"Chérie, wake up."

Canada mumbled drearily, nuzzling his head farther into his pillow. He felt a little dizzy and wanted to keep sleeping for a bit longer, hoping that more rest would help him feel normal once again. However, as he tried to fade back off, he felt someone shake him by the shoulder gently, making him mumble in complaint. Against his will, he finally opened his eyes, knowing that France wasn't going to let him continue with his nap.

However, as he opened his eyes, he suddenly remembered he wasn't in his bed. And he realized that his head wasn't resting against a pillow.

"…Eh?"

Looking out the corner of his eye, his saw France next to him, and remembered that they were in a closet. He finally remembered letting his head rest on the Frenchman's shoulder so he could catch his bearings. Then as he looked down, he also abruptly remembered that, for a reason still not quite known to him yet, they were holding hands.

At first, Canada didn't realize the obvious problem with this scene. He was in a windowless closet. Finally, Canada abruptly realized that he could actually see this. His head shot up, his eyes abruptly meeting America's.

"Eh!" Heat rushing up to his face, Canada jolted and tried to jump up. However, the sudden movement sent his head spinning once again as he felt himself heading towards the floor. He closed his eyes, hoping that at least he wouldn't hit his head, but he felt arms catch him as he landed on something soft and warm. He kept his eyes closed, trying to make his head stop its troublesome spinning. But the Frenchman talking in his ear wasn't helping him straighten his head very well.

"Mon cher," France cooed in his ear, his arms holding him close against his chest. "If you wanted to sit in my lap, all you had do to was ask!"

His head still spinning dazedly, it took a few moments for Canada to realize just where he was. Then he suddenly realized just what France's words meant. He raised his head, feeling his heart flutter when he saw how close France's face was to his own. He was, as France had noted, sitting in his lap. Sad little noises that were supposed to be words escaped his throat, only making pathetic squeaks. Why did everything he do only end up making things worse for him?

It seemed that France noticed how flustered he was getting—not that it was hard to notice in the first place—and mercifully shifted beneath him while trying to pull the Canadian up. "Come, mon amour. Some space will do you good."

It took a few moments, but finally Canada was able to get to his feet without losing his balance. Even though he wasn't as wobbly now, he still felt France's hands at his waist. "Eh, I, I'm fine, France," he reassured, not wanting him to worry too much about him. He still felt rather embarrassed for fainting earlier—he must seem so weak to France now.

However, he just heard France chuckle behind him. "I know you are fine," he replied, his smirk once again all too audible in his tone. "In more ways than one."

America made a sudden gagging noise, making a face looking like he was about to vomit. "Dude, don't hit on my brother in front of me. That's friggin disgusting."

"Al," Canada said, a slight blush on his face, "he's been doing this since yesterday. Why are you only speaking up now?"

Childishly, America stuck out him bottom lip. "Dude, he's doing it right in front of me. I don't care whenever else, not my issue. But I don't wanna have to watch it!"

Canada deadpanned. Why did he have to have a douchebag for a brother? "Well, we do not want to make the American upset, non?" France teased, wrapping his arms not so subtly around the Canadian's waist from behind. "Let us go then!"

Still slightly out of it, and just irritated with his brother's idiotic behavior, Canada let France guide him away from the closet, not caring to pay attention to where he was being taken as long as it was away from that tiny space and away from his stupid brother. However, he suddenly began to worry when he realized that France had taken him into the kitchen—the kitchen where they were very much alone. "France?" he whispered nervously, gripping France's hands that rested on his stomach with his own. "What are you…?"

"It is alright, mon beau," France cooed into his ear from behind, making the frazzled Canadian jump as a startled whimper escaped him. "I just want to make sure that someone as gorgeous as yourself does not get hurt."

Pursing his lips, Canada looked down at the floor as he felt his face flush. "I… really don't see why you say things like that. I'm not anything special…"

France suddenly made a shocked noise, Canada once again feeling himself being pulled as his feet half-heartedly followed. After being dragged around a bit more, he found himself placed in a chair, France now standing in front of him, holding the Canadian's hands in his own. "Mon dieu, mon Matthieu!" he said, Canada almost laughing from how over-dramatized the words were. "I know that others often do not see you, but I had no idea that you could not even see yourself!"

"Well," Canada said, letting his gaze return to the floor, "really… what is there to see? I'm just a boring Canadian. I mean, even Kumehameha doesn't remember who I am. I'm not really much of anything."

Even though Canada was staring down at the floor with a frown on his face, he could feel France smiling at him. "There is a saying that I believe fits you perfectly, mon beau," he stated, pulling Canada's hands up until he found them pressed against France's chest. "You may mean nothing to the world. But you mean the world to someone."

The words, France holding his hands over his heart; everything was almost too much. His head spun with the meaning of those words. "I don't think anyone could ever feel that way for me," he whispered quietly, his voice almost inaudible to the point that he could barely hear himself.

"Oh, believe me, mon cher," France answered, Canada blushing as he took a hand from his chest and brought it to his lips, "I know for a fact that someone can feel that way for you."

Throat closed off, Canada couldn't think of what to say, could barely even remember how to breathe correctly. France was looking directly into his eyes, an expression the Canadian was so unfamiliar with on his face. Canada couldn't understand why someone would ever look at him like this—why anyone would ever notice him in general. "France…?"

Giving a last kiss to the Canadian's knuckles, France released his hand and backed away. "I am sorry to end this," he said, a smile still on his lips, "but I do have to finish our breakfast."

Canada sat still for a few moments, his head still trying to catch up with what had happened. But finally everything clicked as he shook his head lightly and stood up. "Let me help!" he said, thankful that his head was at last starting to clear. "I'm the host, you shouldn't have to do all the work."

France turned back to him, a small smile on his face. "You do not have to do anything, Matthieu," France answered, lightly waving him off. "I made quite a few croissants, so I do not think anything else has to be made."

Canada eyed him curiously. "How did you make croissants that fast?"

With a devious smirk, France gave him a wink. "Mon cher, the French do everything fast."

Once again, Canada felt blood rush up to his cheeks, managing to put a small scowl on his face. "W-well," he said, backing and turning away towards his fridge, "I could make eggs. I know at least Al likes eggs."

He heard France give a small chuckle from behind him, though it seemed that he was no longer trying to stop him. "Whatever you wish, amour," he answered. "As for me, I will finish preparing my part."

Canada nodded at this as he opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs. "Okay," Canada responded, a small smile on his face. "You'll see how amazing my eggs are." Tilting his head slightly, he laughed softly. "Hmm… or maybe I could make maple sausage? That's pretty good… Oh! Maple sausage and eggs! That would be really—!"

"Ohon, I would love your sausage any day, mon Canada!"

The poor Canadian nearly dropped the eggs, his face flushing even deeper than before. "France!"

France just continued to laugh as he wandered over to the oven and began to prepare breakfast. Canada just watched him, not sure if he would ever be able to be in the same room with France without blushing or fainting. He was very much beginning to doubt that something as incredulous as him actually being comfortable in the same room would ever happen.

x-x-x-x-x

Already before he opened his eyes, Japan knew that he had very little of his personal space left to him at the moment. He thought back to what he last recalled, and then remembered Russia and America being in the closet together, and nearly got a nosebleed once again from remembering how sultry and unrestrained their noises had been. After he calmed himself down from remembering such a fantastical event—one he'd have to remember for his shonen-ai manga—he opened his eyes to observe his surroundings. In front of him, he could see America and Russia over on the opposite side of the room, glaring at each other. Japan was guessing that what had occurred in the closet hadn't been as fun as it had sounded. Not far off from them, Italy was pacing in and out of a hallway with a surprisingly worried look on his face. France, England, China and Germany were nowhere to be seen in the room around him. Feeling a little off from the sudden nosebleed, he raised his arm to rub a palm against his forehead, a slight throbbing in his head. He stopped his movement however when he heard someone gasp next to him, making him jump slightly. It was then that Japan remembered that his personal space was being intruded upon. Turning his head to see who had gasped, all he saw was a flash of long dark hair before he was squeezed in a tight hug.

"Kiku, aru!" China cheered loudly in his ear as he gripped him tightly. "You finally awake! Don't scare me like that, sha háizi!"

Japan honestly didn't understand how China couldn't grasp the concept of personal space. "Ah, China!" he gasped, trying to gently push him off. "Personar space, prease! I don't rike—"

"Shut up," China cut off, refusing to end the personal space-defying hug. "You worried me, aru! I thought you dead! I hug you, and you like it, aru!" As if to prove his point, China huddled closer to him and tightened his embrace, only making Japan more and more uncomfortable as the awkward seconds ticked by.

"Rearry, China," Japan complained, trying to shrug off the hug, "I am okay. You don't—"

"It just us countries, aru!" China pouted, glaring up at him. "No 'China,' Kiku! Call me Yao!"

Japan wasn't sure whether he flushed or paled—it felt like a mix of both. "N-nani?" Japan asked disbelievingly, too surprised to continue his struggling at the moment. "Why do you want me to call you Yao?"

China just continued to stick his bottom lip out towards him, not showing any sign of backing down. "We friends, yes?" China pushed, edging somehow even closer to him. "We friends, so I call you Kiku and you call me Yao! Make sense, aru?"

Japan was now reduced to only being able to stare at him, unsure of how to react. After the past that was between them, Japan found it hard to be able to think of the two of them as friends. He wasn't proud of what he had done in the past—the killing, the bombings, the raping. But even with all he had done and how much he regretted it, he made it a point to himself to never forget it and to never fully forgive himself. Because he knew that if he forgave himself of his own sins, he would soon forget and commit them again. But he had no idea how China, the person he had attacked and ravaged so fiercely and mercilessly, could bring himself to acknowledge him as a friend.

Giving a sigh, Japan gently patted China on the head, letting himself give a small smile. "Hai. We are friends." He paused to take a breath, making China look up at him curiously. "…Yao."

At the sound of his name, a huge smile spread across China's lips. And the sight of that smile, for a moment, made Japan actually not mind the arms tightly wrapped around him.

He was knocked back to his usual senses however when both jumped at the sound of a loud crash. They simultaneously turned to see a startled America staring at a pipe that was newly-embedded into the unfortunate wall. While America looked panicked, Russia was smiling all too calmly as if slamming pipes into walls was a normal occurrence—then again, as Japan thought about it, he realized it might very well be a normal occurrence.

"The hell, man?!" America yelped, pointing violently at the wall. "That coulda been my face!"

"That was what I had been aiming for!" Russia answered cheerfully, his sweet smile still on his face. "But you had to ruin the fun and move!"

"And he wonder why I no become one with him," China sighed, his expression suddenly tired. Sometimes Japan forgot just how much China so disliked his less than sane northern neighbor. But when he had to be in the same room as the unusual Russian, he never blamed him for being so scared of him.

"Ret's go," Japan said, lightly pushing China away as he began to stand up. As he began to move though, China kept ahold of him, staring up at him as if Japan might crumble. "It's okay," Japan reassured, patting China's hands from him. "I'm fine." He offered a smile, and finally China seemed to be convinced as he released him. As he got to his feet, he looked down at China who was still staring up at him worriedly. Offering the smallest of smiles, Japan offered a hand to him. Seeing the hand, China's eyes widened as did his smile. He gladly took the hand, almost pulling Japan back down to the floor with how vigorously he took his hand as he stood.

Though for the next few minutes, Japan almost wished that he hadn't offered the hand as it stayed tightly in China's grasp. But he supposed as they walked to the kitchen to get away from the two fighting super powers, having his hand in someone else's wasn't such a horrible intrusion on personal space after all.

x-x-x-x-x

After yelling at a particular Russian profusely and taping a convenient piece of paper over the gaping hole now located in Canada's wall (he was sure the paper would totally distract his brother from looking behind it to see the damage done—it was fool proof, man!), America gave a long sigh as he walked his way to the room he was sharing with England. He was fairly sure after his last encounter with him, the Brit had retreated there as to get some alone time to think everything out for himself. America was just hoping that England would come to the conclusion that he wanted him to.

He just really hoped that maybe, just maybe, England liked him. Just even a little bit would be good enough for him.

Arriving to the door, he knocked lightly on it to give a warning that he was going to be entering. He was slightly worried when there was no answer to this knock, but when he opened the door, he saw the reason why. England was lying on the bed, his back down and his legs crossed at the ankle. His fingers were laced together over his stomach, and his eyes were closed as his chest rose slowly up and down. America smiled at the sight—so he had fallen asleep. He had to admit he liked that even when he was sleeping, England still looked graceful and collected. It seemed that he was the only one who could pull such a thing off.

"Hey, Iggs," America muttered, closing the door quietly behind him. He was relieved as he saw England make no movement at the nickname or the small click of the door. "Glad to see you're getting some sleep." Even though he hadn't shown it much earlier, he really did feel bad for making it so England had gotten so little sleep. He did care about him—much more than he let on—so he did regret being such a nuisance to him. But it did make him feel a bit better to see that he was at least able to sleep now.

Trying to be as quiet as he could, he walked up to the edge of the bed and stood there for a moment, taking some time to really just look at England's sleeping face. He looked so much calmer and less severe than when he was awake. Yet even as he slept, he still had a look of stress in his features, as if even sleeping couldn't make it possible to escape his problems. Very carefully, America lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress thankfully not shifting very much, barely disturbing the sleeping Brit.

"I wish I could do something to help," America whispered, a soft smile on his face, his brows creased in slight worry. "I know you're going through a rough time. I am too, what with the recession and all. I just wish I could help you more." Daring to go a little further, America slowly reached out his hand and gently brushed some of the blond strands from England's forehead, grazing his fingertips across his fair skin. "Just wish I could see you smile more. You look so nice when you smile." Then, seeing as England was unresponsive, before he could stop himself to think it through entirely, he leaned down and brushed his lips against his bare forehead. He retreated and smiled down at him, hoping that one day, he'd finally be able to show just how much he cared about him.

Deciding to let him sleep a while longer, America stood and walked to the door. With one last glance, he peered back at him, and smiled once again as he walked through the door, closing it behind him.

The room was quiet for a few moments more, England continuing to rest peacefully on the bed. The silent seconds continues to tick on for a while longer, his chest raising at an even pace. Then, a few seconds later, his green eyes flashed open as he quickly sat up, his hand shooting to his forehead. "What…?" He blankly stared forward, trying to figure out in his extremely confused mind just what happened.

What the American had said could have been taken obscurely as anything—a friend who wanted to help; a boy who still felt brotherly affection for his ex-caretaker. But that kiss to the forehead had changed everything.

Finally, all of the years of America teasing him, or the nudges and staring and odd looks made sense. Everything clicked so suddenly that his head spun.

America loved him.

"Holy shit!"

He jumped up to his feet, no longer able to stay still as his mind ran in all directions as he tried to figure out just what to do now. He was fond of America, though he wasn't quite ready to admit those feelings went anywhere past former brotherly affection or simple concern for his friend's welfare. But as he thought back over all they had been through, all they had done together, how those damn blue eyes felt when they were only on him. He couldn't help but feel himself begin to realize that perhaps he returned some of those feelings for him.

But of course, he couldn't say anything.

Being Great Britain held certain responsibilities. One of those responsibilities was to be dreadfully stubborn and most certainly never reveal his feelings for another before the other did. While America had just revealed how he cared for him, it really didn't count. He had thought England was fast asleep! He never would have said such things if England had been awake to hear them.

Taking a few deep breaths, England calmed himself, trying to figure out the actions that now needed to take place. After going through strategy out of strategy, he slowly came to realize that there was only one option open to him.

If America wouldn't willingly tell him when he was awake, he supposed he'd just have to make him.

He was going to make America admit he loved him no matter what he had to do; even if all his dignity had to be given up, he was going to do it, dammit!

Cracking his knuckles, he gave a devious smile as he also walked for the door. It was time for his plan to be set in motion.

He silently just hoped that his plan wouldn't fail too badly.

x-x-x-x-x

Much to Italy's dislike, Germany very much enjoyed time to himself. Even when Italy took the liberty to come visit him at his house, Germany would often lock himself in his room while ignoring Italy's attempts to be (perhaps just a little too) social. But even then, Germany, after he cooled himself down, would try to entertain him and make sure that he was okay and not too incredibly bored. Even during these circumstances, he never left him to fend for himself for too long.

But never before had he just left him alone for nearly half an hour like this. And never in these kind of circumstances.

He paced frantically from side to side, wringing his hands together nervously as he tried not to burst into tears. He was so scared about everything now. He was scared that their time in the closet had been too much; that Germany had suddenly realized that he hated him; that everything between them no longer mattered and that he was now less than nothing to him. He had no idea what was going on in Germany's head, and desperately wanted to help. Or if nothing else, to at least talk and try to fix things. He just wanted for everything to be okay.

As he was pacing, he forgot to look up, and only remembered to when he ran into someone. He broke out into hysterical apologies before he realized it was Japan with China. Japan looked a little startled by being ran into, but more so by Italy's condition.

"It's okay, Itary," Japan said calmly. It seemed like he had a little more to say, but China quickly cut him off.

"Not okay, aru!" he chided, flapping a sleeve angrily at the clumsy Italian. "You could have hurt my Kiku! No one hurt Kiku!"

Japan's face reddened slightly as he pushed China lightly behind him. "It's okay," he reiterated, though this time mostly to China. "I'm okay." He refocused on Italy who was still quietly apologizing, tears in his eyes. "Itary, what is wrong?"

He jumped slightly at having the attention back on him, and quickly tried to dry his tears, though they were quickly replaced. "I'm sorry! I'm just so scared! Germany won't talk to me, and I'm scared he hates me! What if he hates me? He's the only one I can talk to and he doesn't give me weird looks! He's the only one who makes me pasta when I'm sick! He's the only one who doesn't hurt me if I talk too much! What should I do, what should I do?"

At the end of his explanation, Italy was trembling and tears were cascading down his face. Japan's expression had now gone from calm to panicked. "W-werr," Japan said, obviously trying not to break into a panic himself, "perhaps Germany just needs some time to himself."

"But I need to talk to him!" Italy gasped, trying his best not to cling to Japan. "I want to know that he's okay! I'm just so scared he hates me and I don't know what to do!"

"He no hate you."

Italy finally paused his crying as he looked at China, almost shocked by the words. Italy usually didn't talk with China just because he was so far away from his home, and always had Russia looming close around him. But even though he didn't know him that well, he could tell by the expression on his face that he was very sure and determined on what he was saying. "H-how do you know?" Italy choked through a sob, his chest heaving painfully. Surely China couldn't understand what Germany was thinking right now—it couldn't be possible.

"No way he hate you," China insisted, waving a over-sleeved hand through the air. "He always talk about you! About how he care for you and keep you from hurting self and from making other people angry, aru. He always look after you. Only person who care about you lots could keep trying to make you safe, aru."

For once, Italy was speechless. He just stared at China, almost unable to believe what he had just said. He knew that sometimes Germany talked to Japan about how he constantly had to keep watch over Italy. But he had no idea that the other countries were aware of this. But to know that even China, a person that they didn't know very well, could tell how much Germany cared, made some ease begin to set in. As he calmed down, his stomach began to unclench, and he could breathe again. Germany was always taking care of him and always watching over him. He was always feeding him, always cleaning him up, always protecting him from any threat he could perceive. It was obvious—if he truly didn't care about him, he would have left him a long time ago. Finally, a small smile came to Italy's face as he wiped away his tears. "He… he really does care. Doesn't he?"

"Hai," Japan said, seeming to calm down now that Italy wasn't on the edge of having a complete breakdown. "He does care. Right now, he must just be confused and trying to think. Germany-san just needs time to himself is arr."

"Shì!" China quickly agreed, suddenly latching onto Japan's arm, making said country jump. "Once he have time to self, he'll be fine, aru!"

Italy smiled at them and, too happy to care, flung his arms around both of them. "Grazie!" he cheered, pulling them closer as he hugged tighter. "I'm so much happier now! Thank you so much!"

"You welcome, aru!"

"P-personar… space…"

Ignoring the fading pleas he heard from Japan, he continued to hug them closely. He was no longer worried. He knew now for a fact that everything had to be okay. Germany could never leave him; not after everything they'd been through.

If only Germany didn't need so much alone time.