back in a week or somethin', when it's all over, so you can focus on festivities."

She looked up in surprise. "That's very thoughtful of you, America. Cam on."

"Well, after the year you had, I think you deserve a holiday," America said. Behind him, through the open doorway, was a gallery of bright stars, shining as if they recognized the occasion. But as America looked fondly down at her, the sky's gems seemed to dim.

"Have a happy new year!" America said, and he walked out of the house.

"Wait!"

Vietnam's hand darted out to grab America's sleeve. He turned around, surprised. "I…um…please stay," Vietnam mumbled. She ducked her head, knowing that she was blushing and hating herself for it.

"Huh?"

"I'm...I'm inviting you to celebrate Tet with me, moron."

"But you said the first day was for family only."

"Look around, idiot; do you see any family around?" Vietnam snapped. Then she remembered that arguments were taboo during Tet. "I mean...I don't have a family, but you...y-you are the closest thing...I..." She wrung her hands, unable to articulate her meaning, but America's eyes softened at her stammering.

"I know how you feel," he said. "During the holidays is the time when I wish for a family the hardest." His voice could almost be described as…quiet.

"You...you shouldn't talk about sad things on new year," she replied just as softly.

"Well, I'll talk about anything that you want to talk about."

Before Vietnam could respond, they were interrupted by a whistle and a crackling explosion of red light in the distance. America jumped at the sound, searching the black skies for a plane, but Vietnam's eyes brightened. "Someone's setting off fireworks! Someone's brave enough this year! C'mon, America - we've got to have our own, too! Help me get the supplies out of the house!"

Vietnam raced inside excitedly, but when she heard America's shoes on the floor, she froze. Oh no. America was the first visitor of the year. The pivotal person meant to symbolize the fortune for the next twelve months...why am I worried? Vietnam suddenly wondered. America was the kindest, most generous country she knew. She couldn't possibly have a better first visitor - I am in love with him, after all, Vietnam thought, immediately followed by an Oh my god did I really just think that!?

America, caught up to Vietnam, wondered why she was staring at him with such an apprehensive expression. "Uh, Viet? The fireworks?" he prompted with an uncertain smile.

How those blue eyes pierced her. Vietnam forced her knees to stop shaking from the fear and ecstasy of her realization. "Yes. Fireworks. Of course," she said, trying to regain her composure, as sparks lit up the sky outside of her open door.

A/N: ohhhhHHHHH DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMN

Wow, this chapter had feelings in it! (An attempt was made). Apologies for updating a day late! As you can see, this chapter was long and I'm still not sure if I'm pleased with it.

I hope that this was full of interesting and (hopefully accurate!) culture. Many of my readers are Vietnamese, though, so this is probably all old stuff to you all. Did you guys think I did a good job? I'm always open to fixing stuff!

Who was France ranting about during his emotional tirade? This question will never be answered, partly because I cannot for decide myself. I suppose you can use your imagination and your favorite ships to determine that for yourself, though I can assure you that he is not speaking of Vietnam.

Hope you liked the chapter!

~mysterywings