The only things you could focus on were the snow falling to the ground, and the piece of cake in your hand. The overly sweet frosting was pure heaven to you, and you barely noticed how a certain Britt kept his bright green eyes on you from across the room.

England leaned against the wall in America's house, a glass of champagne in his hand. The only reason he really came to America's over joyous party was so he could see you. He knew for a fact that you would come, only because you had a fetish with all things that were sweet and eatable, and the party was full of those things. Cookies, cake, ice cream…. Anything you could eat, you'd already consumed. He was surely surprised at how you managed to stay as skinny as you were on the type of diet you had.

It was your favorite holiday. You loved all things that were lit and or shiny, and you loved to see all friends you hadn't been able to see during the year. England, on the other hand, didn't think to fondly of the way America celebrated the holiday. He thought it was over celebrated… but then again, a lot of things that America did were over the top.

"Ohon, who is that beautiful femme [1] you're looking at?" Said France, one of the many nations that England really didn't like.

England quickly averted his eyes away from you, before snapping, "You bloody twit, I wasn't looking at anybody."

"Don't deny!" the blonde said, "I can see every bit of chemistry between you and her, for I am France, the country of passion!" He yelled.

You couldn't stop yourself from looking over at the man who had just yelled he was the country of passion. You giggled, having seen England's face flush slightly red, and seeing him bury his head into his hands.

"I can see she's looking over her now." France smiled, "She's quite beautiful, non? I'd go get her, before someone else does."

England looked up, and met your eyes from across the room. You smiled shyly at him, and he blushed before looking over to France. "I'm planning on talking to her… I just…" he thought, "I just can't right this moment."

"Oh? Why not?"

He looked to you again, "I don't want to disturb her… She seems to be floating in a state of mind, that only she gets." He didn't mention he loved to watch you while you floated in that world.

France chuckled, and patted England's shoulder, "Good luck." And with that, the tall, slim nation left, most likely to find an easy woman to pick up for the rest of the holiday.

The party was finally beginning to die down. France had left, with several women on his hip, Russia left practically dragging all of the full vodka bottles with him, but England stayed and continued to watch you gobble down a cookie. He smiled to himself, as he pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning on, and walked over to your side.

You seemed unfazed as you shoved the rest of the cookie into your mouth. The delicious vanilla taste pierced your tongue like the winter wind hitting bare skin. Looking up, you caught on to the fact that England was now standing next to you.

"Oh, Hi England." You smiled, a light blush dancing across your face.

He smiled, "'Allo Bailey."

You picked up another cookie, inspecting it, before nibbling on it. "What can I do for you?"

"Nothing at all, I just, "He took a breath in, "Haven't talked to you all night."

He could hear America from across the room, "That doesn't mean you haven't been staring at her all night!"

Oh, poor England looked like a tomato… He looked like he wanted to punch Americas face into the wall… "You bloody twit! Shutup!"

You stood up from the chair, and wiped your hands on your skirt. "We can talk in the kitchen so Alfred doesn't interrupt us." You whispered to him.

You sat on the counter in the kitchen and swung your legs back and forth. You looked up at him, and meet his piercing green eyes, and before you knew it, he was standing in-between your legs, trapping you.

He chucked softly, and put a kiss to your cheek, "Merry," he put a kiss on the other cheek, "Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you too Authur." You smiled brightly, "And thanks for my present."

"What present? I didn't give you any-." You cut him off by placing your lips over his softly.

Pulling away, he whispered again, "Merry Christmas love."

1-Woman