2Disclaimer: Hetalia and all the characters belong to Himaruya. This is purely fan-made and nonprofit.
A complicated thing
Love... Love was a complicated thing. You could never know where it came from, how it was born or even what it was. Was it the warmth building up in one's chest? Was the dizziness clouding one's judgement? Was it the longing for another body? Was it more? Or maybe of them all?
Love was a complicated thing. Even for a nation.
Even for one of the oldest nations. Even for the once mighty British Empire, now brought down to England. It was fair to say that, for his whole life, Arthur Kirkland had never felt the lack of another body next to his, not once he had wanted it. And even now, he didn't. But it felt different this time; it wasn't a carnal desire, it wasn't out of lust, it was... What was it? At first, he didn't bother to classify it as anything. It was just one night of fun, after all - like many others before. One night turned into two, three, four... umpteenth. He had lost count. It became something natural, something he would do simply because he needed an excuse to spend more time with that one person. Simply because he missed said person.
Then why on earth couldn't he say it aloud?!
Weren't all these moments leading to the false belief that he only craved sex? That there was no feeling whatsoever? Well, not like he had never been called a heartless bastard before... But he would brush it off. He wouldn't care. He wouldn't care, unless it came from that one person.
Was it fear of being rejected? No, he was most certainly not afraid. Besides, being rejected was impossible. Things should be easy then... yet there weren't.
England let out a groan. Thinking about what he did or didn't feel wasn't the best thing to do in the middle of the night. Some sleep would have been a lot more useful.
"Iggy...?" A voice breathed against his chest; he could tell it sounded worried, though what for he couldn't name.
"Yes, America?"
Alfred F Jones, commonly known as America, clumsily tilted his head to look at the Englishman. A few messy locks tickled Arthur's skin during the process, but he said nothing of it.
"What's wrong?"
Ah, there it was. The every night question - not really, just for their latest rendez-vous's. For a moment, the thought that the American worried about him being unsatisfied crossed England's mind, but it was quickly brushed off: Alfred had too much of an ego to ever admit the very slight possibility of not being satisfying enough. Not that he needed to worry about that. Still, the same question every night and every night the same answer:
"Nothing."
At that point, Alfred would usually mutter a 'fine' and go back to sleep. However, this time, judging by the lack of sheets rustling, he wasn't going to just yet. The younger nation opened his mouth to speak, only to end up pouting. What was there to say, anyway? He had so much to complain about and so little words to put it into. Hell, he didn't even know what he wanted to complain about. He just knew that 'Iggy' had begun to act strangely; distant. Why was that? Wasn't the Revolution thing long forgotten? Then again, if it had been the Revolution, England wouldn't have giving him the silent treatment. The American trailed his eyes over the other's features. Could a nation look old? If so, then England aged two hundred years in one night. It was most certainly not related to the economy, nor any war. It was simply tiresome. His skin drained of all colour, his lips pale and shallow, darkish bags starting to form under his eyes - and the moon lighting his face did not help at all. He looked like Alfred after a week of parties, excess of alcohol and lack of proper sleep - perhaps, celebrating winning the war like that wasn't the best idea. Either way, he was sure that Arthur didn't get drunk last night. Maybe had a drink or two, but nothing to knock him out. Or he looked like Canada when America did something unnecessarily dangerous for a completely idiotic reason. That wasn't the case now either! Well... England always put too much thought into Alfred's well-being...but still! He did nothing this time!
"Iggy!" The American finally whined. "You always say that! I'm not a fool, dude, something's off here."
It should have been surprising how Alfred could be dead-sleepy, then next moment annoyingly awake. Should have been. The older nation was used to it by the time being.
"Then figure it out, you 'hero'."
"Mean!"
Arthur sighed frustrated. "Do we have to do thins now?"
"I could bug you about it all night long..."
As if to highlight his intention, Jones nugged England's side.
"Quit it!"
"Spill it!"
Too bad the 'Go to your room' thing didn't work on America, let alone the fact that they were in America's room. It would have been highly helpful, seeing as the elder didn't have the energy to deal with Alfred's bugging. So the most reasonable thing to do was roll on the other side. Then again, it wouldn't have worked either due to the American half lying on top of him.
"Spill it, spill it, spill it. C'mon, dude, spill it already!"
A furious reply prepared to escape Kirkland's lips when his gaze snapped to the other blond. However, all acidity melted when he saw that look. He had expected a teasing or amused one; instead, it was a concerned one. One he recalled seeing only once and the situation was truly critical then for the UK. The glare ready to burn the very soul a moment ago, softened again. A gentle smile tugged at the corners of his lips, much to America's further confusion. Staring into those baby-blue eyes, he didn't have to question himself anymore. Maybe it wasn't so hard to figure out what he felt, after all.
"Nothing to worry about."
Alfred wouldn't have believed it at all, had it not been for the genuine expression and voice. So either England became a better liar over the night or he was telling the truth. Probably the last, considering that he couldn't look into America's eyes and make a proper lie. Or sound like he was being honest. With one last suspicious glare, the blond lay his head back on Arthur's chest and coiled his harm again around his middle.
"America, do you think I'm using you?" Then he quickly added: "That's what people say."
"Dude, who says that? I think you're crazy about me!"
England prevented a chuckle. Typical.
"Right. Good night."
"...'Night."
Love was a complicated thing. Love had no explication...because it didn't need any. And looking into America's eyes, England knew what that funny feeling he had was: love.
A/N: I hope you liked it! It's the first time I'm writing these characters (or any Hetalia character, for that matter), so I'm open to suggestions, advises and criticism. Reviews are more than welcomed ^^