AUTHOR NOTE: Hey guys!

I know a lot of you wanted me to continue my other Hetalia one, but unfortunately, I believe that the story can finish nicely there. Instead, enjoy this one!


Disclaimer: Hetalia is waaay to awesome for someone as lowly as me to write the scripts!

P.S Anyone waiting on Music Game will have to receive it as a new year's pressie! SOZ!

Heartfelt Music

Sometimes, you have to feel the music with your heart.

Not just listen to the right notes and the correct tempo but to enjoy the beautiful sounds that an instrument makes. They say that people can change and that the music that goes along with them can change too. But nothing will change that feeling of euphoria when you find the right sounds to match your own; when you find someone whose beat calls to yours; someone whose melody doesn't become the harmony but rather merges with yours to create a new melody.

To America, the first sound that he remembers is the gentle voice that called to him.

Albert . . .

No . . . not Albert

You will become America . . . .

The next thing he knew, he awoke on a field of flowers that seemed to stretch on forever. Big, baby blue eyes stared up at the identically coloured sky that was littered with soft clouds and a soft giggle escaped from his mouth. He lifted his short chubby arms up in a futile attempt to grab one of those untouchable clouds. How nice would it be though, once he sank deep into the softness of those clouds, surely once he was there, he would be able to find the source of the voice.

The sunlight was blocked out suddenly and America felt himself being lifted up by strong but gentle arms. He was cradled gently against someone's chest; someone who was singing a song so softly that even he, who was pressed up against that person's chest, couldn't hear properly.

It was something about a dragon . . . and how it would always play with its best friend . . . and magic?

And as he was slowly drifting asleep, the steady heartbeat that called from the person's chest echoed in America's head. Only one thought ran through his mind then, a very childish notion that he wished would stay in his mind.

I want to listen to this perfect sound forever.

"Welcome to Earth, America. I'm England."


Sometimes, you have to listen to what notes that are not being played.


The sound of thunder echoed throughout the big mansion but England didn't even stir. The torrential rain just kept pouring and England just kept snoring, after all, it does rain for about more than half a year on average when living in such areas and he had long gotten used to the sounds of his homeland. s


Of course, England didn't stop to consider that a little someone might be scared of the sounds that he himself was so used to hearing. So naturally, when something small and cold suddenly snuck under his covers and cuddled up to him, he jumped and flipped the covers open.


He looked down and saw a small figure trembling.

"America? What are you doing?"

There was no reply.



America jumped and leapt into England's arms, causing England who had just sat up to topple over.


The little child's chest heaved up and down, his breaths coming out in small, scared pants.

"Why are they so angry? What happened?"

England looked confused.


America sniffled a little before talking again.

"That loud sound . . . I don't like it."

"It's just thunder. Don't worry, it won't hurt you. You're safe here."

He held open his arms and America didn't hesitate to jump straight into them.

There was another loud BOOM but America squeezed his eye closed and held on tight to England who was currently struggling under the super tight grip that America possesed. This couldn't continue all night! He would die of suffocation before he would see the next morning, assuming that the storm wouldn't let up, which he was sure it wouldn't. What could he do?

"How about . . . I sing you a song?"

There was silence to this unusual suggestion but then there was a small nod.

Taking a deep breath, England wondered what song to sing.

The same familiar song enter America's mind and he unconciously smiled at the silly song about magic dragons or something or other. America's baby blue eyes fluttered and slowly he felt himself relaxing despite the raging storm all around the house. He snuggled up and grabbed the front of England's pajamas, and didn't let go all night.


Sometimes, you have to listen to the silence to hear something.

Many years passed.

America never liked loud things . . .

Not until . . .

It happened.

The drift appeared.

He didn't know when it started or how it started but all he knew was that it was big and deep, so wide that he doubted he could ever reach across to England again.

Was it a misunderstanding? Was it an argument? Was it just because . . . they were sick of each other's company?

Maybe . . . they weren't meant to live together like this.

It just became to irritating . . . there was palpable tension in the air and America in all in puberty couldn't understand any of it.

It didn't help that he stopped liking everything England did. Tea suddenly tasted foul because it reminded him of a particular someone everytime he drank it. All the classic English literature and fairy tales seemed so stupid and childish, filled with happily ever after endings that he knew would never happen to anyone in real life.

Then suddenly, rock music and everything loud seemed better than the emptiness of his, no their, home. Better than those silly fairytale songs that had light and lilting tunes that England constantly hummed under his breath.


That's what he wanted, to fill up the nothingness that was there.


A similar sound to the one that he heard so many nights ago exploded near his ear. This time, he didn't even flinch. The sound of bombs and guns rattling off their bullets no longer seemed like a surprise. He had been listening to those sounds for so long. How many days had it been since he last had a properly meal? When was the last time he had no grime or dirt on his body?

Too long.

"Go on then! Shoot me!" He taunted at his . . . enemy.

He couldn't say friend . . . and he couldn't say father. What else was he to call someone he fought against during war? It didn't matter if they shared a past.

America watched carefully through soaked eyelashes from the bitterly cold rain as England raised a shaky gun level to his chest.

The silence that stretched between them in that time felt so much better than those many years' worth of hard, blaring sounds he forced to his ear. How he wished right now, that everything could go back to when the music was simple and easy to understand. Now his life had become a blurred cacophony of different sounds that didn't fit quite right with each other. Where was the simple melody that he used to love?

Like that one about some magic . . . dragon . . .

"Come on! SHOOT ME!"

Maybe ending it all would be better.


The rain continued falling steadily through the silences, creating a sort of . . . beat.


All the other soliders had stopped and it was just them two left, staring at each other.



England finally spoke, his voice hoarse and broken.


He dropped the gun at his feet.


England's legs suddenly gave way and he collapsed onto the mud.

"Did you really . . . think . . ."

America, who had been standing tense, felt the tension break and collapsed too.

"Did you really think I could shoot you?"

England whispered softly, his voice barely heard above the rain.

America could hear the uneven breaths that England took; he must have injured his ribs somewhere.


America stopped. What could he say?

He crawled over to where England lay but at the last length, his arms collapsed from exhaustion in battle. America's head flopped down on England's chest.

The faint but familiar heart beat was heard.

For the first time in many years, America felt at home again.


Sometimes, you have to realise that once a piece of music stops, there'll always be another one there to replace it.


Another sound.

Another loud sound.

America didn't like loud sounds anymore.

He looked at the calendar as he grasped his chest in pain. Why did it hurt so much? What was going on? Slowly he inched towards the TV remote and turned the TV on. As soon as the machine flickered to life, America saw.

He bent his head in pain.



This time it was the sound of a door slamming shut.

There was heavy stomping, a crash and then a string of endless curses floated from the hallway. One of them sounded quite similar to something like "that ducking glass mole . . ."

England suddenly appeared in the hallway, his eyebrows bent in its usual frown, ready to have another rant but one look at America sent his original bad mood flying away. He rushed over to America who had bent over on the floor, his hand against his chest, tears freely flowing.


A sob tore itself from America's throat.

"E-england . . . . it hurts . . . what did they do . . ."

England wrapped his arms around the shaking blonde and rubbed his back, just like how he used to when they were younger. He looked at the TV which was currently showing the news of the latest disaster that had befallen the great country.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I-hic-don't like this . . . everyone's pain . . . I can feel it so strongly . . ."

"I know."

America buried his head onto England's chest and they stayed there for what seemed like days for America. In reality it was only about an hour or so.

"England . . . I-"


It's quite a sad thing when you actually find the song that you're looking for, but somehow you can't keep it around you forever.

"Come on, just one night! It's just Christmas! For old times sake!"

England sighed.

"Can't you go annoy Canada or something . . ."

"It'll be fun! I promise! All the countries, well, most of them, will be there and trust me they will be so sad if they don't get to see you! You've been so busy these days and always hiding away! Are you getting old, Arthur? Wait, that's the wrong question, you're already old! Heck, those eyebrows prove it! A hair for each year I think! No! A hair for each decade or even a century! And also-"

England rubbed his temple as he listened to America babble on and on.

"Plus, it's gonna be an awesome year! 2012! Isn't it amazing! Look how far our whole world has come! Come on! Don't sit at home all alone and watch the Doctor Who Christmas Special and drink your gross tea! Wait, actually, if you come over, I promise we'll watch it together! Just don't be-"

"I'm not going to be alone."

The sentence was uttered very softly but America heard it nonetheless. He paused for a while.

"Oh, then tell me. Who's going to be with you?"

"Uh . . . France! He said he was coming over."

England cursed himself for sounding so unbelievable, even to his own ears.

"I see."

The doorbell rang and England hurried over to the front door.

"Look, if you've already got so many people coming over, then it should be fine without me. Someone's at the door, so I'm hanging up."

He pressed the end button and opened the door.


England promptly shut the door.

"Hey! What are you doing!"

America had managed to jam his foot in between the door and he squeezed through the tiny crack.

"What are you doing? I thought you were at home!"

"I never said I was."

"Just leave!"

America stared at England, straightening up to his full height.

"Don't go using your height on me now, that ain't going to work!"

Before England could yell one more insult at him, America picked him up bridal style and kicked open the front door.

"Too late, you're mine now!"


Sometimes, the most beautiful sound in the world is someone's voice.

Later that night when everyone had finally collapsed, America grabbed England's hand and they snuck out to a small quiet beach. Side by side, it was just them walking along on the sand.

"You're a-hic-bloody git-hic-you know . . . ."

"I know."

"I don't know-hic-why I agreed to-hic- this . . . "

England stumbled and leaned against America.

The whole time, their hands had never parted.

Maybe it was too late to start something that they once had before. Maybe it could never to be returned; or if it did, it never was fully 100% like before. There was going to be less passion and fire in it.

But . . .

If he could spend every Christmas like this, with the familiar heart-beat next to his . . . .

Then, forever wouldn't be so bad.

At least, he had the right melody sometimes.

"Hey England?"


"Can you sing something for me?"

"Whaddya-hic-want me to sing?"

"Maybe . . . the song that you used to always hum about. That dragon . . ."



ANND cut!

Merry Christmas Everyone! :D VERY BELATED! Gosh and to think i wanted to write a oneshot for each of the catergories i write and read in . . . O-O i would be so dead! ANYWAYS REVIEW PLEASE! BECAUSE I LOVE YOU FOR READING THIS! AND YOU LOVE ME TOOO! (i hope . . .)

(I'm actually sorta scared since this story makes my 13th fanfic . .. maybe it's cursed not to get reviews! O.O)

Aprilup :D