Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia.

Because I Love You

VII.

There was the swing of a door followed by thumps of shoes on the rugs lain across the flooring, then the creak of the hinges on the door as it swung back into its place. What a rude person; to enter as they pleased without so much as a knock of warning. Fleetingly, he considered getting out of the bed to greet said rude person who had entered the room but he chose otherwise, deciding they could wait—he needed a moment to properly wake up, and anyway, causing a little irritation for his guest wasn't so much an issue as it was a pleasure. In any case, his body truly did feel terribly heavy and sore, mind still in a haze from consecutive nights of shallow sleep.

Finally, he cracked his eyes open. The dull ceiling of the dim room came into view, thick drapes still drawn to help keep the room insulated through the wintry weather. Sluggishly, he reached a hand out, feeling around blindly until the tips of his fingers touched something smooth and rounded. Then, as though some invisible strings attached to him were pulling him upward, his back lifted off the mattress to hunch forward, blankets sliding from his shoulders to heap over his bent knees. Still paying no heed to his guest, he began tending to a more pressing task of preparing the pipe he held between his fingers. Though in truth, it did not take a lot of mental effort on his part anymore as practiced hands moved on their own having learnt the motions from countless repetition. He brought the pipe to his lips, a thick plume of smoke rising into the dark room.

He could feel eyes staring at him…Patronising him.

"So you're still smoking that stuff, eh?"

He took his time to taste the drug before taking the pipe away, exhaling deeply. "And whose fault was it in the first place…ahen."

Slowly, he shifted his eyes to send a venomous look to the man who was leaning against the doorframe who had his hands deep in his pockets. He was answered with a wry chuckle.

"I just put it on the table. Yao, you took it."

The Chinese man scoffed, snapping his eyes away sharply, bringing the pipe to his lips again. The fingers gripping the pipe tightened involuntarily. Yes, he was addicted despite having had fought with the evil thing for years—with all his being. But it just kept coming back to haunt him, no matter how many times he had managed to convince himself to stay away. Yes, just like how he always came back and cast that same spell over him time and time again…Why did he find himself plummeting to that same, dark place? Why did he have to wake up to find himself once again smoking this evil drug, in this dark room—his room—hopelessly intoxicated under that ghastly, formidable curse?

"What are you doing here-aru?"

"I know what you were doing here."

For a second time, China gave the Briton a deathly glare. "That was uncalled for-aru. If you don't have a reason for being here other than to disturb my peace, just get out."

"Now, now China…" Casually switching on a lamp, Arthur moved to seat himself in an authentic armchair made of oak with an arched back, an expanse of neo-Grecian inspired patterns carved meticulously into the wood of the frame of the chair. "I came with a reason."

"A good one?"

"…Yes," England replied, keeping his eyes on an embroidered screen standing against the wall opposite to him, the lamplight causing mystical shadows to cast across the artwork, obscuring its aeisthetic eloquence. "Well, since I'm such a 'disturbance' to your 'peace', I'll get straight to the point. Why are you doing this?"

What had been a less than nice tension between the two now escalated into something completely uncomfortable. China gently lowered his pipe, laying it aside awkwardly. "What are you going on about-aru?" he asked clumsily.

"Why are you cooperating with him?" Arthur posed, this time with an added edge to his voice, a hint of exasperation evident within the cold tone. "Why did you help him to start all of this? I'm sure you're clearly aware of what'll happen if this all blows out of hand—which it will…already has even. China, it can turn into a full-fledged world war, it—"

"If you came just to preach, get out."

Pushing his palms down into the axe-shaped arms of the chair, Arthur levered himself forward to close the distance between them. He looked straight into the eyes of the man sitting in the bed although the other refused to return the gaze. "Look, I just want to know why."

"Get out."

"Yao…"

"You wouldn't understand even if say I were to tell you," Yao said bluntly. "Get out."

A long moment stretched on in heavy silence until eventually, Arthur stood, turning toward the door in defeat. "Fine."

All China could do was stare apathetically after England on his way to show himself out of the room. Then, just as the Briton's pale fingers grazed the bronze knob of the door, China's voice resonated in the room, cutting the frigid air.

"He promised me."

Immediately, England's hand dropped away from the doorknob to his side and he turned to look over his shoulder. "What?"

"He promised me," China iterated.

"I mean, what are you talking about?" England clarified, taking an eager step back into the room again, sensing the Asian nation's sudden change of manner.

Hands falling weakly to his knees, eyelids drooping over weary eyes, China shook his head—Apparently, it was he who was the one in defeat. The burden he beared was already weighing heavily down onto his back and grew only heavier as time passed; China just did not feel 'himself' anymore. And a dire need to somehow allay all of this suddenly overtook him. What could possibly go wrong if he confided in Arthur anyway? It wouldn't hurt to find out, surely.

A strained sigh escaped Yao's lungs, a sense of humiliation already gnawing his stomach. "He told me that if I go back to…to be with him again, that he would—"

Without warning the door opened abruptly, cutting China off, leaving his words to hang precariously in the still air threatening to fall and shatter. Eyes—both dark and green alike—swivelled in widened shock toward the man who stood boldly in the doorway.

"Hello. What were you two doing in my room? Can I join in?"

Yao steps off the bed, his uncombed hair falling in disarray over his shoulders as he crosses the room with haste, pushing passed Arthur.

"Good morning Yao."

"Good morning-aru, Russia."

::O:::O:::O:::O::

"Where is Italy!" Germany bellowed. He was in utter disbelief due to the third member of their team—The Axis—was in fact nowhere in sight. And it was in the German's own right to be losing his temper because they were indeed only moments away from opening fire to the enemy.

Though in the least of things, it was somewhat of a relief his other member was responsible and reliable, Germany thought. Or was he too quick to conclude that? And unfortunately, it was in the next moment when he turned to face his comrade from the East that he learnt he most certainly was too quick to judge.

"J-Japan!" Germany stuttered, his jaw dropping. "W-Why do you have that?" He was in a state of horror, unsure whether he should really believe what he was seeing. "Didn't I make it clear to you that you can't possibly think of using that thing?"

"Germany-san, I am sorry." That was all Japan offered the shock stricken soldier before he lowered his gaze to the glistening blade nestled between both his palms.

For Japan, today would mark a crucial breakthrough in his life. After all, he was making his debut; marching into his first, grand-scale war. And for this, he wanted, no, he needed to wield his sword. Despite the fact that he was now completely comfortable with a gun—and was a more than accomplished marksman after the hellish training he had suffered and survived—the only weapon he would have was his sword. There was no other weapon more appropriate for this day's battle; to pay respect to the man who had given him not only the skill for fighting but had also taught him the meaning of it. And somehow he thought that Yao would watch over him. He knew it was arrogant of himself to think such a thing; that Yao might still care about him, a traitor, even now after what he had done all those years ago…Japan made a silent vow he would not let Yao down.

"Germany! Japan!" Italy's voice sailed from somewhere behind. He hurried to his post, out of breath. "I'm sorry I'm late!"

"Italy, thank Gott…" Germany sighed with relief. However, his relief was short-lived. With shoulders pulled back and sharpness in his eyes, Germany murmured, "Here they come."

"Fire!"

The moment Japan raised his eyes they met with a powerful, strong gaze he knew all too well. The earth trembled beneath his feet.

Not for one moment had he anticipated that Yao would really be watching him…Alas from the frontlines of their one enemy.

The Allied Forces.

::O:::O:::O:::O::

NOTE: Hello! How's your day? I'm having quite a productive morning; cleaned the house, submitted an essay (of horror) and oh look, I've uploaded chapter 7!

I'd really like to thank you all for still reading this fic after my long absence. And thank you so much for reviewing as well!

As for this chapter, I'm sorry it's a little short. I don't think it needs any extra notes or translations but of course, please let me know if I've missed anything or if there's something you'd like to know! And oh yes, I think you've realised but I've thrown in several historical references. I'm having fun with kind of parallel ideas, so historical events might occur in slightly different contexts etc (eg. Japan still in isolation when the Axis alignment was formed).

I really hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Merci!