America felt like his head had been put into a blender.

As he waited for England in the presence of Friar Laurence, he sat against the wall and recollected on the last few hours. He hadn't gotten any sleep, and trying to get some shuteye was useless now. America had done more talking than he had in a very long time and couldn't remember half of the conversations he had. One thing was for sure: he didn't feel like himself anymore.

He could hardly remember the long walk to Friar Laurence's cell. He hadn't even known where he had been going until he arrived. Even with Romeo as a map, it was completely unsettling to not see any street lights or cars or people – no sign of technology at all. if America didn't know the route of Verona, Romeo had, and hhad found himself at Friar Laurence's cell faster than he thought. Perhaps the idea of marrying Juliet is what had driven him all through the night, but not without America's complaints. ( God, what he wouldn't do for a hamburger ... )

At first, he was a bit wary of seeing the man Romeo had called a " ghostly father. " America thought that, by that, Romeo had meant that they were going to see a ghost, and America definitely didn't want some phantom marrying him and England. He didn't want anyone marrying them but, with no say in that particular matter, he would prefer it be a living person and not a spirit.

The strenuous, idle banter they exchanged was all but lost in Alfred's mind. The friar, who was thankfully flesh and bone, had pried at where Romeo had been all in the night. As the lovestruck Montague spoke his pre-destined lines of a proposed marriage, the American tried and failed to keep up. It may have been due to the words they spoke ( America knew he would probably never understand them ) but it may have also been because his thoughts distracted him from reality, instead sending him into a euphoria of England and England alone. Romeo's constant thoughts of Juliet were beginning to take their toll on the mind of the American.

And the thoughts of England made him feel something he never expected to feel when thinking about him. He never thought he would be looking at every detail of England and replaying it like a wondrous film in his mind. The way England smiled last night made America's heart melt ; the ghost-like feeling of the older country's hand on his cheek, one that was so vague in America's mind, made his breath catch in his throat ; the way they spoke to one another made him feel like he could write volumes to England's name.

Gag.

All of had to be fake, a temporary side effect of what America was calling ' Romeo Syndrome ' . He did not love England. Romeo loved Juliet, so he only thought that he loved the other. That had to have been it because actually loving him was … it was completely insane and out of the picture. America just didn't think it was possible to be in love with England – not like he would want to, anyway. But since the beginning of this little odyssey they were on, that idea kept rising like a bubble in his mind, a bubble he couldn't pop, a bubble he would rather avoid.

And thinking all of this over again only made America's face flush knowing that, very soon, he and that same man he didn't love would be married.

Gag gag gag.

Sighing heavily, America lifted his head from the wall and saw the friar walking around, lighting a candle or two while reciting lines to himself. Alfred drew his legs close to his chest and rested his chin on his knees. His blue eyes looked to the doorway ; still closed. He turned his head so it lay horizontally on his hugged legs and his eyes shut once again.

He had never thought much on what it would be like to get married. He had always imagined, the few times he did think about it, that it would be to a girl with blue eyes that rivaled his own. Her city of origin changed every time, however, maybe because he loved his country too much to decide. But he never seriously mulled it over. He never wanted to think about marrying another country, either. He loved his independence too much, and he didn't fight in the revolution just to lose it in Holy Matrimony.

He weaved a hand through his hair and wondered when England would get there. What was the Brit thinking about then ? America glanced over himself in his stupid tights that, surely, France tailored. He had no tuxedo ; no wedding rings to give ; no real witnesses ; no best man ; no paperwork ; no nothing. It contradicted what most marriages in his country looked like. But, then again, this really wasn't wedding, he realized with a blink.

He removed Texas and rubbed the bridge of his nose. The more he thought about the idea, the more he figured that it could be worse. It could always, always be worse. America was an optimist in that way, and he knew that, even in light of being in the past and being forced against his will to marry England, something could make it worse. He could be marrying some random person he didn't know, or someone he hated. Or, he could be alone in Verona. He could be even dead. He sighed softly and closed his eyes again. Just because it could be worse wasn't an excuse not to say this situation didn't suck. It just didn't suck as much as he first thought.

And, almost as if on cue, the doors opened. America opened his eyes and craned his neck to look left. Two figures stood, although their details were blurred without his faithful Lonestar State to correct his sight. Placing his glasses back on, America stood and saw, clad in a simple white dress not of his or its wearer's true time eras, England with the nurse at his side. The friar smiled warmly at the two and extended his arms in greeting, the nurse standing to the side while England walked forward. " Here comes the lady: O, so light a foot will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint. "

America looked at England in confusion as he approached, and the shorter rolled his eyes. He had learned by now that the look the taller was giving clearly screamed, ' What the Hell did that mean ?'

The friar continued once America and England stood beside one another. " A lover may bestride the gossamer that idles in the wanton summer air, and yet not fall ; so light is vanity. " With a nod, he turned and walked to retrieve a few items off to the side where he had originally been. The pairs of green and blue eyes watched him before one turned to the other.

" I'll explain all that later, if I can even recall any of it, " England murmured softly as he looked at America. But, just as quickly as he had looked at him, he looked away, pink crossing his face in embarrassment. " Let's just put on a good face and get this over with, " he spoke with a sigh. " This is their wedding, not ours. There's no need to be riled up. "

America nodded, gulping audibly. It made England glance back at him and the American rubbed his neck in embarrassment, a sheepish grin on his face. " Ehehe … sorry, I'm a little nervous, " he admitted. " Not like that's really a bad thing, though ! It'd be pretty weird if I was excited to marry someone I don't wanna marry, right ?"

Arthur rolled his eyes again but didn't reply, instead focusing his attention elsewhere. He could feel Alfred's gaze but refused, refused, to look up at him and into those baby blues he and Juliet both adored. ' Damn her, ' he thought bitterly. 'That stupid git was all I dreamt about last night!!' Not to mention that he had been so hormonal since he found himself as Juliet. As much as he adored Shakespeare, by the end of all of this – if there even was an end to be seen – he would be burning all the copies in London.

The American slowly rose a brow at England's fidgety movements. He couldn't seem to keep still, with his fingers gently tapped his dress-covered thigh and his weight shifted from one foot to the next. Glancing to the side, America nonchalantly, and somewhat unexpectedly, took a hold of England's hand. Immediately, America felt him tense up. Before the shorter could pull away, however, America leaned down and whispered, " So much for not being riled up. "

Dammit, and here England was hoping the younger wouldn't say anything. " I can't help it, " England hissed in reply, slowly trying to get his hand out of America's – despite how something in the confines of his mind begged him, absolutely pleaded him, to keep it there. " She can't go five bloody moments without thinking of him, and it's beginning to annoy me. " His pessimistic side came out as he continued to whisper his bitchings to America. " And, I look ridiculous in this … this tent. " Green eyes glanced down at the dress and he frowned, his blush increasing.

Without missing a beat, America offered a tiny, consoling smile and said, " I think tents look nice on you, then. "

If it was at all possible to die by blushing, then Arthur surely had a death sentence. He glared at America, his face storing all the warmth in his body. " What ? Y – you …! Can't you go a moment without making fun of me ?" Juliet had been pleased with the comment, but he, on the other hand, was embarrassed and a bit angered. He tore his hand away from America's. " Just ... " With a sigh, he shook his head. " Nevermind, git. "

But America persisted. He didn't stomp a foot or raise his voice, instead focusing getting and keeping England's hand in his own. " I wasn't making fun of you, though !"

America's voice was so uncharacteristically soft and sincere that Juliet's conscious nearly awoke in response. England glanced up and knew, knew in the back of his mind that Romeo never complimented Juliet – at least, not at this particular moment in the play. In fact, the marriage was never dramatized. So … where was all of this coming from then ? The genuine look in America's eyes reflected that which Romeo gave Juliet not but last night, that same look that had made England's face heat up as hot as it was now. it possible that America really meant- ? ' No, no ' , he scolded himself, ' he would never. ' He was too stupid to comprehend complimenting someone – and him of all people - anyway.

" Th – that …" England murmured, trying to find an excuse as to why Alfred had said such a thing. " Clearly, that was Romeo speaking, " he grunted. He frowned with a scowl on his face, brows furrowed. " I'm sure you've never been attracted to a man in a dress before now, America. "

Sighing in defeat, America let go of England's hand and nodded. That was true, he wasn't a fan of cross-dressing. And Romeo probably did have something to do with it, but deep in his heart, in the part that held all his refusal to loving England, he felt like he wasn't kidding. He would never admit that to the shorter man. " That still doesn't mean that I was making fun of you ."

In response, England scoffed and rolled his eyes. " You always poke fun at me. Just last night, you nearly had a hernia when I wore a nightgown !" He glared slightly at the guilty American, then turned his view to stare forward as he spoke with an annoyed tone. " Besides, you were just spouting off about not wanting to marry me, remember ?"

America gave a groan and turned to face England, who was still looking forward. " That isn't what I meant !" he cried out quietly so not to disturb the friar or worry the nurse. " I just mean that- " He trailed off when he saw an arched brow from England.

He waited for America to continue and, when he didn't get any more of a reply, he sighed. Now he wanted to know what he was going to say. " Git, quit cutting off your sentences. You mean what, exactly ?"

'Aw, shitshitshit, why did I even open my mouth ?!' America reached and rubbed his neck, trying to find the words that wouldn't humiliate him further. "W – well, last night, when I was out looking for the friar, it was really lonely and I didn't like it. And, y'know, I was just thinking how lucky I am to have someone I know here with me. And you're my friend and everything, so that's even better. " He cleared his throat and shifted his weight Embarrassment was warmly worn on his cheeks. " And … I was thinking about somethin ' . If I had, absolutely had to marry a country – no objections or anything, no compromises, no ' ifs ' , ' ands ' , or ' b- "

"I get it, " England spoke in exasperation.

So much for buying himself time with redundancy. He sighed. " What I'm trying to get at is that I would ... " He scratched his cheek and mulled over his words. Why was this so hard to admit ? It wasn't a love confession because he didn't love England. " I guess I'm tryin ' to say that if I had to marry a country, I'd … I'd want it to be you. "

The blush spreading on England's face only made America's own swell, and he stammered out, " B – but, only ' cause I know you really well, and we get along some of the time, and our bosses are really good friends ! If I had my way, I wouldn't marry anyone ever !" He was starting to sound like Prussia. Coughing into his fist, the young Nation murmured, " It's a ' what if ' thing, I guess. "

England knew he shouldn't have been as surprised as he was. Roosevelt and Churchill would instantly want their countries to unite, if a union was ever needed. They shared a language, ideals, and roots, and although their people – just like Alfred and Arthur – didn't always see eye to eye, it would be the safest route to take into the diplomatic future. Although he was no professional on America's relationships with other countries, he was sure there were other options, however. Then again, in reality, if it were ever true, America would likely have little say in the arrangements.

But to be his first choice, out of all the countries in the world, was touching for England. And, for once, he didn't believe that America was lying.

There was a settled silence between the surprised Brit and the embarrassed American, who was now shuffling his feet and trying not to make himself look more like a fool than he already did. Neither of them noticed the friar quietly walk over and set a few things down before looking at both of them. " These violent delights have violent ends, " the friar spoke with no concern over the two lover's previous engagement. They looked at him but as he spoke stole glances at one another, England's being of complete understanding and America's of utter confusion. " And in their triumph die ; like fire and powder, which as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey is loathsome in its own deliciousness. Therefore love moderately. "

Laurence reached and took England's right hand and America's and placed the smaller in the larger. This time, England didn't tense up or jerk his hand away, nor did America complain like he most likely would have under normal circumstances. The friar then recited some lines from the Bible, words that Romeo and Juliet listened to carefully but which had no meaning to America nor England.

America's heart beat in his chest as a surprisingly easy rate. This wasn't so bad. They stood nice and pretty while some guy mumbled in Latin or whatever language that Bible was in ; he wasn't paying enough attention to care. And sure, England was still cross dressing, and he was still in tights, and they were still getting married, but it really wasn't that bad.

Laurence gave a nod and smiled to the two, the Bible snapping shut ending his part of the ceremony. He gestured with a waved hand from America to England and stepped aside. They both kept their eyes on him before turning to one another at the exact same time, their hands still held together. They exchanged a glance and mutually understood what had to come next: the kiss.

So much for everything being fine.

Kissing England. Kissing Arthur Kirkland. Augh, why did England's lips look so perfect ? Why was he even looking at England's lips ? Oh, right. Romeo. America swallowed and frowned uncomfortably, matching England's equally nervous expression. At least he didn't want to do this, either.

Snogging America. Snogging Alfred Jones. England didn't even want to think about it. He would kiss America when he was a child – on the head, on the cheek. He was an infant and loved the affection he received from his green-eyed brother figure. But Arthur never kissed Alfred on the lips. Besides, he was sure the American would taste like idiocy. The shorter bit his lip and wondered why America looked so perfect, blushing and looking unsure of himself. He'd been looking flawless ever since he laid eyes on the man through Juliet's vision. ( Like he had any physical flaws to begin with. )

But the silence and the awkward staring-at, and possible fantasizing-about, was getting a little too uncomfortable for Arthur. 'This is ridiculous ' , he thought, his cheeks warming. " To Hell with it, " he whispered to himself, his face turning a deep crimson as he stood on his toes and kissed Alfred, eyes shut tight, heart beating so fast it felt like it would jump out of his chest and into Alfred's hands.

America had to use his foot to re-balance himself, nearly knocked over by England's sudden – and forced - decision. England's eyes were tightly shut, America saw as he stared down in a stupor at the older Nation. Oh God, oh God, oh God, what did he do now ? He had been kissed before, no doubt about that. When he came home from wars, girls would randomly kiss him and move on to the next badge-wearing soldier boy. Riding across the country on the back of a horse with his fellows, girls from the small towns out west would swoon and kiss him just to say they kissed a chap-wearing, bronco-riding cowboy. But never had he been kissed by another country.

Most importantly, that country had never been England.

It was so awkward, even worse than the silence before. England pulled away a few seconds later and glared at the ground, the reddest shade that America had seen thusfar, but certainly not the reddest he would see during this little ' trip ' . He breathed deeply and Alfred could tell he was trying his hardest not to cry. Arthur had a bad habit of crying when he was embarrassed, or crying when he was upset. Maybe he just had a bad habit of crying ; Alfred didn't know.

America would have started hollering and trying to cover it all up had something not compelled him to gently take England's chin in his fingers and lift his head up. America stared down at the blushing Brit and suddenly didn't feel like he was looking at a one thousand year old country, but instead looked upon Juliet Capulet - his love.

Romeo brushed a hand on his cheek and leaned down, connecting their lips once more. This time it wasn't the American with his eyes open but the Brit, who watched him and wasn't sure who this was – America, or Romeo. He didn't have much chance to think on it, though, because Juliet's arms wrapped around his neck and she kissed him back with the same pressure he gave off. The connection was chaste, but held a certain nature to it, something similar to mutual force – maybe mutual freedom to love one another.

Their lips parted from meeting and the two pairs of eyes opened and looked into their opposite. The expression wasn't exactly what was expected ; in fact, both pairs reflected shock, that awkward feeling settling back between them. America blinked, his face growing redder with each silent second, and England just stared up at him, one large eyebrow twitching slightly while his mouth opened and closed, words trying to escape. Their embrace didn't cease until England released his arms from their loop on America's neck.

America stepped back and looked to the side, eyes wide and blinking, searching for something, something to cover up what just happened. This, he figured, was what the hungover aftermath of parties was like. " I – I … we ... "

"That wasn't us, " England blurted, his body rigid and the color staining his face brightly. He swallowed and released his clenched fists, sighing while trying to be the rational one, as always. " That … that was them. It wasn't us. "

"Not us, " America shakingly replied with an unsteady nod.

" You and I would never do that, " England said.

" Yeah – yeah, right. "

"And at least no one saw. "

America scoffed and glanced to the Nurse, who was preparing to leave. "' cept the nurse and the friar. "

England's eyes rolled and he put his hand on his hip, blush still on his face. " Git, they don't count. No one we know. " He watched as America nodded and shifted his weight, his face in something of an embarrassed pout. England, for a moment, wanted to go over and give him another kiss farewell, although he resisted such a Juliet-inspired urge. It was all Juliet.

He scowled, his brows furrowing as the nurse called to him after a moment of silence. Sighing gently, he smacked America's arm to wake him up. " I have to go now, " he spoke, although his tone wasn't exactly pleased.

The pout on America's visage turned into a frown and he sagged his shoulders. " Oh, " he murmured, " okay. " He shrugged and tried to smile, but only the corner of his mouth twitched. " I'll catch you later ?"

"Yes, " England replied with a nod. " ... Later. " He made no movement to leave, however, and instead continued to stare at America who looked back with equal neutrality. There was something in their gazes that was matched: a longing, maybe ? Neither wanted to separate. Romeo and Juliet didn't want to leave one another for understandable reasons. Newlyweds never parted just five minutes after the ceremony.

Alfred and Arthur's thoughts weren't focused on love, though. They weren't even focused on the marriage, or that kiss that they had just been trying to recover from. They were focused on the past, on the rift that settled between them. It made America think about how hard he had worked for the last half century to reconcile with the other, and it made him remember how lonely the late eighteenth and the nineteenth centuries were for him. As England looked at the uncertain American, he saw the small child who would cry every time he left for England. He saw the teenager who, despite the fact that he was becoming more and more independent, would still be sad when England had to return home. He felt the one hundred years of heartbreak rushing back to him.

Neither wanted to feel that familiar loneliness.

Before he could stop himself, America had stepped forward and had pulled England into an embrace. He put his forehead on the shoulder of the tense other, his mouth opening to speak. But what could he say ? ' I'll miss you '? ' Be careful '? England promised they would see one another again, that's all that really mattered. The kinks and details would have to wait. But never had America felt so needy and clingy to another person. Heroes weren't clingy. Heroes weren't needy. Romeo was, however.

The initial surprise had worn off just moments after it happened, and England knew that America was dying to stay with him as much as he was. Memories of embracing the child as he left for London came rushing back to him, and he felt the same blush rushing back to his cheeks, but in addition, tears started to sting the corners of his eyes. 'No, ' he whispered in his mind as he returned the embrace. He wouldn't cry – not yet.

They stayed like that for a few more moments before England pulled away and dashed a hand across his eyes. He didn't look back as he turned and started to head over to the waiting nurse by the door. He knew that if he did, and if he took one look into those blue eyes, that he wouldn't leave. One look is all it ever took. He wanted nothing more than to run back over to him. Damn Juliet and her neediness. England scowled, still wishing that this entire situation was done and over with. He couldn't keep his hands off America and couldn't stand being two feet away from him – not to mention that he felt like he was going to cry every time he thought about the other not being with him.

England's eyes closed as the nurse opened the doors to exit the cell when a realization from nowhere hit him. His eyes opened and he quickly mulled over his thoughts as he reminded himself that he had meant to warn America about something. His eyes widened for a moment and he he froze in his footsteps, turning around swiftly to try and catch the American before he disappeared. " Wait, Ameri- !"

But there was no sign of the other, who had obviously gone out the other way. England bit his lip and found his legs twitching to run after him and find him. Maybe if he could just stop what was coming from happening … 'Dammit, I was so caught up in the stupid wedding that I forgot to tell him ! ' England reprehended himself, one hand clenching into a fist. He sighed heavily and turned to continue on his way. Thusfar, things had been going exactly according to the plan of the play.

And England knew that if the story continued on course with the script, then the next time they saw one another would also be their last.