If Just For Now

"I knew you existed! I knew I would find you!"

He laughed.

"And I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry."

He sobbed.

"...now he's gone."

Japan felt guilty. He had believed both America and England wasting their time with some business, but now he knew the truth. Japan also felt sympathy for America, who was now wracked with indecision, wondering what he had done wrong. Finally, he felt guilty once more for even being here. America had hid this from him before, because it was none of Japan's business. Japan came at the wrong time and America spilled out everything in a warped view of distress. If Japan had not come by, England's secret would have been held.

And America would have been left to his own devices to cope. Japan tried to weigh the good and the ill of this situation and could not decide. Not that it mattered.

"America-san," Japan tried, "This does not sound to be at all your fault. Excuse me if I am being forward, but–"

"Dude," America stared at him with narrowed eyes. "You're talking to me. We've gone over all this forward stuff before. Come on, Japan."

"I am sorry," Japan bowed his head slightly, quickly going on before America commented on any more of his nervous habits. "As I was saying, maybe it is best that England has left back to his own country, if just to come to terms with what has happened."

"'Come to terms'?" America repeated, with a frown. Japan nodded.

"In your house, he can always maintain... sort of an illusion that once he leaves and goes home things will go back to normal. Once he is back in his own house he will be able to face what he is going through and therefore perhaps be able to cope."

America stayed quiet for a few moments, nodding. "I mean... I knew that he wasn't completely... y'know, himself, but it didn't mean that when he said..." America could not say it, Japan knew. America did not like admitting he was hurt by something and what had happened between him and England had hurt him. Not only England's words, but America trying to leave him in that room, despite knowing England's condition. America felt guilty.

He and America could probably give all of the other Nations a run for their money when it came to guilt. At least, right now.

"So you think it's for the best?" America finally said.

"Yes. Perhaps you should visit him in a week or two. I am certain he will be more willing to receive your company then. You have just spent several weeks nonstop in each other's presence. You just need your space."

It took a while, but finally America nodded. Japan could only hope that America fully understood him. Still, it really was none of his business.

But that was just his opinion.

He was going home.

England was not certain how he felt about this. This was what he had needed. He needed to go home, he needed to get away from America, he needed to be able to see Them again. However, out of these three things, the only one he wanted was the last. He needed and wanted to see his friends again. He needed to get away from America so that he did not tear himself apart because he was afraid of tearing America apart. He needed to go home to be able to see them.

The truth was that England was scared to go home. Did he think he would not be able to see, even there? No, that was not it. There was something else, something about going back to London which struck him as wrong. He had had this feeling all along, ever since America had taken him to his house. Or was it before? Did he have this feeling when he was there? England could not remember what he felt then, whenever he looked back on that day all he could remember was numbness.

And it was based on absolutely nothing. Therefore, England ignored it. Or tried to, at the very least.

"Are you absolutely certain I am not wasting my time with this?"

France was saying that because he had to, quite frankly. After all, he had been spending a lot of time on England. Soon enough France would get bored, or petty, or be told he needs compensation and England would have to offer something up. It was the constant cycle between them.

"I'm certain you're more likely to regret not doing this."

France was now third on the list. How quickly he fell from the ranks. The Nation of wine and useless hand gestures had not long ago been the Nation he least wanted to see. Then it was Scotland. Now it was America.

For America's sake. England did not want to give the Nation he had decreed once as his little brother any other reasons to hate him than the ones he had already spat out. As for France...

They already proclaimed that they hated each other, already argued constantly. This would bring out nothing new between them, just what was already there.

The Frenchman scoffed, as if it were nothing, as if he did not care, killing the car's engine. "We are at your house now, petit chou. What is next?"

For a while, England simply stared at his house, remembering the last time he was there. It had seemed like the beginning to a strange, but normal, day. It was supposed to have been a Saturday. He had last remembered a Friday. Had he been asleep for five days? Or did he just not remember those days? Did it matter?

Llyr was gone. He had looked everywhere and could not find Styles. And there was Scotland. I should have asked him if they were all right. But if they were not, he would have said so... wouldn't he? Are they all right? Is... is it just me?

England did not know if he preferred that idea or not.

"We go."

"Go where?" France asked, completely confused.

"Out," England got out of the car, not bothering to continue to explain himself until they had both exited the car. "You're just going to complain about the selection in my pantry, so we might as well head to the shops."

"Then why are we..." France's voice faded away from him as he turned and started to walk away. Only England could only go so far before stopping to make certain that France was still there. He was.

"Dear me, I am in for a lot of suffering, aren't I? Going to lessen the pain?"

"Touch me, France, and you will have one less hand."

"I have heard that threat before~!"

This seemed so normal, that England wanted to smile, but he could not. No matter how hard he tried, he could not ignore the fact that he did not want to be here either. He could not ignore the fact he just wanted to run. To where?

More importantly, how?

He could not run without someone running with him.

England was very good at setting up routines. France knew no one better to put something into one shape and command it to stay the same even when he was not around. It did not always work, but England kept doing it. Now that he was around all of the time, England seemed certain that this would be the case.

He could not have done this with America, because America did not follow direction well. Neither did France, to be honest. Still, he could play nicely enough. After all, he got to sleep in the same bed as England at night and he was certain that sooner or later England might give in to his advances. The man needed comfort, France could see that – anyone could see that. France was quite willing to give it to him, if only England would accept.

Then again, France would not push it. Many times he would have, but not now. Not when England and he had to spend every second with each other. The last thing he needed was to get England furious with him when he would be unable to escape the other's company.

So a week passed. France complained, because he could, but did little more than that. On the other hand, England seemed to be doing better. Maybe it was because of all of the little tasks he had decided to put his mind to. In his own home he could keep himself occupied. Maybe he was no longer thinking about his predicament (though to France this was highly unlikely) and trying to move on. Something among those lines. France was not certain. All he knew was that England was acting much calmer.

Because he had things to do. Why fool himself by thinking anything else?

"Lay a finger on those albums and I swear I will find some way to close the Chunnel."

Francis covered a laugh as he let go of the cover of the photo album on top of the pile. "Why would I need to look, mon chéri? Any and all embarrassing moments in your life are already memorized in my mind, I don't need pictures to remember them with!"

England snorted and continued sorting through his things.

They were all pack rats. It was hard not to be, the older things were what made them and their history, if they were to disappear so would that part of their past and their memories. Still, England was the leader in loosing things and becoming disorganized with anything that he did not use on a regular basis. It was amazing he try to organize any of these things, commendable he even tried.

So France returned to the task of entertaining himself while England worked. Needless to say, it did not take to long.

"Ah! I remember when Spain owned these."

"Don't!" England snapped, dropping whatever had been in his hands at the time. France's fingertips stopped, merely brushing the objects in question.

"I also remember when you stole them."

"You... stole from him too," England reminded, now having joined him where he was standing, pulling the jewels from France's reach.

"Not as much as you," France reminded him. England stared down at them and France could not recall England ever looking so open. Not for such a long time.

"Times were changing," England said faintly. "The Sea, as dangerous as... it is, was suddenly not as impossible as we once believed. I made the most of this. Everyone did."

France found himself slightly nostalgic. Just slightly though, for some of the things which were lost forever. Some things of now would be lost in the future, it was inevitable. They were better off enjoying now as now than yearning for a time which would never come again. After all, soon enough now would be gone and they would be yearning for that.

"There was also the fact you were a sadist and were crushing on Spain," France mused.

"I was not!" England retorted. France laughed and threw an arm around England's shoulders.

"Oh, come off it, England! We both were! And meanwhile the only thing he had any eyes for was gold! We both liked to steal it from him for that reason!"

"You had a crush on anything that you could have sex with, except me, thank God," England retorted. That was not entirely true, England knew it, and therefore the comment could pass without any further comment. "When were you not trying to– you still try and get him out of his clothes!"

"Oh!" France pulled both of his hands to cover his heart. "You wound me! What is so special about clothes all of the time?"

"'What is so special about clothes?' Says the fashion oriented Nation." England rolled his eyes. Right up to the point the jewelry caught his eye again and the quick-witted and easily irritated England was gone. Again.

This reminiscing was simply making England wallow in the memory of the company he now no longer believed he had. Was this the reason that had England down in this cellar in the first place, why he was looking through all of these objects of his history? France growled, his anger consuming him within seconds. Why had he not noticed what England was doing?

"You just do not understand!"

"What?"

France grabbed England by the arm and, despite England's protests, pulled him out of the room. "You cannot keep doing this, you have to get better! I can't stay here forever, I won't! No one will, Arthur! No one! Either you move on, or the world moves on without you!"

"What? What are you saying? What are you doing? Get off of me!"

They fought, as they usually fought, but for some reason it was not a challenge. Most particularly because all France had to do was let go and walk away on his own. England followed because he had to. France had won.

It did not feel like a victory, but this was only the beginning.

His heart was beating so quickly in his chest as he caught up with France, his head spinning around what had just happened. What had just happened? They had simply been talking (for once) and then... France had snapped? Not that France usually made too much sense, but England liked to think that he could follow the other's mind to a certain degree.

The necklace, the ring, had been dropped when going up the stairs. England nearly went back for them. Nearly. France moved on and England could not do what he had wanted to.

"France? Where the hell are you going? France!"

Git. He did not get a response and England was left to wonder what exactly France was trying to prove to him. That he would not stay forever? England knew this. That no one else was going to deal with his crap, at least not for long? England knew this too. He had managed to break America in the short amount of time he was there (it seemed so much longer, being around him twenty four hours a day) and America was one of the few who would put up with a lot if he believed he was being heroic about it. England knew these things.

So where were they going? What did France think he did not understand? England understood, he knew, something had to happen. Was it his fault if he wanted to wait and see if he could See Them before anything else? Was it?

Out, finally to the streets, France finally slowed down. England stared from the cars, the people, the everything, to France who seemed to be drinking in the same sight with his eyes.

"Are you looking, Arthur?"

England tore his eyes away from France to stare at his people once more. Immediately he was struck by the remembrance that he did not want to be here. Swallowing, he nodded.

"I'm looking."

"No, you're not!" France exclaimed. Almost as quickly he settled down and threw his arm around England's shoulders yet again, nearly squeezing him to his side. "Look more closely."

People driving. People shopping. People simply walking. People talking to strangers, to friends. People waiting. People hesitating. People being people. Human beings doing as they have done for years now in the world they had now created.

"I don't see what you mean."

"Look at your people!" France exclaimed, gesturing widely with the arm which was not around England's shoulders. He turned, staring England straight in the eyes. "They don't believe!"

England froze up.

"They don't care!"

He could not breathe.

"You do not see them because your people do not see them! Join the rest of us Nations, mon ami, in the fact that They do not exist because the majority believes so!"

England let out a strangled scream and ran. He only ran so far before he had to stop, staring back at France with anger, with horror. Then he fell to his knees in the streets of London, vomited, and cried.

It was for England's own good.

It is for his own good.

France knew how this felt, somewhat. Oh, how he had always teased England about seeing these creatures. France had had his own fae. They were gone now.

I miss them, I miss them.

He had moved on. England had to move on as well. The entire world was beyond the realm of their mystical friends now. The entire world had decided they did not exist. Therefore...

They do not exist. They were imaginary creatures, imaginary friends from childhood. It has taken England a long time to outgrow this phase.

So France believed.

Mon dieu, ils me manquent...

"Mon dieu, ils me manquent..." = "My God, I miss them..."

This is the first chapter without someone knocking at the door since Chapter Two. Funny, that.

Chapter Seven will be up on Saturday.