For all of you who reviewed, I LOVE YOU! :D Thank you so much! I'm so glad that you guys are liking the story! I was worried that, since I'm just coming up with a lot of the story on the spot, it wouldn't be as good. But if you guys like it, I'm happy! :3

Also, sorry about this chapter taking a little longer. This one has been a tough one! Ooh, and we're going to have a guest appearance of another country in this chapter! If you wanna know who it is, you have to read! :P

Anyways, enjoy the next chapter, and please review! :D

x-x-x-x-x

"You won't remember anything."

America felt himself go cold. He stared at England, trying to make sense of what he had just heard. He'd lose his memories? Carrying England to bed, England singing him to sleep, England laughing joyfully for the first time in centuries; he wouldn't remember any of it? The thought made him feel sick.

"Can't you do anything?" America asked, trying to keep desperation out of his voice. He didn't want to forget anything, wanted to cherish these memories.

"It's the only way," England said solemnly, still refusing to make eye contact. "There's no other way to make it work. I can't."

"Can't you just leave the things the way they are?"

England looked up at him, a pained look on his face. "No," he said. "I can't. I have to change things back to the way they were."

"Why?" America asked, no longer caring how pathetic his voice sounded. "Why? What if I like things the way they are?"

"You like things the way they are because of the blasted curse!" England said, exasperated. "Why can't you realize that? That's why you feel like this! It's not real!"

It's not real. Those three words were like a punch to the stomach. America just stared at him, not wanting to believe this. It couldn't be fake. It didn't feel fake! He knew what he was feeling, and it couldn't all be a lie!

"England," America pleaded. "England, please. I love you. Don't do this."

"I have no choice," he said, jumping up from the couch. "I have to return things to normal. And I can't have you going around saying that you love me when I don't return those feelings."

Another blow to the stomach, only this time it felt like a knife. "You don't… love me back?"

"Of course not!" England answered harshly, eyes fiery. "I'd never look at you like that! And everything will be better when you stop acting so stupid!"

America jumped up from the couch to look England in the eye. "You think showing actual affection is stupid?" he cried.

"Love and affection have never had any purpose," England said, still denying America direct eye contact, "besides causing me grief."

"You didn't seem so grieved when you were raising me."

England finally looked at him, his green eyes radiating with anger. "I had been happy!" England yelled, making America jumped back as he lashed out, hitting him hard in the shoulder. "I had been happy, raising you! You were able to make me happy for the first time in my whole damn, bloody life! And then, then you left!"

Shoulder stinging, America stared at him, dumbfounded. He opened his mouth to respond, but he couldn't think of anything to say. He hadn't been expecting him to bring up such a touchy subject. "England…"

"After everything I did for you!" England continued, cutting off America as he gripped him by the collar. "I raised you, fed you, cared for you, loved you! And then you left me! Left me like everyone else in the damn world did!"

"Because you pushed me away," America whimpered, trying to loosen England's grip on his shirt. "I loved you back, more than anything. But then you started trying to control me, stopped me from doing things. You didn't leave me another—"

"Shut up!" England cried, roughly shaking him. America felt his teeth snap together painfully, but didn't say anything. "I was trying to protect you! I didn't want you to make mistakes! You weren't ready for the world! I was trying to help you!"

"I had to leave," America repeated, hating to see England hurt like this. "Believe me, I didn't want to. I loved you. I still love you. But I had to have freedom. If I ever wanted to impress you, I had to…"

"I hate you," England hissed, clenching his shirt tighter, his knuckles going white. "I hate you. I hate you so…" His breath caught in his throat as tears that had been building up in his eyes finally fell from his eyes. "I hate…" he tried again, but he was cut off by a sob that escaped him. "I… hate this," he choked, dropping his head, hiding his face from America as he continued crying.

America looked down at him, a horrible sadness coming over him. The image of when England had last cried like this flashed through his head. England crumpled on the ground, drenched because of the rain pouring down on them; shaking because of the cold as his body was racked with sobs. The last time he had cried like that, it had been his fault then too. America did what he hadn't been able to do last time as he wrapped his arms around him, holding him close. England tried to push him away for a fraction of a second, but then removed his hands from his collar as he threw his arms around America, holding him almost painfully tight. His face buried itself in his shoulder, his body shaking with sobs that took over his whole body.

"I'm sorry," America said, stroking England's hair. "I'm sorry."

Carefully, America lowered himself and England down on the couch, England now refusing the let him go. "It's okay" he muttered, nuzzling the top of his head with his cheek. "It's okay."

"I lied."

America looked down at him, confused by his words. "What?" he asked.

"I lied," England murmured, moving his head from America's shoulder to his chest. "I… I never hated you. I hated the memories, the pain, the loss. I didn't like to think about them. Whenever I saw you, I'd always remember the pain, always try to think of what I could have done differently. I could never remember the happiness." He sniffled as he loosened his grip on America and sat up straight. "I hated the pain. But I never hated you."

For a moment, America just looked down at him, taking everything in. He closed his eyes as he let himself smile. "Then I have a question for you."

x-x-x-x-x

"A question?" England roughly wiped the disgusting tears from his face. How could he have allowed himself to break down like that, especially in front of America? It was completely unacceptable for a man of his caliber.

"You don't hate me," America said slowly, re-opening his amazingly blue eyes. "So, if that's the case, how do you really feel about me?"

England looked at him, trying to figure out what exactly he was getting at. "What," he said, puzzled as how to answer. "How do I feel?" He paused, feeling his face become warmer as America's gaze became stronger. "I don't… get what you're asking."

A mischievous smile crossed America's lips, sending an unexplained chill down England's back. "Let me explain," he said as he took England's chin gently in his hand. England was about to ask what he meant when, feeling his entire body tense, America's lips met his own.

Dear mother of God. America was kissing him. He should be yelling and screaming, punching and kicking, something to make him stop. But England was paralyzed, the warmth of America's touch mesmerizing him. His worst fears had come true, yet he wasn't scared at all. In fact, a feeling he couldn't quite place fell over him instead. A feeling of… was it happiness?

Before England was even close to deciphering all that had just happened, America ended the contact as he drew his face away from his. He still looked happy, but he had a hint of nervousness in his features. "So," he said, his voice making England shiver. "What do you think of me?"

England sat perfectly still for what seemed like an eternity, still trying to figure out what it was exactly that he was feeling. It was something so new, so unfamiliar. He was scared by it, but, at the same time, he had never felt so whole in his entire life.

Not letting himself think, not letting himself reconsider anything that was about to happen, England lunged forward as he crashed his lips back onto America's. He could feel America's shock from this reaction, but felt a jolt shoot through him as he felt his smile against his lips. America's fingers entangled themselves in his hair as England allowed the hero do what he had wanted since he had arrived. He let himself be pushed down on the couch as they continued to kiss, sending all of England's past cares away to deal with later. Much later.

Cautiously, England laid his hands on America's back, lightly holding his shirt. The smell of America overwhelmed him, even more delicious than he remembered now that he was so close. He felt himself being enthralled by the contact, by his scent. Somehow, it took him a few seconds to realize that they had gone past just kissing, their mouths now quite busy with each other. Not that he minded.

However, England immediately noticed when America suddenly started unbuttoning his shirt. That was when his brain started to function again. Just barely stopping himself from screaming, he roughly shoved America off of him.

America gave a little gasp, obviously not expecting such an abrupt response. "Wh-what's wrong?"

England tried to sit up too quickly, resulting in ungracefully falling off the couch with a loud 'thump.' "Bloody hell," he gasped, shoving his messed hair out of his face. He brought his legs up to his chest as he settled his forehead on his knees. It wasn't until now that he took notice of the lack of oxygen in his system, causing blue dots in his vision. His mind was running to and fro, trying to figure out what had just happened.

Not only had he and America just kissed. England had enjoyed it.

"England?" America asked carefully. England could hear him shift and felt his presence in front of him now on the floor. "England, what happened?"

"I don't know," England answered, refusing to look up. "I don't bleeding know." He was so embarrassed, so utterly confused. He knew exactly why America was feeling this way for him, but he had absolutely no reason to be feeling anything like this for him. It was absolutely ludicrous!

England felt America's hand lay on his shoulder, and he venomously swatted his hand away. "Don't," he barked, tilting his head up just enough to look at him. America was sitting on his knees, holding the affronted hand with a look of deep concern on his face. England gave a frustrated sigh as he let his head rest itself back on his knees. He hated to see America hurt like this.

"England," America said softly. His voice was pained, making England feel ill with guilt. Why did he always have to do something wrong?

"I have to go." England said abruptly, jumping up, making him dizzy. "I… I need space."

He felt America's eyes latch on to him. "What?" he asked desperately, grabbing on to England's sleeve. "No, why? You can't just—" They both paused as England felt the collar of his shirt be pulled down by America's attempts, revealing his bare shoulder. Gritting his teeth, he pulled his shirt back into place as he wrenched himself away from America.

"I need time to think," England said, re-buttoning his shirt. "I need to figure out everything."

"Please!" America begged, trying to get a hold of him. "I'm sorry! Please, please don't—"

"Get off!" England yelled, shoving America away from him. He had a dazed look as he fell backwards, his blue eyes sadder than he had ever seen before. Clenching his fists, he looked away as he heard America hit the ground, a sad whimper escaping him. God, he felt like such a bastard.

"Listen," England said slowly, trying to keep himself from having another breakdown. "I just need room to think right now. I'm going to leave for a day, just to think all of this over. But I'll be back by tomorrow." He looked down at America again to see what his reaction was. He still looked pained, but he looked slightly calmed down. "I will come back," England said. "I promise you."

America continued to look down, his voice murmuring something that was inaudible to England's ears. "What?" he asked.

With strong blue eyes, America looked up at him. "You never keep promises," he said, his eyes boring into England. "When I was little, you always told me you'd come back. You said you would come back soon, but you would keep me waiting for years. So how am I supposed to believe that I won't have to wait a few more years to see you again?"

England stared at him for what seemed like forever as his words sunk in. You never keep promises. He bit his lip as he tried to think of how to reassure him, but thoughts were already so messed up, making anything in his head hard to decipher. Not able to think of anything else to do, he got down on his knees as he brushed America's tangled hair out of his face. "I promise you," he said, gracing America's forehead with a kiss, "I'll come back. The only reason for me not returning will be if I die."

America gave a choked little cry. "D-don't say that, freakin' idiot!" he said, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Don't jinx yourself like that! Now I'm going to be freaked out! What if you get hit by a car? What if you fall and break your neck? God, what if you get kidnapped and raped or—"

England slapped his hand over his mouth, making him shut up. "God, Americans," he complained, rolling his eyes. He stood back up and held out a hand to help America up as well. "I will come back," England said once again. "Do you trust me?"

He looked at the hand for a second as if questioning its intentions. Then he let a smile cross his face. "Yeah," he said as he took England's hand. "I do."

x-x-x-x-x

America was lying on the couch, staring up at the blank ceiling. England had changed, packed some of his stuff, and then left. He had left about ten minutes earlier, leaving America alone in his house to try and live without his presence. Seeing as he had spent the last three days with him, he wasn't really sure if this was possible. His missed being able to sit with England, listen to him breathe, listen to him talk silently to himself as he studied. All of the little quirks he had only made America love him even more. And thinking about how he loved all of those little quirks made him miss him even more.

It's just for a day, America thought to himself, trying to chase his fears away. He promised he's come back. He tried to slow down his breathing like England did when he was upset, but the lack of air only made him more anxious. He jumped up and grabbed a hamburger, but the processed meat didn't seem to make him feel any better this time. He couldn't keep him mind focused on anything either. He'd think of hamburgers, then think of how much England hated them. He'd think about some of his television shows, then think of some the insults that England had shot at them. He'd think of peanut butter, and think of how England hated the texture. Everything would come back to England.

One day, America thought desperately. One whole damn day.

x-x-x-x-x

He couldn't believe that he was doing this.

England stood in front of the door, trying to figure out just how he had thought this was a good idea. He knew that he would probably be able to get some insight, but he wasn't sure if it was going to be any that he actually wanted. With a deep calming breath, he knocked on the door. God, what was he getting himself in to?

The door knob jostled, and the door opened, sending the odor of red roses in the air like a slap in the face. England had to keep a growl in his throat contained as a man stood in the door frame, his blonde locks swaying in a breeze, whose origins England was confused about. A huge smirk crossed France's face as he looked down at England. "Ah, Angleterre!" he said jovially, slipping his arm around England's shoulder. "What a pleasant surprise! Please, come in, come in, mon ami!"

"I am not your friend," England growled, trying to shake off France's arm. But France had a firm grip, only holding tighter at England's attempts to get him off.

"You are not, hm?" France asked, sending his hair cascading into England's face. "If I am not, then why are you here?"

England swatted his hair out of his face with an irritated huff. "I'm here because…" He paused, his mouth tasting sour with the words he was about to speak. "I need… your advice."

"Hmm," France purred in his ear as he dragged him through the door, closing it behind him with his foot. "And just what to you need my advice for?"

A blush came to England's face, causing France to give one of his annoying Frenchie laughs. "I, er… It's about…"

"Is it about America?" France asked, giving another, "Hon hon hon."

England's jaw dropped, blood rushing to his face. "Ah, w-well…" He scratched his head, staring at the floor. "Well. Yes."

France let out a huge laugh, throwing his other arm around England as he squeezed him while swinging him from side to side. "Ah, mon ami, it is about time! I cannot believe that you have finally come to terms!"

England gave him a bewildered look as he tried to shove France off of him. "What the hell are you talking about?" England asked, getting more and more irritated by France's behavior.

"Ah, you silly idiot," France said, nuzzling his stubble against his forehead. "I've seen it for years!"

"Seen what?" England yelled, finally succeeding in pushing France off of him. "What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"L'amour, of course," France crooned, holding his chest as if the very word made his heart throb. "Oh, l'amour!"

England grabbed France by a lock of his hair, causing a little yelp of pain to escape him. "Tell me just what you're talking about, or else I'll chop off all your hair."

"Ah, okay, bastard," France said, tears in his eyes. "You don't have to be so cruel!"

With a smirk, England released his hair. France immediately pulled out a handkerchief and began to dramatically wipe away his tears. "Oh, the brutality you use," he cried, letting his golden hair sway back and forth. "No wonder you have so few friends!"

"Shut up and just talk," England said mercilessly. "How long did you say you've… seen something between us?"

France put his handkerchief back in its place as he set his hair back in place. "How long, you ask?" he said. "Oh, for several years now! It was so obvious, and so adorable!"

England blushed, straightening out his clothes. "H-how was it obvious?" he asked. He wouldn't be surprised if France was just lying or exaggerating. France always did that to him to piss him off.

"Oh, you two can always be seen with one another!" France said happily. "You're always together having lover's quarrels! You can just sense the sexual tension in the air!"

"S-sexual tension?" England blundered, his face growing ever hotter. "Lover's quarrels?" He had the extreme urge to punch France in the face, but was too embarrassed to do anything other than just stand there like an idiot.

"Oh, Angleterre!" France said, patting him on the back. "It is nothing to be embarrassed about! You two are meant for each other!"

England stared at him, getting more and more shocked by his words. "Meant for…?"

"So," France said, once again wrapping his arm playfully around his shoulder. "Just what kind of advice are you here for? How to woo your American, or maybe how to arouse him, hmm?"

This time, England was able to plant a fist in France's face. "Gah, you stupid pervert!" England growled, watching as France pulled back out his handkerchief. "I just wanted your opinion on… something else."

"Oh, something else?" France said with a wink. "Maybe some positions, hmm?"

"No, God dammit!" England yelled, going to hit him in the face again, but missed as France suddenly learned how to dodge. "Just listen, stupid frog!"

Once France had finished being an idiotic pervert, they sat down as England explained what had happened: The spell gone wrong, America falling for him, and all of England's confused thoughts. By the time England had finished his story, he was having another fit because of all of the memories and because of France's commentary.

"So, you don't know whether you really love him or not, non?" France surmised, leaning back on the couch, sitting next to England.

"More or less," England answered, holding his head as he felt a head ache coming on. He really wished that France would learn how to keep his mouth shut when someone was trying to explain something to him. "I really don't know what I'm feeling right now besides confusion."

"Ah, Angleterre, what has you so confused?" France asked, holding his hand out in a questioning way. "Surely you return feelings for him?"

"Well, I…" England paused, trying to sort out through his thoughts again even though he knew he wasn't going to have much success. "I just don't understand why I would have feelings for him. I know he feels like this for me because of the spell, but… why should I feel anything for him?"

"Because of l'amour!" France said as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

"But why would I feel something like this?" England asked desperately. "I've never felt anything like this, and I feel like it's tearing me apart!"

France looked at him with a sad look that made England feel sick—he didn't need pity, especially from France. "Well, it hurts because you are denying it."

"Why wouldn't I be denying it!" England cried, stubbornly crossing his arms. "He used to be my brother! I can't just suddenly go and admit that I love him."

"Admit?" France said, smiling smugly at the word.

England flushed, suddenly realizing his choice in words. "N-no, I didn't mean that! I mean—!" France let out another laugh, making England punch him harshly in the arm.

"Ah, sweet l'amour," he said as he rubbed his arm painfully. "But what has you bothered so? All you have to do is tell him your true feelings!"

"It's not that easy," England groaned, rubbing his temples. "I have to take off the spell! When I do, he won't remember anything. It will be as if nothing happened."

He felt France looking at him carefully, examining him. "Again, I must ask," he said curiously, "why does this bother you so? You could just make this all go away, and he would be none the wiser."

"That's not that easy either," England said quietly, keeping his eyes to the floor. "I really don't know what I want anymore. Part of me wants to make America forget everything so we can go back to normal where nothing was complicated. But the other part…" He went silent as he, for the first time, really thought about what that part of him wanted. "The other part wants him all to myself, wants to have him forever as just mine." As the words passed his lips, England blushed furiously as he realized what he had just said. "N-no, what am I saying!" he said, clutching his head. "No, that couldn't be what I want! No, of course not…"

"You're deeper in l'amour than I thought," France sighed, a smile on his face. England shot a glare at him because of the comment, but also because of the truth it held. Truth that he really didn't want to deal with. "You should just tell him how you feel," France said. "If you don't lift the spell, he'll know that you love—" England shot him a poisonous glare that made him pause as he decided to rephrase his advice. "Sorry, he'll know that you like him. Better? And then if you do lift the curse, he won't remember. Either way, you're probably a winner."

"Probably?" England asked ruefully. "Why probably?"

France sighed a laugh. "L'amour is a beautiful thing, Angleterre," he said smoothly, "but it can also be a cruel thing. It's unpredictable. It could make you the happiest man on earth, or it could make you kill yourself. You never really know with l'amour."

England huffed. "Yeah, that's why I don't want to deal with it, wanker."

"Ah, Angleterre," France cooed as he once again slid his arm around his shoulders. "You have to take chances! L'amour would be dull if there weren't any risks."

"Well, what if the one risk I take breaks all that has happened?" England asked, too tired to try to shake off his arm this time. "What if I mess everything up?"

France smiled as he ruffled England's blonde hair. "Then you try again until you get it right."

England stared at France as if this was the stupidest suggestion he had ever heard in his life. But then memories of the Revolution flashed through his head; the pain, the hatred, the bitterness, the feeling of utter betrayal. It had taken a long time, but he and America had become friends, even after all that happened. Try again until you get it right. England closed his eyes as he let himself smile.

"Then I guess I just have to try," he said.

x-x-x-x-x

Whoa, France actually giving good advice? Say whaaat? :O

I hope you liked this chapter! Again, sorry it took a little bit longer—writer's block hit me for a while! D:

So, please review! I'll love you if you do! :D