Another day, another chapter...

Chapter 04

XX

Arthur buried his hands in his pockets, finally releasing the breath that he had not realised he had been holding. There was something frightening about conversing with America, something that made him want to run away the moment the other opened his mouth.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that every hurtful word was like a barrage of bullets, or the fact that America looked so much like Alfred, but he did not think that he could endure a lengthy conversation with the nation.

"I'm stuck here, aren't I?" he muttered to himself.

He had been so preoccupied trying to keep a brave front up for Japan and, even worse, America, that he had never had a moment to really feel unhappy. Now that he was alone, abandoned again, he took plenty of time to revel in his own misery.

He watched a young boy, carefully overseen by his father, throw a stick for his dog to chase and laugh every time the animal leaped and bounded away. His happiness grated with Arthur's melancholy. Each peal of laughter was a stab to the heart.

Arthur sank into the bench, and began staring listlessly at the unexceptionally cloudy sky. He was too busy trying to find more reasons to be miserable that he only vaguely registered the sound of boots crunching against the gravel.

"Geez, where did that Japan go? Has he ditched me all of a sudden?" America complained, still hugging his only half-eaten bag of donuts to his chest.

"Why don't you just go home then?"

"That's a good idea," America brightened. Probably thinking about the games he had yet to complete.

"Wait, don't leave me!" Arthur suddenly jerked forward, grabbing the elbow of America's bombed jacket before he could stop himself.

America looked back at him with a look of scorn. "Why? You said yourself that I should go home," he tugged his elbow back, out of Arthur's grip.

"Yes but…" Arthur flushed with embarrassment, "show me where my house is first."

America heaved a sigh. It was far louder than necessary, but Arthur drew back his breath and tried to ignore it. "Ah geez, you really are a handful, you know?"

"Well sorry!" Arthur spat, turning his angry gaze upon the floor, as though it were personally responsible for everything that had happened to him.

However, America had barely heard his word, but he had been able to pick upon the bitterness in Arthur's voice. He could have stayed silent and chose not to comment on it but, without thinking, he asked; "What was that?"

Arthur's nails bit into flesh where he had curled his hands into fists. "I said I'm sorry okay?" he shouted, drawing the attention of two elderly ladies passing by. They glanced at him and quickly scurried on. "I'm sorry that I happened to get thrown into this stupid world!"

The words tumbled out. He could no longer control it. He could not hold it back anymore. They flooded out of his mouth, taking all his rage, all his unhappiness, and all his fear with it. He ranted like he had never ranted before. He ranted as if the words that had dried up for ages were suddenly coming back to him in one endless stream.

"I'm sorry I don't know a thing about what's going on! I'm sorry I can't do anything and people have to baby-sit me! I'm sorry you have to take a moment out of your oh-so precious time to patronise me and make snarky comments about my ignorance, because, being thrown into a world that I don't know with no one to help me, of course I should be able to handle everything swimmingly! Of course, I'm so sorry! How will you ever forgive me?"

Arthur bowed his head and drew a long, shuddering breath, trying to calm himself. He could not bring himself to look at America after that. After he had said all that. The silence that followed was palpable.

After the eternity of silence continued, Arthur finally managed to bring his gaze to America's.

"A…America…I - "

"Are you quite finished yet?"

His eyes were hard, harder than Arthur had ever seen them. His body was stiff and unmoving, his mouth had turned into a fixed frown, whose corners only slightly twitched.

Arthur froze, unsure of what to do, unsure of what America would do. He did not think it beyond his means to just kill him and hide his body somewhere. Or perhaps America would give him another verbal beating, or maybe he would walk away with a grudge against him that would last for eternity.

"Good, then let's go. I don't have all day," America began to walk away.

It felt as though all the sound had been sucked out of the world. Arthur could no longer hear the birds. He could not hear that kid's grating laughter or the bark of the dog. He could not hear the footsteps on the path or the sound of his own chest breathing in, breathing out.

But America was getting further and further away and he was feeling more and more lost. Arthur ran after him, his pace slowing so that he could trail behind America's footsteps.

"You're mean," his pained whisper seemed to echo even in the vacuum of silence. "The Alfred I knew was an idiot but he was much kinder than you could ever be. He was much more… much more…"

Dazzling, he wanted to say. His eyes shone brighter. His smile was more enchanting. His every movement was much more vivacious.

But America was no Alfred. Even if he was nicer, he could never be Alfred, and Arthur realised that that was where he had been making a mistake. Of course America was not Alfred, they had grown up in completely different circumstances and it was foolish to try to compare one with the other.

They continued walking in absolute silence for the rest of the way back. Arthur stared from America's bobbing shadow to the nation himself, his gaze lifting and falling without uttering a word, though he no longer felt the silence. He was trying to burn this image into the back of his mind.

They finally reached England's house within twenty minutes of setting out from the park. Arthur stopped and turned once he realised that he had overtaken America and that America had, in fact, stopped before the gate to the front yard.

He looked at him questioningly but it seemed that it was America's turn to not meet his gaze.

Arthur wondered if he could be considered an idiot for softening towards the nation at that moment. There was just something so…childlike about seeing him like that; shoulders slumped, hands stuffed petulantly into the pockets of his jacket, his eyes falling to the ground like a child who had been caught stealing sweets.

"I'm sorry."

That made America look up, but he ruined the endearing expression on his face by letting his shock melt into one of wary scepticism.

Arthur sighed and shook his head. He was learning more and more about America with every glance. Not only could he be incredibly intimidating but he could be incredibly childish too.

"I'm not being sarcastic this time. I'm really sorry. All this time I've just been comparing you to Alfred but you're not him, are you? You're America. Of course you'll be different from him, you're a different person. Sort of."

America paused for a moment before opening his mouth to speak. "I don't care. Do what you want."

"America," Arthur offered him a tentative smile. "I - I don't hate you. I suppose I don't really know you well enough to hate you or like you, but…" he shook his head and gathered all the courage he had, "I - I'm looking at you, America."

America's gaze dropped to the ground as quickly as a ball of lead from a building block. "Really?" he kicked the gravel outside the gate. "And what?"

Arthur had to bite his lip to stop himself from snapping immediately at America's reaction. He was trying, honestly trying to patch things up with America even though it was not his fault their 'relationship' had even soured, but it felt as though he were hitting a brick wall every time.

"You accused me of not looking at you but at the person you looked like, and you were right! Up until now I looked at you and just saw Alfred, but what about you? Who are you looking at when you look at me? I'm not England you know!" he hissed.

"Yeah, I know. You're not that grouchy old man…though you're still grouchy."

He opened his mouth to say something scornful, caught himself at the last minute, and managed, with supreme effort on his side, to refrain from commenting.

"…Do you want to come in?" he offered, swinging the gate open. He would continue to try and be nice as long as he had the patience for it, but it was wearing thin.

America shook his head. "I have things to do."

"Oh right, you said that already," Arthur wanted to ask why America hated England but he did not know if he dared to just yet. Maybe he would ask Japan about it later. If Japan showed up again.

"Here," America shoved his bag of donuts into Arthur's arms. "If you're anything like England you'll just burn dinner so have these. I was going to throw them away anyway," he shrugged.

"I don't get you," Arthur whispered, but America had already turned and was walking away.

He managed to let himself in with the key Japan had given him before leaving. Upon closing the door, he went straight to the kitchen and emptied the contents of the bag onto the table. Five cold, brightly coloured donuts tumbled onto the tablecloth. Arthur picked up one of them and inspected it.

It did not look as though it had been poisoned.

He bit into it.

It was good.

And though Arthur thought it was stupid to cry because of how good the donuts were, somehow he could not stop. Somehow, they made him feel utterly miserable.

XX

When Alfred returned from seeing Feliciano safely to Ludwig's car, he re-entered the apartment to find England adjusting pillows and draping a blanket over the couch,

"England, what are you doing?"

"Getting ready to go to sleep," was the reply grunted from half-hearted lips.

"On the couch?"

At that moment England finally looked up, sighing with exasperation. "Yes, on the couch. I am not sleeping with you and since wine-git has taken the only other bed, this is the only place I can sleep besides the floor."

"Do you really hate me that much? Just take the bed. I promise I won't touch you. It's a big bed, you won't even notice I'm there!"

"I don't want to share a bed with you!" England spat with such animosity that Alfred almost stepped back. He definitely did not want to sleep with Alfred.

The last time he had slept with America had been long ago when America had been a child and he the guardian of sweet dreams. America had been the one to shatter that custom and now Alfred, this pathetic shadow of America, was suggesting that they sleep together? It was not even funny enough for England to laugh.

Alfred pursed his lips anxiously and stared at England fussing over the blanket. "Fine," he muttered, charging towards England. He gently pushed aside and threw himself on to the couch, disturbing the blanket England had painstakingly smoothed down.

"W – What are you doing?" England almost shrieked, but it was late and Francis had already gone to sleep. He did not want that wine git waking up to tease him again.

"Take the bed, England. I'll sleep here," Alfred wriggled under the blanket.

"B – But - "

"I'm gonna keep Charlie company," he smiled, reaching for the pink unicorn plush toy.

England's nose wrinkled with disgust. Alfred was being stupid again - when was he ever different? - but if he insisted on sleeping in a less comfortable place then it was his loss. He was not about to lose sleep over it. "Fine do whatever you want, idiot," he headed towards the bedroom.

At least, England had believed that he was not going to lose sleep but, after two hours of tossing and turning, he knew that there was no way in all the seven seas that he would be able to sleep peacefully in Alfred's giant double bed.

This was where Alfred and Arthur slept together. This was where they had held each other, curled up against each other. This was where they made love.

"How the hell can I sleep like this?" he screamed, throwing the covers off and marching out of the bedroom.

He felt dirty sleeping there. It was uncomfortable anyway. He just wanted to be somewhere where Alfred was not. Yes, he would be able to sleep just fine if it was not for him!

It was true that Alfred had only treated him with consideration thus far. Yet though this Alfred appeared to always be kind to him, there was no way England could trust that kindness. America had been kind when he was young but that had made things hurt all the more when he stopped. It was easier to bear the grudge of someone who has always hated you than to endure the hatred of someone who had once loved you. Being hated by someone you loved and who loved you back was the worst thing in the world.

"Thank God I don't feel like that anymore," England muttered to himself as he made his way to the front room.

Alfred was sleeping soundly, curled up with the unicorn toy on the couch. England paused, taking in his sleeping face. He looked stupid even when his eyes were closed; like a good-for-nothing busy body who was always trying to get involved in other people's business.

England lifted a pillow from the armchair and hit him over the head.

"Oi, twat! I can't sleep and it's all your fault! You take the bed. I'll sleep better on the couch anyway." Or far away. Far, far away, in his own house, all alone. All alone and safe.

Alfred groaned, blinking blearily at England. It took a moment for the words to fully register in his sleep-numbed mind but, as soon as they had, he shook his head and managed to mumble; "I'm not going to go to bed unless it's with you."

England blushed with indignation. He should have just whacked him again but he managed to refrain. "…You really - "

"I love you."

Alfred, now fully awake and alert, managed to make England step back by the force of his words alone. That, and the fact that his eyes were shining with an expression England had never seen before. He was not quite sure what it was, only that it scared him. It made him feel uneasy.

"You're not him," he whispered.

"What?" Alfred blinked a few times.

"He would never say that to me."

"Who?"

Now that he had regained his composure, England glared at America with as much coldness as he could assume. "It's stupid, isn't it? I'm sorry but I refuse to let myself be fooled by anyone," he said sternly.

"But I love you!" Alfred practically leapt up from the couch. His hands gripped England's shoulders, shaking them lightly. "I always loved you, ever since I met you! I'll always love you fore - "

"Don't say forever!" England's angry shout could have ripped the night apart. "I hate that word 'forever'. There's no such thing as forever. Even after you've lived for three hundred years you know that everything always changes and nothing ever stays the same, not even feelings. So don't say forever as if you know what it's like! Don't say forever as if you can guarantee what you have no power over!"

With one last, smouldering look, he batted Alfred's hands away. He was not sure where he was going. He was not sure what he was going to do. All he knew was that he wanted to get as far away from this person as possible.

"England!" Alfred grabbed him again as he tried to turn away.

"What do you want this time?" England planned to snap at him, only he did not quite manage it.

His rage was silenced by Alfred pressing his lips against his.

XX