Yay! I wrote Angsty/Jealous Scotland because reasons! I'm definitely gonna write a part two for this, but not right now because I wanna procrastinate my life away.

Enjoy! ;)

Six...

Seven...

Eig-

"You missed."

Portugal sighed, looking down at the grape which had landed rather pathetically at his feet after he'd attempted to catch it in his mouth. It had instead bounced off of his nose, through his fingers and landed on the floor with a disappointing lack of noise.

He pursed his lips, "I did."

England smirked, "You know what that means."

Portugal sighed, "I do."

England fell back against the sofa to lay on his back with a smug smile, "You're paying for lunch."

There was silence for a moment and then England felt a weight land on his stomach, making him groan loudly. "I think lunch can wait until after my siesta, right? Here seems like a good spot," And with that, Portugal flopped down on top of him, making him groan once again.

"If you didn't want to buy lunch you should have won the game."

Portugal ignored him, and settled himself more comfortably on top of England, groaning happily despite England's bony hips digging into his abdomen, "I just want a nap, is that a crime?"

"If it kills me, then yes."

Portugal looked up and pouted at the frowning nation underneath him, "You're so dramatic, I'm not that fat, despite what certain nations tells me."

"When has anyone ever called you fat?"

Portugal took in England's questioning eyebrow for a moment, before snorting out a laugh, "You, just now."

England lifted a hand and flicked at Portugal's forehead, making the other man laugh again, "I did not. Stop twisting my words!"

"Ahh, but they hold suck painful implications!" Portugal replied, sighing dramatically and propping himself up on his elbow so he could place a hand to his mouth in false horror, "You are cruel to me, I am but a simple man from Portugal, I-"

Portugal rather suddenly found himself on the floor, England laughing from where he still laid on the couch, "Oh get off it, you tosser!"

Now, Scotland knew he was being stupid. He knew his emotions were unfounded and he knew, most of all, that he should trust England enough that these emotions shouldn't matter. But that didn't stop the curling in his gut that he felt when he saw Portugal and England laying together on the couch, laughing and joking and-

They were friends. The best of friends.

That was it.

So why did it make him want to take Portugal by the scruff of the neck and throw him out of the house in such a way that he'd never come back.

Never come back and drag England down on top of him off the couch so that the other nation was laying on his chest. The two of the laughing, their foreheads pressed together as if they were about to-

They were friends. The best of friends.

That was fucking it.

The worst part was that he knew how irrational he was being. He was being completely stupid, because there'd never been anything between those two but friendship, not that England had told him about at any rate.

He problem, he surmised, was that he could see them having something more than a friendship. He could see England leaning down and closing that gap, he could see Portugal's arms coming up to cup his face, he could see a slow, steady burning love in them.

But the worst part about that?

He knew Portugal would be a million times better for him.

And he'd be lying if he said that thought didn't break his heart.

Gritting his teeth, he took in a large gulp of air, turning away from the living room and marching toward the door to slip on his shoes. "England! I've, uh- Got to go back to my place for a couple of days," He called, halting the laughing from the other room for a few seconds, until the pair appeared at the door to the living room.

"Alright, is everything okay?" England asked, taking a few steps closer.

"Yeah, everything's fine. I just have a few things to do."

England scrutinized him for a moment, his eyes raking him up and down for any hint that he wasn't alright, while Scotland did his best impression of someone who wasn't having a raging internal battle. He sighed after a moment, "Okay," he walked forward and pecked Scotland on the lips, "Drive safe."

Scotland plastered on his usual swagger, "Of course I will, you worry too much, you little brat."

England huffed and rolled his eyes, as Scotland stood and made his way to the door, "Yeah, yeah, if you get pulled over for speeding, the government will not be paying the difference this time."

"Love you too, sweetheart!"

Before he could hear what England's response to that was, he'd shut the door, making his way quickly to the car, and pulling out of the drive within twenty seconds. It was only once he was safely on the motorway that he allowed his brain to function again, and by then it was with a sick feeling in his stomach that he could only imagine what England and Portugal were doing behind him.

They were friends. The best of friends.

But he couldn't help but wonder if there was more to it than that.