AN: Okay, if you are my regular readers and reading this, then let me say that I am losing interest in writing for the Hetalia fandom, for several reasons that I will not rant about in the AN. If you honestly want to know why (lol why would you) feel free to ask. If anything, I may delve into the realm of HomeStuck fanfiction but that's for another day. The point is, don't expect much from me anytime soon. I am still active on my deviantART, but writing just isn't the same. Anyway, now that that little thingy is outta the way, this is a thank you for the support I have gotten over the summer and something to leave you off on since school will most likely force me into hiatus anyway. Thanks to Hymno for introducing me to the lovely song 'Dårarna och jag' and inspiring this. Does anyone think I should practice beyond first person? I can do third person too... I think the only warning for this is that this pushes the factor of America's possible economic collapse and suggests what would be going on if America was actually dying. The chapters' titles will correspond with the fic's title, if that helps explain why they actually have titles. I will post one of these every two days until all three are up.

I watched the fool sway happily to the sound of the playing radio, his hips in sync with the off-key whistles. He was sorting through the books, his hair sticking up in several places that were not normal for him. The sunlight that came in from the window beside him was missing his body and landing cleanly on the floor. I questioned why he was acting so happy.

He knew he was weakening; I knew it too. It had become the object of many fights in the past couple weeks, one of which happened just two hours ago. It broke my heart slightly that he was still himself through it all. I questioned why I even bothered arguing with him. Sure, the thought that his collapse could very well bring about mine was something for us to talk about, but why bother getting each other angry when this very well may be our final days. I shook my head at the thought; I was becoming too emotional again.

His whistles turned into melodious mutters, the few lines he knew to the song coming out somewhat embarrassedly. I was certain he did not know of my presence, which made me question just what kept him from busting out into improvised lyrics. Maybe he was finally letting the situation affect him. It felt like something was clenching inside my chest, causing me to sigh.

America quickly grabbed a book and turned around, smiling.

"Oh hey, England, how long have you been there?"

"O-only a few moments, love. What are you doing in here?" He raised the book slightly, glancing at it before looking at me. The light that was pouring on the wooden floors was eating away at his back as the rest just poured into the room. My breath caught as he just stood in front of the window and opened the book up. The radio changed from the melancholy song to something that was equally depressing; the vocals of a female in some Latin language, once again confusing me as to why America was even in here. He was supposed to be listening to that fast contemporary stuff with a controller in his hands.

"Well... if you want me to leave you be for some peace, I can..." I said softly, turning around. Multiple parts of my body hurt as I turned my shoulder to him and took a step out of the room.

"Wait, England. Don't leave." I looked over my shoulder and saw his eyes. They were that same blue they had been for three centuries, but yet it seemed like something was missing. I dared say it was the liveliness, but that would be too difficult to admit. "Come read to me, please?" My eyes widened for a moment and I sucked in my lip to keep back the laugh. It would not have been a laugh of mocking, or of happiness. Rather, it would have been one of me expressing just how much my chest ached in a rather stupidly ironic way of showing emotion.

"Ah, I-" I stopped speaking and just shook my head, a bitter smile on my face. Trotting over to the couch that was in the library, I watched as America grinned and darted to it as well.

"Thank you, England," he said sing-song whilst dropping himself beside me. He handed me the book and leant against my side with his smile burying into my shoulder. I sighed again and looked at him, reminding myself that time was a precious thing... Even to nations.

"You're hopeless, you know that?" I said, kissing the top of his head soon afterwards. He chuckled into my arm, gesturing that I open up the book and read. "The Yellow Fairy Book... Hmm, interesting choice there, America." He simply laughed again and began humming to the music. "Okay... Let's see..." I opened the musty book up, the century old pages fragile and fading in my hands. It was a rather nice feeling. I began reading the first story, America's eyes now closed as he listened, when something nagged me.

We were both dying; a couple older than any human's marriage, sitting on a sofa and doing slow, gentle things. We were enjoying our last few moments, which very well may be decades, with a book in our possession and a radio playing slow music. Oh, how did I get dragged into this? I glanced at America for a moment and saw his softly smiling face on my shoulder.

And then the realisation hit me. Whatever America did, I would follow suit; making sure that we were not separated in any event. I was clingy and obsessive in ways that I did not even consider before. And I would follow him everywhere, whether I wanted to or not. And that most likely included the fact that death was watching us both contently as I read the words with gentle breaths.