XX

Here I am 07

XX

Arthur was ready to kick himself were he not busy using his feet to burst through the door.

"Ah, back already?" Japan peeked his head out of the living room where he had been cleaning away America's mess. "Do you have…the rice?" he trailed away as Arthur barrelled past him and flung himself onto the couch.

Japan stared at him for a moment, bewildered, but quickly assumed what that they must have had a fight somehow. A look of sadness and sympathy softened his gaze. Silently, he retreated into the kitchen to give Arthur some privacy with his thoughts; the cleaning could wait for a few more hours.

It was less than an hour, however, before America burst in as well, shouting "I'm back!" at the top of his lungs to announce his presence.

His expression soured when he saw Arthur sitting on the couch. Even as Arthur tried to send him an apologetic look, he rejected it by wrenching his gaze away. Turning his face away from him, he handed the bag of rice to Japan. "I'm going home now. I wanna get some sleep actually. I'll see you tomorrow, Japan."

"Wait America!" Arthur jumped to his feet. He did not know why he should feel so anxious to keep his relations with America turning any frostier but something in his gut, instinct almost, could not be satisfied until he had repaired some of the damage he had unwittingly done. "T – There are enough guest rooms, you know. Stay here," he looked almost imploringly, while America looked cruelly untouched.

"America-san, we still have to clear the final ending of that game. Can you not handle another all-nighter?" Japan gently coaxed him.

America blushed. He was never one who could resist backing down from a challenge. "O – Of course I can…" he hesitated, eyes flickering toward Arthur before eventually conceding. "Alright, of course," he agreed.

"Good. Then I shall make some tea," Japan bowed and shuffled out of the living room.

Before the silence could grow, America flung himself down on the other end of the couch and quickly flicked on the TV. The channel was playing reruns of some trashy gossip show.

"Um, America," Arthur waited before speaking. He was keenly aware that America was angry at him, or at least annoyed.

Though why should he be annoyed? If he hated England, and thus by default Arthur himself, so much, then he should not care the slightest what Arthur thought. Why did it matter so much to America?

"Was there something you needed?" he asked coldly.

Arthur stiffened. Perhaps it was because he knew that America was a country, a very large one at that, that slightly intimidated him whenever America looked at him with angry eyes. He would go for it, however. He would have his voice heard.

Snatching the remote from America's limp grip, he turned off the TV. That itself was a rather daring task.

"You know, Alfred used to watch those stupid shows when he didn't have work."

"I don't care. Do you mind? I was watching that!"

Arthur ignored him.

"Once we got into a big, stupid argument about it. I told him that those kind of shows would rot his brain but he insisted that whatever happened to his brain was none of my business. We didn't speak for a week."

"So?" America shifted, starting to look impatient, and perhaps frustrated, with him. Arthur was sure that he was capable of breaking a man's – a human man's – bones with his bare hands but bravely soldiered on.

"So what?"

"Why are you telling me this? I didn't ask for your stupid stories. I don't care," America shrugged.

Arthur shook his head, pretending not to understand.

"Alfred, like the idiot he is, eventually forgot why we were fighting in the first place, and when he's not mad it's hard to stay mad at him so we just…sort of started talking again. I bet he really wanted to apologise for it though. I did too. It just seemed more natural to let it slide than to dig it up again."

America said nothing. Judging from his expression he was still being petulant. Arthur found it strange but the sight made him want to laugh; it was like America was a child in an adult's body, and there was something strangely endearing about that comparison. His shoulders relaxed and he suddenly felt less tense.

"He used to do a lot of horrible things to me at university though," he added, "but he also did a lot of nice things too. He would be the one to carry me back when I was drunk and he was the one who always put in a good word for me whenever one of the professors didn't believe in me."

America was listening intently now. Although he tried not to show it, he was hanging on to Arthur's every word.

"I remember once we went to the Isle of Mann. It was a university trip to study the ecology there. You would think that it's a pretty boring place. I mean, it's just a bunch of rocky turf and hills and sheep and outdated towns, right? I wasn't really looking forward to the trip myself and when I was paired with Alfred I thought; 'Oh no, I bet he's going to push me off a cliff or put a crab down my back or something' It was the worst thing that could happen to me.

"But he was nice. I was surprised that I actually had fun. The sea was suddenly amazing, the way it crashed against the rocks blew me away, and the coast was beautiful. I couldn't understand why he was so nice to me but I started to think that I always wanted him to be nice to me."

He smiled at the memory, blushing slightly and feeling a little stupid for voicing such a story. Maybe he was truly tuning into a sentimental fool.

"I suppose, well I guess, I fell in love then. Not much of a story is it?"

"It's kinda lame," America agreed, frowning.

"I suppose so," he laughed nervously to hide the hurt he felt. He hoped that America too would be touched by the story but his feelings had failed to reach him.

"I bet Alfred was in love with you from the start," America suddenly said just as they were about to lapse into silence once more.

"Huh?" Arthur looked at him curiously.

America rolled his eyes. "Come on, it's so obvious! He obviously liked you way before that field trip. Though you might not have noticed…'cause you're an idiot."

"You think so?"

"But he's an idiot too," America nodded. "If it were me I wouldn't have held anything back. I would just say it as soon as I realised I was in love…if I were him, I mean," he added, quickly glancing at Arthur before looking away.

"If you were him," Arthur repeated, testing the sound of it on his tongue.

"It's not so simple for countries. You two got it easy," America snorted.

"Maybe." He had not thought about that, but he supposed that politics must get in the way a lot.

America sunk further into the couch, staring at the wall behind the TV. "I mean, I could have done it too if it were me. If I were human," he added.

Everything else drifted away in silence, but Arthur was sure that he knew what America was thinking.

"You know, just because you're nations doesn't mean you can't start all over again."

America flashed him a dark look. "I wouldn't want to," he snapped, which only meant to Arthur that he had surely hit a sore spot.

And everything seemed to click into place for Arthur. The reason why America was sullen and rude, the reason why he became snappish whenever the subject of England came too close and, most importantly, the reason why this impatient, restless person still listened to Arthur's stories with patience; it was a window into a world that America could never take part in.

While England and America declared war, made peace, formed treaties that would last for hundreds of years, pushed the world to new horizons, drew up legislation that would change society for better or worse, no one would ever notice the things that Arthur and Alfred did.

Arthur's stories of shopping with Alfred, stories of cooking, about working, about getting frustrated when they both wanted to watch different things on TV, about their petty squabbles, their clumsy, romantic gestures, their friends, their studies, their jealousies, their wild, oblivious courting, everything. It was all so unimportant in the scheme of greater things.

No one would remember it, no one would write a novel or make a film about their lives, and yet it was their unimportant, trivial life that America listened to with such patience, that America listened to as if he could live it too.

And, suddenly, Arthur thought he could see glimmers of Alfred in the depths of America's eyes.

XX

England felt tears of frustration mar his vision for the umpteenth time. He had gathered herbs, a twig from the pot plant as a makeshift wand, drawn a circle with chalk, but no matter what he did his magic was not working either.

"Maybe I just need better supplies…"

"England, what are you doing in the closet?"

The door suddenly opened, bringing with it a shaft of light and Alfred's curious face.

"N – Nothing!" England jumped back, busily sweeping off the chalk with a foot.

Alfred looked unconvinced but decided not to comment. "Would you like to go somewhere tonight?" he asked, offering him that same, hopeful look that made England feel both annoyed and guilty. "I just figured that you wouldn't like to be cooped up all the time. How about we eat out?"

"It's not fast food, is it?" England looked sceptical.

"N – No! We'll go to a proper restaurant!"

"Do you even know your table manners?"

"I do! I won't embarrass you, England!" America insisted, blushing slightly.

England sighed. It was all terribly bothersome and, really, he just wanted to stay in the closet and experiment some more but another, bigger part of him was yearning for some fresh air and a chance to stretch his legs.

"Fine. I'm tired of your terrible cooking anyway," he reluctantly agreed.

Alfred looked as though Christmas had come early. If he were a dog, his tail would have been wagging at that very moment. "Wear a suit!" he cried, rushing out to get ready.

XX

England was not sure what to make of the suit – it was something he found hanging in Arthur's side of the wardrobe – that he had chosen. It was not as expensive as the suits he was used to but it was not too shabby either. He chose a tie – the one with midnight blue stripes – and quickly knotted it, looking himself over once more in the mirror.

"Ridiculous!" he muttered at his reflection. He looked just like he always did, but in a cheaper suit. Well, it was not like he was doing this to impress anyone. Just to prove this point to himself, he ran a hand through his hair and messed it up a little more.

"England, are you ready?" Alfred poked his head into the bedroom. "Wow, you look awesome!" he exclaimed, though something told England that Alfred would have said the same thing were he wearing a pink tutu.

It was Alfred, however, who was the awesome one. One glance told England that he had put countless thought into his appearance that evening. His suit was ironed, his tie straight, hair slicked back with a tiny bit of gel, even his glasses had been switched for ones with a smarter frame.

"W – Well I see you know how to do a tie," England stuttered lamely.

Despite the fact that it was hardly the best compliment one could give – if it could be considered a a compliment at all – Alfred looked delighted. "Shall we go?" he asked, beaming with pride.

England wondered if this was such a good idea after all.

XX

"So, err, England,"Alfred broke the silence with an awkward clearing of his throat, "aren't you curious to know anything. About the past, I mean. I'll tell you anything! Even the details of our sex - "

England spluttered, choking on his wine. "No thank you!"

Alfred's face dropped. Leaning forward with a look of utmost seriousness, he forced England to meet his gaze.

"England, how do you feel about me?"

"About you?" England squirmed. What did he think about him? As in, Alfred, not America? He hesitated before deciding to go with the honest answer.

"I think…that you're an alright person," he replied. He vaguely wondered at what point in his life he had to make a conscious decision to be honest. "I don't know too much about you obviously but I think that you're capable of being a good person."

"I am a good person!" Alfred insisted.

"Quite," England murmured, not quite convinced.

"D - Do you think that you could love me? One day, I mean. Be honest," Alfred looked at him earnestly, and, though he was trying to look otherwise, he seemed so nervous. Almost like a boy making his very first love confession.

England frowned. Could he love Alfred? He was kind and treated him tenderly and was cheerful even when he probably did not feel like being cheerful, but could he love Alfred?

Maybe. If he were not a country and Alfred a human, if Alfred was not already in love with Arthur, if they were not from separate worlds, if they had met earlier, if they had been together from the start, if they could stay together from now on. So many ifs…

"…Yes," England whispered. Yes, if all those things happened or had happened then yes, perhaps he could have loved him.

But those ifs were never going to happen.

"England!" that such happiness was possible England never knew, but Alfred was currently displaying it in his smile. It was almost blinding.

He knew that Alfred probably wanted to hug him, or even kiss him, but he pulled away, just out of reach. Alfred seemed to understand, and kindly changed the topic to other things. England was rather surprised that he was actually able to maintain a pleasant conversation with him, so much so that he hardly noticed the passing time until the restaurant was about to close.

And perhaps it was because he drank a little too much wine before leaving that England allowed Alfred to take his hand as they walked back. Trailing behind, his eyes trying to remain focused on his back, Alfred looked so much like America. But he did not want to think about that. He still hated America, didn't he?

And perhaps it was also the wine that, when they fumbled home and Alfred worked up the courage to ask; "Can I kiss you?" England was slow on snapping; "Of course not, you git!"

"…I – I don't think that you should," he added, slightly more sympathetically. Freeing himself from Alfred's grip.

"I want to," Alfred followed him through the living room.

He caught England's wrist and spun him round, backing him against the wall. The distance between their bodies closed and Alfred leaned in.

"Wait!" England's immediate reaction was to shove him away

"I – I'm sorry!" he jumped back, afraid that he had somehow hurt him. "It's just…please? I've been holding back for so long but…" his fingers latched on to the top button of England's shirt, "I don't know if I can hold back." He glanced apologetically at England before undoing the button. He obviously had had much practice before for the rest swiftly came undone whilst England was caught in the stupor of shock.

As he felt cold air hit his stomach, England jumped back into his senses. "Stop!" he pushed Alfred away with more violence than before. Alfred was strong, but he was still a human, and he managed to free himself fairly well.

"E – England?" Alfred backed away, looking both hurt and regretful. "I – I'm sorry. I don't know. It must be the wine getting to my head. I – I didn't mean to – I'm really sorry – I - "

"What?" England snapped when he noticed Alfred had stopped stuttering his apologies and was staring at him instead.

"Those scars…"

England froze. Of course Arthur would not have them the same scars England had won over numerous years of war and fighting.

Why would he? Alfred's gaze trailed up the small web of scars on his hip and the larger, criss-cross slashes on his chest. They were obviously old, fading over the years they had had to heal. "You didn't have those before and no one told me about then when we were allowed to leave the hospital."

"Alfred," England wondered what he should see. The conflicted look in Alfred's eyes was painfully clear. Would Alfred hate him now? Maybe he would stop treating him kindly, stop smiling at him. Of course he would, he would feel as though he had been betrayed.

It should be raining, England thought. It would be appropriate if it would rain right now.

"Wha – What…Who..?"

England could see it breaking.

And he was angry. What right did Alfred have to look so conflicted when he had done nothing wrong? He had tried to tell the idiot before, but Alfred had just never listened. How could anyone accuse him of betrayal?

"I told you before, didn't I?" he snapped, letting his anger replace any hurt or pain he might have felt. "I told you but you were too stupid to listen to me! I asked you to stop but you just carried on like some rutting animal in heat! Well, maybe you'll listen to me know!" he snarled. "I'm only going to say this one more time! I. Am. Not. Arthur!"

And the look of absolute, crushing, loss on Alfred's face just made him even angrier, although he could not say why. He did not wait around to assess his own feelings either. Before Alfred could react, England pushed past him, buttoning up his shirt as he stormed out of the apartment.

XX