Had he known that jumping over the wall would have resulted in him rolling around with a hurt ankle, Alfred certainly wouldn't have done it. And what a thin ankle it was, too, since it was only in a pair of tights constricting his normally comfortable legs. What was with that outfit? Where was his bomber jacket? And what about those two guys who were chasing him and calling him Rome? He looked nothing like him, or so he would assume since he'd never met the guy. If it was one of the Vargas brothers then perhaps that would make sense, but him, America?

Dazed and confused, and now in a bit of whimpering pain, America had absolutely no idea where he was. The last thing he remembered was going to England's house and kicking down the door ... then going downstairs ... something about a potion – 'That potion!' America's brows furrowed in thought. Now that he wasn't running from those two guys and jumping over walls, he had a moment to connect all the dots. But, England's magic wasn't real. It was all just a joke.

But how else would he have woken up to find two men poking him and talking to him about a ball? America assumed they meant basketball, but they had never even heard of the sport before. And how did he get into such stupid looking clothes? It almost looked like a Hero's outfit, but it wasn't as cool and there wasn't a cape. His dream of being a caped crusader was obviously not realized in this case. But, America wanted some answers, and he had wanted them now. What was he doing there? Why did this look like something France would wear? What did those two guys want? What kind of ball did they play if not basketball?

And, above all, who was Julia Capulet?

That was the first name he thought of when we woke up, and just thinking did things to his heart he never knew were possible. Julia ... the name made America's heart suddenly flutter, a blush crossing his face as he sat on the ground rubbing his sore ankle and grumbling profanities under his breath. "Who is she?" he asked himself quietly, standing up and testing to see if he could use both feet. He felt as though he knew her, but she was also an enigma to him. He didn't know any Julia's, and there weren't any politicians he knew of who were named that. So who was she, and why did she sound so beautiful?

As much as the landing had originally hurt, he knew he was fine because he could stand on his weight. Hands on his hips, America huffed and looked around, a bit confused as to where he was now. Some kind of yard, it'd seem. But why? "Aaaugh!" he groaned, tugging his sandy brown hair in frustration, "I have no idea what's going on! It's like I'm really, really hungover or something!" And the last time he had had a drink was at his birthday - boy, was that fun. But, this wasn't a time to be thinking of that. Even America, the infamous daydreamer whose attention couldn't be held for more than a minute, knew that. A frown crossed his face, and he began to walk wearily through the courtyard in confusion.

"Alright," he murmured, speaking to himself, "so I've come this far and no one's seen me." He paused in his steps and scratched his neck. "But, uh, why don't I want people to see me?" He thought that he might have killed someone or something, but why would he do that? "Man, whoever's house this is, it's really nice." He continued to walk and dragged his gaze from side to side, looking for anyone or any clue to where she was. "And maybe they know where Julia is!" Obviously, something was telling him to go to her, and that he was going to do, even if it meant intruding on someone's yard and breaking his ankle jumping over a wall - in tights, nonetheless.

A noise from up on a balcony made his heart pound in a panic, and America froze, looking left and right desperately for a hiding spot, somewhere to escape to. He noticed some bushes and took a rather painful dive at them right as someone walked to a point where he could be seen. Shifting carefully so not to jolt the entire bush, he peeked out of a gap and looked up at the slim figure at the top, who appeared to be looking out at nothing.

But there was something about this person that made Alfred's eyes remain on them. They looked bored, almost, leaning on their hand and sighing. "See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!" he whispered, a tiny, lovelorn smile on his face. "O, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!" Only a few seconds after he had uttered the words did he realize that what he said made no sense to him at all. "Huh?" he grumbled to himself, briefly looking away in confusion.

America turned again to look at this mysterious woman as she began to call out to the star-lit night. "O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?" He didn't really catch the rest of it - something about a name and a rose, but he had heard 'Rome' and that was, apparently, his name here. Something in the tone of her voice was familiar to him however ... Proudly, Alfred stood up out of the bush with a bit of difficult and waved wildly up to her. "Hey! Heeeey, that's me! It's Rome!" This seemed to startle the woman, and America wondered why she jumped like she had. "Hey, do you know where I can find Julia Capulet? Or ... or, are you her? 'cause if you are, then that'd save me a lot of trouble!"

She didn't seem to care about anything he had said, because she replied with just one word as her eyes settled on him."You?"

America blinked and rose a brow. She was either deaf or dumb. "Uh, didn't I just say 'me'?"

"That's not what I meant, you dolt; you're Romeo?"

Once again, Alfred blinked in confusion. Why did that voice sound so familiar? He narrowed his eyes in focus at the figure, who walked across the balcony and leaned over to get a good look at him as well. But, the moment he got a closer look, America's blue eyes shot open and he did a double-take, one foot sliding back in confusion. "No way! E - England!"

The green eyes and thick eyebrows of the short Nation on the balcony gave his identity away, as did his dialect that America knew so well. The man was still in shock that this was Romeo - this uneducated, English language-butchering, hamburger-hogging Yank! There was no way. Romeo was a gentleman, albeit a little slow, and quick to fall for a beautiful woman. America was slow, that much was true, but he was no gentleman. And this entire time that England had been sitting in bed in a panic, America had been there all along. "Yes, it's me you git. Now keep your voice down," he leaned to look into his own room before leaning back over the railing, "do you want the nurse or my father to hear?"

A blank stare was presented on Alfred's face. "Uh. Nurse? And you actually have a dad? God, he's gotta be falling apart with how old you are!"

Great. And now he was beginning to think he was actually Juliet. England's hand smacked his own forehead in response to his own thoughtlessness. He groaned, gesturing with his other hand for America to hurry up and climb to his level. The American got the signal and pushed up Texas while walking over towards the balcony. A few moments later and with a grunt he was up. He jumped from the railing down to the base and smiled at England. "Well, at least there's someone I kn-" His voice died in his throat upon further inspection of England. No wonder he mistook him for a woman. His small stature made sense, but to back that assumption up ...

He was wearing a nightgown.

A gigglefit was expected and began at this, although America desperately tried to swallow the laughs that begged to come out. England's arms crossed in impatience, an embarrassed blush on his cheeks. His uncovered foot tapped on the balcony and he sighed, eyes rolling. "I know it's a bit odd, but there isn't a need to laugh this much."

"B - but. ... " He ignored England's pout at the nickname as he pointed a shaky finger at him. "You're ... you're a girl!" America finally let loose the booming laughter that had wanted out. In fact, he laughed so hard that he had to lean on the railing fanning himself to keep air in his lungs.

England, on the other hand, was much more reserved about him being so loud and shot a hand out to cover his mouth after a few seconds of brouhaha. "Shut up! I am not a woman! Juliet is, but that doesn't mean I am." He put his hands on his hips and looked at the now confused American. He gave a heavy sigh and tilted his head, the same old scowl present on his face. Surely, this wasn't that hard for him to understand.

"Who's Juliet?"

Apparently, it was.

England groaned and rubbed his temples in frustration. "Juliet," he spoke through grit teeth, "is who you're looking for." He held a finger up to stop America from talking, because he knew exactly what he was about to say. "Yes, that's her name. It isn't Julia."

Alfred frowned and rubbed his neck. "Okaaay ... so, lemme get this straight. You're Juliet?" When England nodded slowly, he pointed to himself with a small smile. "Good! No wonder I was looking for you! I thought I didn't know you, but I guess I did! So, you're gonna reverse all this, right? 'cause it's totally your fault."

Arthur gave another heavy sigh and leaned against the wall of the house and looked at America, who leaned against the railing once more. "Look. I've no idea how all of this happened but I'm assuming what you are as well, that the potion it to blame. But don't put all of that on me! I didn't want to end up in this situation, either!"

England watched America cluelessly tilt his head. "What situation? So you're crossdressing and I'm in tights. No biggie, right?"

"Have you, honestly, no clue what's going on?" he inquired. The circumstances were rather obvious, even to the thickest person. Could he really not see that? Apparently not, for Alfred shook his head with an innocent smile on his face. The British man rolled his eyes. "Figures. I'm sure you've heard of William Shakespeare. I used to read his stories to you."

"Wait, that sucky author of yours?"

England snorted and pointed an obviously offended finger at America. "He was most certainly NOT sucky! Your tastes are just so God-awful that you can't see real literature, even if it slapped you in the face. He was a literary genius, a revolutionist in playwrights! His works are admired through the w-"

"I get it, I get it! Geez!" America threw his hands up in surrender. Man, was that a sour chord to strike. "But what does he have anything to do with this? You're some girl named Juliet-" He took a pause to let the small, goofy smile float back to his face. "Man, that's a pretty name..." He looked at England with lovestruck eyes but corrected himself by focusing on his original train of thought. " ... and I'm a guy named Rome. I don't get it."

How could anyone not have heard of this story? England recollected on how he used to leave books for America to read as a child. He couldn't have possibly forgotten those stories, could he? Or did he just never bother? 'Ungrateful git,'England thought sourly, a frown on his face. But, this wasn't the time to get sore over the past. They had a serious problem to deal with.

He shifted his weight and collected his thoughts. It would be hard to condense the plot to that certain point. "He's got the whole world to do with this. William once wrote a play called Romeo and Juliet- and yes, it's pronounced 'Romeo', not 'Rome'. It's considered his most famous, a tragic love story." England seemed to have gained America's interest. "And now, as it would seem, we're in the position of the ... " He took a breath. "Of the lovers." America blinked in response and rubbed his neck awkwardly, his brows furrowing. He obviously didn't like the sound of that. "That's why you were looking for me - er, for her. Romeo was looking for her, so you were as well. And that's why I was speaking out for him, because that's what happens in the story."

"So," America pondered after a moment of silence, "we're basically acting like Romeo and Juliet? Like, this isn't real, 'cause we aren't ... y'know, dating or whatever these two are." He put a hand on his hip and murmured, "No wonder I couldn't stop thinking about you."

The words from the American's lips brought a deep blush to England's face, and he stammered out, "Y - you were thinking about Juliet, not me. And ... and, we're not acting. This is their story, so we're... I suppose that we're acting as them, yes, but we have no choice in it." He folded his arms and sighed. "It's as though they've become a part of us, and we have no choice but to go along with it."

The two nations thought on this idea for a long while before America looked at England with uncertainty. "So, you said they're, like, together, right? Lovers or whatever?" England nodded. America shifted uncomfortable and avoided his gaze. "Does, um, that mean we -"

"Most certainly not!" England exclaimed before he even had a thought to realize what he had said. He noticed how America looked hurt, much like when he yelled at him before the potion incident, and wondered if that was Romeo reacting to the outburst. 'That's right,' he thought in surprise, 'I suppose I can't yell at him now or Romeo will react.'Sighing, he scratched his cheek and tried to grapple with the correct words this time. "Romeo and Juliet are, yes. But you - America - and I - England - are not."

The injured expression faded as his brows rose, and America blinked. "Well ... th - that's a good thing!" Laughing nervously, he rubbed his neck and gave a sheepish smile, the one he always would do when he was either in trouble, or about to get in trouble. "Who'd want to kiss you, anyway? Even Rome's gotta be blind if he wants to!"

"You wouldn't be kissing me!" England groaned, trying to cover the blush on his cheeks, "And for the last time, his name isn't Rome. It's Romeo; Romeo Montague!"

"By a name, I know not how to tell thee who I am," America suddenly blurted in a quiet tone, love and admiration laced into every word. England blinked, taken back some by the articulation of his words - and the fact that he even knew what they meant. He was about to ask what he was saying, but America continued. "My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, because it is an enemy to thee." His hand formed a fist over his heart, and he glared to the side. "Had I it written, I would tear the word."

England felt his heart speeding up and his cheeks warming. He recognized the lines immediately and realized how well America was performing them. He was like a thespian without the stage, an actor whose character was a part of his soul, and Arthur found himself indulging in it. He opened his mouth to speak and try to stop America, but words unspoken by him came out instead. "My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound." A hand reached and touched the fist that America held frustratingly close to his heart, England's fingers gently caressing America's skin. "Art thou not Romeo and a Montague?" England's expression of sorrow and worry was an unwilling act, but the feel of America's hand was so wonderful that he hardly had the conscious to care - if he had a conscious at all.

America's glare ended abruptly, Romeo retracting back into the confines of his mind, and the boy stared down at the lovesick and saddened England. "Uh, no, I'm America. And besides, I thought you said that we weren't them!" England blinked, seemingly awakening from the grasp that Juliet had held on him. "And let go of my hand!" America jerked his fist away and stuck his tongue out in displeasure. "Blehhh, what just happened? I don't even know what I said! I think we both shared word barf or something."

"Word barf?" England repeated in disbelief of the sheer stupidity of the phrase, if it was a phrase at all. "Er, we just spoke their lines." America tilted his head and England held a finger up. "The story is a play, and each character has their own lines - what the actors would be saying."

America nodded slightly, still obviously lost in all this. "Uh-huh. Care to translate what we just said?"

Green eyes rolled in their sockets. "Romeo and Juliet's families are enemies and - did I mention that?" The taller nation looked completely dumbfounded, so he would assume not. "Well. The Capulet's - Juliet's family - and the Montague's - Romeo's - have a long-lived conflict. They were just saying how Romeo is her enemy because of his name and ... it's rather complicated." His arms folded across his chest and England looked down with a scowl. "That's why I don't want my - er, her nurse or father to hear. You'd get in trouble, as would I, since they obviously think we're Juliet and Romeo."

It was all beginning to make sense to the American now. He held a finger out and proclaimed,"Aha! That explains why Mercury and Benny V were calling me Romeo or whatever his name is!" He laughed and jerked his head towards the wall from whence he leaped. "Glad that I got away from those two; they kept going on and on about a ball, and they had never even heard of basketball! Can you believe it?"

Could he really not pronounce the names of the story? England decided he would have to teach him later. "You mean Mercutio and Benvolio. They're your friends; you shouldn't have run from them! And, that's where Juliet and Romeo meet - a ball." England shook his head and frowned, his brows furrowed. "It's almost ridiculous, how quickly they fall for one another. Romeo had just been obsessed with another girl before he met her." England, in his thoughts, appeared almost sad. He gave a sigh, returning his downward gaze to looking at America. "O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circled orb, lest that thy love prove likewise variable." He looked to America with uncertainty in his eyes.

America was taken back by this, confused as to what was happening. What did he mean by that? America rose a brow and was about to ask England - or, rather, Juliet - what that had meant, but Romeo decided against it. Instead he took a hold of Arthur's hand, his other arm pulling England close as he looked into those green eyes. Why hadn't he noticed how deep they were before? "What shall I swear by?" he asked firmly.

The older Nation sighed and put his hand on America's cheek, gazing at his eyes through Texas. Those eyes he had looked at so many times over the years, and every time was a different experience. But, it felt like now he was looking at them as if he'd never seen them before, never seen the love reflecting back. "Do not swear at all; or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, which is the god of my idolatry, and I'll believe thee."

Without warning, America jerked away from England's touch and backed up a bit, much to the sadness and shock of the other, and looked at him as though he were a walking entity of the Black Plague. "Okaaaay; so much for us not being all lovey-dovey." England seemed to snap out of it as well and started to stammer something unintelligible, his hands flying to his reddening cheeks before he pouted in frustration. The two shared a gaze for a moment but they looked away soon after. Confused, Alfred groaned and threw his hands up. "Great! I don't even know what the Hell I'm saying but I'm loving it!" His forehead hit the wall of the house. "We need a translator," he murmured in misery, "or a way to go home." This was embarrassing. Here he was in tights, climbing walls, swearing that he loves Engl - Juliet, holding his-her hand, pulling her close ... and she wasn't even a she! She was a bushy-browed, pessimistic British man!

"I know," England agreed with an exhale of exasperation, "it's incredibly frustrating. But we're in their story, and I don't think we have much of a choice when we do ... that." He looked away, scowling and beet-red. That was certainly nothing compared to what he knew lie ahead. They just couldn't keep their bloody minds and hands off one another for two seconds.

Jones rubbed his chin as he gazed down at the ground, then inclined his head to look at the straw-haired Nation. Even in a nightgown, and even if Juliet's personality was molding with his own, he still looked like England. He still was England. So that meant ... "You were around when Shakespeare wrote it, right?" When England nodded in confirmation, America smiled slightly. "Then, you must know what happens next! Maybe we can try to stop it, or at least get ready for whatever happens." It was a good idea, right? He didn't want to suddenly pull England on the ground and make out without having some sort of mental preparation involved.

Arthur's brows rose and he nodded. "Well, I do know the play ... perhaps that isn't such a bad idea after all." Juliet and Romeo didn't know what was to come, but he did. "Let's see," England began, his finger tapping his chin in thought, "we're in Act II, the infamous 'balcony scene.' Thusfar, to condense it greatly, they've met at the ball and fallen in love, and now, as you already have, Romeo scaled the houseside to get up to her." He began to pace in his thought, trying to recall just how it went down. "They ... talk of their family's names and the feud, and how that won't stop their love. We've done that, correct?"

"Basically, yeah," America replied, a bit lost.

Nodding, Kirkland continued to pace. "And then the two of them agree to-" His pace took an abrupt end, and he smacked his forehead and looked up at the sky in disbelief. "Argh! Of course the potion puts us back at exactly this scene! Isn't that just peachy?"

Utterly lost, Alfred poked Arthur's shoulder and leaned to get into his line of vision. "Um, England, what are you talking about?" He frowned a bit and rubbed his neck. "Whatever it is, I'm gonna guess it's bad."

"You oblivious git," England exhaled, grabbing America by the shoulders with a bewildered expression, "Romeo and Juliet agree to elope - "

America smiled slightly. "They get an antelope?"

"No no no! They get married!"

Alfred felt as though a ton of bricks had been dropped on his head.