If it wasn't for France, England would've preferred having America live at his house until he knew for sure that the nation was better. To England, France seemed to ruin every moment of his life that even involved as much as one of his long golden hairs. He didn't desire, nor necessitate the existence for the nation of love. Even if someone accused him of caring the slightest for France's well being, he would still deny it with piercing insults. Unless of course, that nation happened to be himself, but he still refused to agree. Instead, England would become agitated, and force himself to bring back his apathetic bond with France. After all, he always did enjoy harming the exasperating nation, so of course he believed that he didn't care for France.

Then a realization came to England. When he was in America, France wouldn't bother him nearly as much as he did when he was in the United Kingdom. Not only that, but when he was with the personified version of America, who he lately found quite a bit less obnoxious than he use to, he seldom thought of France. Almost to the point where he hadn't even thought of his existence as a nation for an entire week. That was quite a record in England's opinion, and definitely not a pointless one either. In fact, he might have even considered it a life achievement for finally going one day without allowing France to test his patience.

England wasn't the only one who seemed to enjoy the fact that he was with America, but America himself was beginning to appreciate the Brit's company. Although he had been reluctant about it when England first came over to pay him a visit, America was finding the company his former mentor offered rather delightful. Somehow, being around the older nation prevented him from being eaten alive by his gloomy thoughts. Then America began to wonder, How come he seems to treat me better than everyone else does? I swear, he's an expert at it. Well, I guess he was the one who raised me, but still. There might have been some things that he never found out about me. Besides, for the longest time it felt as if he was grumpy about everything. I thought he had forgotten how to have empathy for others. Come to think of it, maybe it's me who doesn't understand people.

America was not at all hurt by his final conclusion, but instead found it quite intriguing. If it was true that he didn't understand different personality types, and how most individual's minds functioned, then there would be a lot for him to learn. He didn't mind the idea of learning about personality. America was amused, It's been quite a while since I became so interested in something, but I never thought I would grow such a strong interest for psychology. Maybe it was the fact that England pointed out that I have an eating disorder and what not. Well, at least he only thinks I do. I fail to see what was so terrible about my diet and exercise.

The elated mood was killed immediately, and was replaced by a much less pleasant arora of animosity. America felt himself quiver. His vision blurred around the edges as he resisted the urge to strangle someone in cold blood, I was so close to becoming worthy. So close until he came along to ruin everything.

America's breathing became more heavy, I was only trying to impress him, and now he's making me fat again. He told me I was fat a thousand times in the past, so I thought he wouldn't try to stop me. Warm tears of frustration and portrayal rolled down his cheeks, How did I not notice? He's just doing this because he wants more ammo. I made the fatal mistake of showing my weakness to him, and now he has an advantage over me. I'm going to be a worthless burden for the rest of my life!

America sat on the couch. There was no England there sitting next to him, nor was the Brit anywhere in the room. In fact, England was not even present in the house. America's former mentor had left for some errands, and had left America home alone for a short amount of time since he now had faith that his former colony was well enough to enjoy a half hour without him. The lack of England's presence made America shiver with the new draft that hit his body. I'm all alone. America realized, I'm nothing more than a loner, and I did it to myself. There's nothing I can do about it.

More tears spilled violently from his azure eyes, cringing as he began to mutter repeatedly, "I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself."

The distress continued to build tension within America as he continued to mutter those three hateful words. It was eventually too much. America erupted into a fit of rage, "I HATE MYSELF!"

America did not notice when his fingernails began to dig into the skin on his arms, nor did he care when fresh blood from scars that he accidentally reopened began to drip onto the couch. Violently, he writhed around on the couch. Causing him to fall off and land on one of his arms. The impact had resulted in America accidentally scraping off a light layer of his own skin. It wasn't enough to bleed, but was it was still painful. The tantrum didn't last much longer, for America felt too exhausted to proceed. Completely winded now, America grew limp as silent tears continued to pour from his face. By the time he had regained his composure, he flinched as a stinging pain shot throughout the skin on his arms. Glancing down at his arms, America was met with the sight that had resulted from clawing into his own skin. Of course, he had been completely unaware of himself doing this, so the scene came to him as quite a shock.

Then yet another realization came to America. He found himself laying down on the floor rather than the much more comfortable couch. America figured that he must've accidently rolled off during his break down. He looked around the floor and on the couch to see if there was any blood. Luckily for him, the floor was covered in a dark carpet, and the couch was rather dark itself, so instead of showing off an obvious crimson splatter, it only looked as if some water droplets soaked a meager portion of the fabric. The next thing America checked was his current clothing. Upon investigation, America was very much relieved to find that none of the blood stained his clothes, but instead made itself present on his bare arms as a sticky mess. Of course, nothing a simple washing couldn't take care of.

America walked over to the bathroom, and made sure to lock the door behind himself. After making sure that no one could break into the bathroom, America began to clean the cuts. Not that he cared much about having an infection, but he knew that it wasn't the wisest idea to leave it unclean. After all, if the cuts did become infected, and the infections were obvious, or worst yet, England had managed to find out about the infection, America would never hear the end of it. Well, maybe he would, but he knew perfectly well that he was on thin ice when it came to England trusting him enough not to harm himself.

After America finished cleaning up any evidence that he had cut through his skin, or had an emotional break down, he waited patiently on a different couch than the one he had been sitting on before. He's been gone for a little more than thirty minutes, so hopefully, and surely he'll be back real soon. Then America became confused, Why do I miss him so much? I don't need him, and I never will. That is why I became independent, after all.

Soon enough, England finally arrived. America struggled with his urge to cling to his former mentor, and for the sake of his own dignity, he was successful. England smiled at him, "So, how have you been while I was gone?"

America forced a smile and lied, "I was doing fine. It wasn't too hard to find something to occupy my time."

England studied America for a while before finally saying, "Well, it good to know that you're doing fine. I'll go prepare lunch now. It won't be long."

When England left the room, America couldn't help but scowl in the direction England had left the room as he felt his stomach lurch with disgust. The very thought of was such a taboo topic to America at the moment. More than it had been for a couple of weeks. I'm not going to let myself get carried away this time. Oh no, I'm going to resist any food he puts in front of me. Even if that means I have to put up a huge fight. Maybe if I'm stubborn enough for this improvement, I'll be able to make up for all the lazy days I had that consisted of eating. Never again, will I allow food in my stomach.

"Okay, lunch is ready." England's sudden announcement interrupted America's thoughts. America sat there for a while before he finally shook his head, Don't go in the kitchen. When America never made his appearance in the kitchen, England walked out into the livingroom where America was sitting snug on the couch, and inquired, "Aren't you going to eat?"

America shook his head, and turned his entire body so that he was no longer facing England. When he felt a hand on his shoulder, he turned until he was staring in the corner that the couch was next to. America hissed with annoyance when he heard England ask him, "What's wrong?"

America mumbled in response, "I'm fine, I'm just not hungry."

England held one of America's hands and gently tugged, "Why don't you come in the kitchen anyways? It seems like you need to socialize."

Suddenly, America sharply turned his head to deliver England a glare of rancor. His words were impatient, "Why do we need to be in the kitchen just to have a stupid conversation? We can have one right here, or just not have one at all."

England sighed, maybe he was able to solve situations such as the one he was currently facing in the past a few time, but that still didn't mean that it was an easy problem for him the solve. From what he learned, the outcome was always on predictable. Words that might've worked in the past could lose their power. He just had to play his cards carefully with his words and actions, "Alfred, if something's bothering you, please tell me."

The scowl returned to America's face, "I already told you, I'm fine! Now leave me alone."

Instead of following America's command, England sat down next to him, and explained in a come voice, "I know something's wrong. It's not healthy to bottle up your emotions like that, so please tell me what's wrong. I'm only here to help you."

"Screw off!" Was the only reply England received. A soul crushing response to him, but he knew he had to stay strong and positive around America. England chose his next words with more caution than ever, "I'm not going to leave until I know what's wrong. Sorry. I know you don't want me here, but-"

"I said. Screw! OFF!" America shoved England away from him, and made his way to his room. England sat there, completely stunned by the sudden rejection. Sure, America had been difficult about the whole situation at times, but he was never this stubborn about it, and the fact that America had picked up on the bitter attitude out of the blue when things seemed to have been changing for the better confused England in a way he didn't appreciate at all. Not that confusion was his favorite emotion to begin with, but this time it was just agonizing.

England knew better than to sulk where he sat, so he walked over to America's room, and was surprised to find that the door was still open. Silently, England crept into his former colony's room, and continued to approach the nation who was now sitting on his bed in a sulking manner. When England was close enough, he was able to hear the faint sobs that America suppressed. Immediately, England brought America into a gentle embrace and soothed, "You don't need to hold it in. Just let it out."

Hiding his face, America retorted weakly, "Go away."

To prove that England was not going to leave America, as the younger of the nations had wished for, he tightened his arms around America, and brought him closer. America no longer protested, somehow he found the need for someone else's warmth. England continued to comfort America until suddenly, he felt something sticky on one of his hands when he rubbed them against one of America's arms. Not something he quite expected, of course. He looked over at his hand, and flinched when he saw blood. His thoughts were frantic, Blood!? That can only mean one thing. England examined America's arm, only to find that there were now three new cuts, deep ones too.

England turned to face America once again. The younger nation was not oblivious to what was going on at all, and it was obvious since the expression on his face gave it all away. England remained tranquil as he motioned for America to stand up, and said, "Here, come to the bathroom. I'll clean up those cuts, and dress them properly."

America obediently followed England into the bathroom, and let the older nation take care of his cuts. Once England was finished, both him and America went into the livingroom. England called Canada on his phone, "I'm going to need your help."

England could hear the sorrow in Canada's voice at this news, "It's too bad he's in this condition. Well, why don't you two come over here as soon as possible then?"

"Okay," England replied before hanging up, then turned to face America when he heard him inquire, "Who did you just call?"

For once England recalled the name as if he never had a problem remembering it in the first place, "Well, I just called Canada. I recommend you pack up your things because we're going to his place tomorrow."