This was inspired by the song, "If I could Tell Her" from the musical Dear Evan Hansen. I listened to it for the first time and I immediately knew i wanted to write something about it. I was originally going to use someone else, but these characters just seemed to fit better.
The conflict between America and England that's talked about is referring to the fact that England (and many other countries) bought cotton from the south during the American Civil War, therefore helping the south fund the Confederacy and their military. It's my head canon that another personification was created for the Confederacy and America represented the Union, because it was technically the original United States, while the Confederacy was splitting off to form it's own country. If the Confederacy had won, the Union would've lost and America would seize to exist. This isn't completely historically accurate, just loosely based on historical events, but it's mostly my head-canon.
"When do you go home Canada?" France asked, leaning back in his seat.
"Oh, I'm heading down to the port later this evening." The two were currently in one of France's coastal cities, catching up before Canada had to leave. They sat outside, seated at a table in the gardens enjoying the sun and fresh air.
"That's a shame, you've just arrived only a few weeks ago."
"I know, but England asked me to come to talk about my self-government and more possible freedoms," Canada said. He unconsciously folded and refolded his hands, a habit he formed when he was younger.
"Oh, so he's actually discussing independence with you? That's better than what America received," Canada winced, "I suppose he has learned," The romance nation picked up his glasses and took a sip. "How is the bastard treating you anyway? Well, I hope."
"Uh, yes, quite well. I do mostly govern myself, but he does stop by more often than he did before," He explained.
"Hmm," Replied France, still sipping his drink.
"He has been in a bit of a bad mood lately; he and America are fighting again, not literally of course!" He laughed awkwardly.
"They're just mad at each other again," Canada continued, "after America yelled at England for supporting the south during her civil war."
France rolled his eyes, "Their relationship wasn't exactly great before that."
"True," he nodded, "but things were getting better, they were finally on civil terms, not just politically. Now he seems to be in a permanent bad mood."
France, fed up with talking about the Englishman, shook his head and quickly dismissed the statement, "He's a lovesick idiot." He leaned forward, "Speaking of which, how are you and America?"
"Me and America? What do you mean?" Canada shook his head quickly, his cheeks completely red.
"I mean how are things going? When was the last time you saw her?"
"I saw a few months ago, but I'm stopping by on the way home," The North American nation said.
"Ooo, perfect! You can give her this." France reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a ring then places it on the table.
The Canadian's brows furrowed, "What is it?"
"A ring!"
"I know that-" Canada was cut off by an eager France.
"We both know of America's secret infatuation with the Roman Empire, no? Well, I found this in my attic and thought this perfect for you to give her when you tell her you to love her."
Canada froze. "What? I'm not going to tell her."
France shot him a look, "You have to! You two would be adorable together." He took a sip of his drink, "Do you want to wait for the English Bastard to win her over?"
Canada shook his head. "I can't tell her France! Can't I just give her the ring as a friend?"
"No! If you give her this ring, you have to tell her!" France exclaimed.
He sighed. "We'll see."
"Have you been eating properly?" Asked Canada. He opened the cupboard in her kitchen and took notice of how empty it is.
America nodded, "Yes, of course, why?" She was sitting in the living room watching her northern neighbor rummage through her kitchen from her chair.
"Your cupboard and pantry are empty," Canada closed the cupboard and turned to look at the blonde.
"Oh yeah, well I've been busy, I have so much work to do, you know?" America sat up, slowly walking around the living room, "It takes a few hours to get up to DC so I have to get up early, and then I come home late. I'm barely ever here anymore." She said with a small laugh.
He shot her an unconvinced look, "Hmm."
America stopped her pacing and faced him, "So how are you? How was Europe?"
"Stop that," Canada said, shaking his head.
"Stop what?"
"Stop acting like nothing is wrong. You always do that," He said.
"...Sorry," She smiled sheepishly. "But seriously I'm okay."
"So your not upset with England?" He asked, already knowing the answer.
America paused and looked up at him, surprised. "Who cares about that jerk? Its been ten years since I've seen him anyway," She muttered angrily.
"But it's obviously affecting you!"
"I'm not some broken mess Canada," She pointed out.
"I know, but it's affecting you, I can tell."
She shot him a curious glance.
"It's the little things." He scratched the back of his neck nervously. "Like an empty kitchen and a messy house, you throw yourself in your work when your upset, and as you said yourself you're rarely ever here."
He gestured vaguely around the house, "And normally there are books everywhere, but I don't see a single one, except on the bookshelf."
Canada took a step forward, leaning awkwardly on the kitchen counter. "You also look really pale- I mean you still look very pretty, uhh, I mean you still look healthy. Which is good, but uhh-"
She only laughed at him, brushing off his awkward antics.
"Okay, you're right. I am upset. I could've died, yet he helped my enemy. Things were finally getting better; we could have conversations!" America exclaimed. "Without either of us shouting or leaving the room! Then he helps my enemy and doesn't talk to me for ten years?"
America sighed angrily. "And for some reason, I can't stop thinking about it, all of it!" She gestured wildly.
"It won't leave my head." She plops down onto an armchair, her elbows on her knees with her hands holding her head. "I hate that I care," She looks down at her feet. "I hate that I... miss him," She whispers.
It goes silent for a moment. Canada watches the grief on America's face, he can't stand it. He knows he's dooming himself, and any chance he might have with her, but he hates seeing her like this; so sad. He can't bear it, he has to do something.
Canada pushes himself off the counter and walks into the living room, slowly approaching the armchair directly across from America and sitting down.
"He misses you too." He sighs internally, it's painful because he knows any chance with America has gone out the window.
She scoffed, "England? Really?"
"Seriously! He talks about you all the time, whenever he visits."
She gave him a look.
"He said," Canada was at a loss, the only things he hears from England about America are angry mumbles or drunken rambles of betrayal and love lost. He knew the island nation loved and missed America, but he never heard him say it. He racked his brain for ideas, his first thoughts being his own. What he* missed about her. So Canada decided to speak from the heart.
"... He misses the way you smile whenever you find a letter has arrived for you, he says it's so genuine and happy." He sees her frown soften a small amount.
...He misses your smile. Not just the big, happy one, like when you receive good news, but the small, subtle one. Like when you find a letter has arrived for you.
"And... he misses the way you get so absorbed in your books, to a point when your face mimics the emotions of the character like you're in the book, experiencing those things." Canada smiles as he remembers the many times he's seen her face softly display a series of emotions while she was caught up in a book.
"Seriously?" America asked, attempting to mask the hope in her voice.
"Yes! And he loves how you hum the same song, every time you're doing your chores. And he loves how you always tap your right foot against the floor when your writing."
His gaze drops to the floor, and he begins to fold and unfold his hands.
"He just doesn't say anything... he doesn't have the courage to. He leaves everything unsaid, and he always regrets it."
He stares at the ground with a frown, lost in thought. "If only I could tell her..." He whispers.
"Has he said anything else?" America asked, oblivious to her neighbor's grief.
"Uh, well..."
"No, it's okay, never mind," America said suddenly.
"No there are so many things! Uh..." Canada quickly thought of more things to say, luckily he had an abundance of nice things to say about the American. "He thinks that you look really pretty with your hair short."
America watched him with a hopeful smile. "Really?"
"Yeah! And," Canada began slowly, "he loves how competitive you are! How you always race people up the stairs, or to the carriage."
"I thought he hated it, he always seemed irritated with me when I did that," America said.
"No! No! He loves it! You know him, he's just to-to prideful to show it." He stuttered while attempting to reassure the female nation.
"He also said you look beautiful when you dance; like you don't have a care in the world. And your hair gets all messy and your face gets pink and flushed." He smiled as he gestured to his hair and face before continuing, "And he finds it adorable when you always try to sneak some wine after you dance because you get parched, and you always scan the room twice just in case before you steal a glass."
"He notices that?" America was looking at him with a gaze filled with such longing and love; Canada found himself frozen, unable to form words. He felt guilty for enjoying the way she looked at him. It wasn't meant for him he knew, after all, she thought these were England's words.
"Canada?" She brought him back to reality.
"Huh? Oh! Oh! Of course! He notices all the little things you do because...because he can't seem to stop thinking about you. There's something about you that draws him in."
America watched him with interested eyes. Her big, blue, beautiful eyes. Canada shook his head, trying to focus.
"But he keeps it to himself. He just, he can't bring himself to tell you, no matter how much he wants to. I mean, you're everything to him. He just feels your so far apart, on different planets!"
She laughs softly. "I feel that way too, were are so far apart, literally and figuratively... And things are so complicated..."
"Exactly! Exactly! Things are so complicated, and there is so much history and wars and... and it's hard for him. He doesn't know where to start. He doesn't know how to say he cares about you, or he misses you...or how to say, I love you." His violet eyes burned into hers, hoping America would somehow realize it was himself he was talking about, not England.
America's hitched at the statement, and a few moments passed before Canada realized what he said.
"Err, I mean, he loves you." He laughs nervously.
He looked up and saw her leaned back in the armchair with her arms wrapped around herself, her blue eyes wide and watery. America abruptly sat up and threw herself at him, encircling her arms around his neck.
"Thank you." She muttered. After he realized she was hugging him, he hugged back, bringing his arms around her waist.
"Thank you, for telling me, Matthew." He suddenly felt his head get light as his breath hitched. She used his name. Not Canada, but Matthew. That was a huge deal for nations, calling people by their human names was a privilege, reserved only for countries who are extremely close. He felt the familiar feeling of his stomach getting queasy like it so often did when he was around her.
'Butterflies' he thought with a flushed face.
America hugged him tighter, and he took a moment to realize how much he loved holding her in his arms. "I'm going to write a letter to England, and try to settle everything once and for all." With that, she pulled away from the hug, shooting him a grateful smile before running up the stairs and into her study.
Canada was flooded with disappointment and plopped down into his chair with a sigh. Of course, she's rushing off to write to him, England is the one she loves.
'You knew that Matthew.' He thought to himself.
With a sigh he sat up and went to leave the house, only stopping to write a note to let her know of his departure. He toyed with the ring in his pant pocket, biting his lip as he tried to ignore the pain.
'As long as she's happy.' Taking one more look behind him, Canada soundlessly opened the door and left.