Warnings: A bit angsty, but don't fret too much~ There's also a bit of scene-switching going on, I hope it's not too choppy. Did I mention the sap? There's sap. Not as much sap as a nursery in New Jersey, though. Maybe. Rated T for Tony's mouth.

Disclaimer: I am a far cry from Hidekaz Himaruya, and Hetalia belongs to him!

Author's Note: I may or may not have ended up alternating between American and British spelling - blame England if I did. ;;w;; This was originally meant to be a simple USUK oneshot, but then PruAus shoved its way in, and wouldn't you know, it's hard to deny them!

.x.x.x.

Now I don't know where I am,

I don't know where I've been,

But I know where I want to go.

So I thought I'd let you know...

.x.x.x.

The television was humming and mumbling in the background, fixed upon some late-night showing of a superhero film, with plenty of action sequences depicting car explosions and falling buildings. England hadn't been focused on it for quite some time, instead debating whether or not to bring up a certain issue to the nation beside him.

Although he always grumbled when Alfred invited him over, Arthur secretly relished moments like that evening, when the two of them sat on the sofa together in shorts and old, cotton shirts. There was a coziness to it, in which there was an unspoken agreement that they could both be themselves, and could both complain about the other being himself, but would always accept one another in the end. England felt safe here with America - as safe he ever felt, nowadays. If he were honest with himself, he felt wanted, as well – sincerely wanted, with no ulterior motives attached. It was a wonderful feeling, and sometimes England amazed himself by marveling at how this could be. He certainly didn't want to lose these things, never wanted to lose him again.

And yet...

So cherished and lulling was this sense of security, that England had finally decided to test it. He took a quiet breath and shut his eyes, intent to savor this peace while it lasted. It could be the last time, after all.

Finally, he plucked up enough courage to ask. "You know what the other nations say about us, don't you?"

He opened his eyes to see Alfred sprawled across the space next to him, one arm resting on the back of the sofa, the opposite leg slung over the end. He was slumped carelessly, with his hips slightly canted forward.
Even in such an informal setting, England retained more dignity than the ocean-eyed blonde. He was half-facing his companion, legs curled up to the side on the seat, toes curling within his black stockings. One arm supported his weight, his palm laid down flat upon the empty space between Alfred and himself. His other arm rested idly in his lap.

From this position, Arthur could easily turn his head away from the telly and look at the younger man beside him. He had come to cherish this time, any time, with the powerful nation. And of course, he had always cherished this person. Even when they had been at odds - he quickly and firmly pushed those treacherous thoughts aside, lest they darken his mood at such an opportune time - but even then, he had never stopped...never could bring himself to...stop loving him.

England considered himself to be a fairly patient person. After such a long time, however, he had to know the truth. The kind of love he harboured for America had changed over the years, had grown and blossomed into something much more intimate, passionate, encompassing... And he simply had to know if his feelings could ever be returned.

"Sorry, dude, what was that?" It took a moment for Arthur to realize that those bright eyes were now staring questioningly into his own, intent and filled with innocent confusion.

"Ah..." England began intelligently, honestly unnerved at having to start again. "America, do you know what the other nations say about us?"

"It depends on what you mean..." America gnawed on his lower lip. England felt a sudden urge to do something about that, but he only frowned and waited.

"You mean, like...us, us? That we're...together?"

"Yes, that." England exhaled softly and shifted slightly, his hands fluttering above his lap and beginning to traitorously wring themselves together. He honestly meant to be saying more, but there was a lump in his throat, and it was taking all the residual bravery from his days of knighthood to even be here, to even risk...

Nodding in response, Alfred huffed out a snicker. "I think France started that one."

England's hands tightened, his eyes narrowing. He was already agitated, on edge, and at the mention of Francis, he was momentarily distracted from his goal. "Of course he bloody did! It practically reeks of him!"

Laughing in earnest now, Alfred lifted his arm from the back of the couch and playfully punched the island nation in the shoulder. He was considerately holding back a vast majority of his true strength, so it was hardly more than a firm bump."Yeah! Could you imagine if it were true?" He shook his head, giving England one final glance before turning his attention back to the television. There was nervousness dancing in his eyes, and he shifted further away as he turned."Man, I don't think that would ever fly."

For a heart-shattering moment, England wondered if the world had stopped. The warmth of Alfred's arm behind him had disappeared, and any joy or peace in his heart seemed to have gone with it. His chest tightened to the point where he could no longer feel the breath in his lungs. His heart was aching and pounding and burning all at the same time, and for one fleeting moment, England almost wished it would explode simply to put an end to this reality. He sat very still, eyes wide and face pale, not bothering to register what was going on around him. He was stuck. Stuck, with nowhere else to go, and he didn't know what to do, and this was going to kill him and it always had been...

"I was going to say..." He rasped out, making a valiant effort to - what? To torture himself further?
The light from the television reflected off the young man's glasses, casting a glare over them and making him seem impersonal, unreachable.

"What's wrong, Iggy?" And there was America's attention again; his sincere, concerned gaze searing into England's wretched eyes.

He couldn't bear it.

"Alfred..." England hadn't meant for it to go this way, for himself to react this way, but the name slipped out on a defeated sigh. And then, just as quickly as he'd attempted to open himself up, he shut down. "Nothing's wrong. I was just going to say goodnight. I should go to bed early. My plane leaves early, after all." He scrambled off the sofa on jerky, numb limbs. What was the use in a confession, if he'd already been given the response? There was no chance now. No chance!

"Wait, England! Are you sure you're okay, dude? You look pale! I mean, paler than your normal pale!"

"I'm fine! Just a tad bit tired, that's all. You Americans watch too much television." Arthur did his best to compose himself and turned around, mustering up a crooked, bittersweet expression. He truly had no idea if it was meant to be a grimace, a frown, a smile or a snarl. It was most assuredly ugly. The world was ugly now, except for him; he would always be extraordinary, and good grief, why in the world had Arthur thought he had a chance?! "That will fry your brain after a while, you know!"

"Whatever, dude, I guess... But still!"

England didn't know what Alfred said after that. By that time, he was already in the guest bedroom, sliding down to sit against the door and let his heart bleed blue.

"What the bloody hell am I going to do now?" He shuddered, clamping a trembling hand over his mouth to quell the sobs which threatened to burst out of his chest. This was pathetic. He was the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, and he was not going to cry over anyone, not even the United States of America! Who was that cerulean-eyed man, to make him feel this way?! Who the hell did he think was, reducing England to this?!

But what stung the most was the way he had dismissed the entire notion, so casually...so immediately... It was as if America could not bear to even have considered the thought.

"I still love you, anyway." He whispered, shutting his eyes as hot tears slid mutinously down his cheeks and a jagged knife twisted in his gut. "Perhaps it doesn't matter, but I still love you."

He buried his face in his knees and wrapped his arms around his shins, a crushed mess of burning and yearning and anguish.

Eventually, the searing pain froze into a chilled sense of nothingness, and England could no longer feel the cracks in his heart, nor what resided within them. Some cynical part of himself was grateful for that, and berated the rest of himself for ever daring to open up in the first place.

"All this time I have been dreaming, for nothing," he whispered to himself.

The tears turned bitter, and they would not stop, so for the first time in decades, he cried himself to sleep.

After that night, everything he saw was tinged with grey hopelessness.

.x.x.x.

"Arthur?"

Something was wrong. Actually, two somethings were wrong. England was drinking French vodka, so that was a crime in itself. Then there was the matter of Austria trying to morph into two people in front of him.

"'S not working." He informed the Germanic nation irritably.

"What's not working?" Austria asked with a puzzled frown. A waitress came by and handed him a clean red dish towel, which he accepted with a courteous murmur of danke. England realized the other nation was nigh sopping wet, which then led to the discovery that the pounding he'd been hearing was not, in fact, centered in his own head, but rather the clamor of very hard rain battering upon the roof and window panes of the small English pub.

He squinted at the familiar face now sitting across from him, uncomfortable with this new arrangement. He'd come here to get away from people he knew, drat it, and now one shows up from across the bloody channel?!

"Wha' do you think you're doing here?" He demanded crossly, knocking back another shot. The hard liquor burned harshly down his throat, and he shut his eyes, reveling in the painful numbness it brought. It was debatable at this point how much alcohol he had consumed. He remembered asking the waitress for pirate's rum at one point in time, and she had returned with a rather good brandy instead, but that hadn't been enough to...to get rid of...

Well, the French vodka seemed to be sloshing him up quite well, so perhaps it wasn't too shabby after all.

"Excuse me for intruding on your...evening." Austria apologized dryly, his disapproving expression robbing the words of any sincerity. "I had business at my embassy here, and then I happened to...stumble across this place. I only came in to get out of the rain."

England scoffed. "Haven' you ever thought abou' bringing an umbrella to London?"

"It's in my car."

"Well, where's y'r car?"

"Somewhere." Austria looked down, shuffling a peculiarly folded paper in his hands. England caught a glimpse of a legend and swirling lines amongst tiny trees and box-like buildings.

"You got lost! Oh my - you lost your car!" He crowed, chuckling despite himself. The plight of the directionally-challenged nation was just too good, cutting through his abject misery for a few seconds of respite. "That's got to be a new one, even for you!"

Seething quietly, Austria tucked the map back into his coat pocket. "Ja, it's hilarious. I was certainly trying to beat my old record. Speaking of old records..." He eyed the empty bottles of brandy and whiskey upon the tabletop, then raised an eyebrow at England's current choice of drink. Well, French vodka. That would be surprising, Arthur would give him that...

"Is there a reason for this, or did you simply feel like having a hangover for the next week?" Roderich asked objectively.

England's eyes grew dim, and he turned his head away. "There's always a reason..." His voice was hoarse and tortured, and his throat constricted further when he tried to think about him. "'S always the same reason, too." He added bitterly.

Austria opened his mouth and was about to say something in response when the waitress returned. She naturally expected him to order something, and after receiving a request for a Guinness, she leaned in and whispered to him, glancing worriedly at the drunken blonde.

"I'll see that he arrives to his home safely, don't worry." Austria assured the young woman.

"Pah!" England sneered. "You can't even take care of y'urself. Don't treat me like a bloody invalid, you pompous git!"

Studiously ignoring the rudeness of the Englishman, Roderich busied himself with drying off his spectacles. "Have you forgotten who my neighbors are? I'm used to being around drunks. Granted, they aren't all as lightweight as you are..."

"Oi! You call this lightweight?!" England flourished his bottle, waving it in the air proudly and very nearly toppling off the wooden bar-stool. "I'll drink my trousers off, and then some!"

"Ah, I'd rather you not." Austria sighed, accepting the beer he'd ordered with another quiet danke, followed by an even quieter lament of, it's going to be a long night. For the ears of his fellow nation, he added, "Perhaps I should see if America is free. He's the best at dealing with you in this state."

England knocked back another shot, smacking his lips bluntly. "You don't know anything about why I'm in this state." He ducked his head. At the mention of seeing America – of America seeing him like this – he felt anxiety flood his veins.

"You look terrible." Roderich observed, taking a small, measured sip of his beer.

Arthur knew what he looked like. He knew his eyes were reddened and bloodshot – he could practically feel them burning, and the last time he'd slept must have been days ago. The pale gray suit he was wearing had been immaculate and pressed that morning, but was now crumpled, bearing grass and dirt stains. How that had occurred, again? He recalled walking out after signing for that new law... He hadn't been required to stay for the whole process, and he found that he couldn't stand being there, having to act happy, hopeful... It had been too much. He'd walked out, come across a forest and ran through it. He spent hours out in the green expanses of nature, anything to escape, to clear his mind, to erase the jumbled mess of emotions twisting and unfurling within his heart.

It hadn't been enough, so he had wound up here.

Now his tired body slumped down, his elbow resting upon the tabletop as if that was the only thing keeping him from sliding to the ground, and – possibly if he was lucky – beneath it.

Yes, of course Arthur knew he looked pathetic and disheveled, but he narrowed his eyes and chose to fire back another insult.

"You look like a drowned cat."

Austria simply slipped his glasses back on and gave his impromptu drinking companion a shrewd, thoroughly unimpressed look.

Perhaps it was exhaustion, or drunken desperation to confide in another soul, but England backed down. "I feel terrible, too." He admitted with a shuddering sigh, shakily pouring himself another shot. On nights like these, he preferred to order entire bottles for himself - as much as the pub would allow (and then some, if he was clever or charming enough).

"That's a shame..." Austria ventured calmly, running his fingers over the red dish towel, now damp with rain. "A certain majority of your people seem to be very happy today, after all."

When England gave no response, he continued, "I think you did a good thing for them. For yourself, as well."

"Yes, I s'ppose I did..." The island nation murmured, and for a moment, a spark of light came back to his face again, along with the hint of a true smile. "'England Legalizes Gay Marriage', hm?"

As quickly as it had come, the light expression was lost under a cynical and hardened front. "Well, someone ough' to be happy."

"So why aren't you?" Austria asked, genuinely curious. "I would have thought that's why you dared to pass the law."

"What-what are you saying?!" England jerked, his arm flailing across the table and sending the bottles reeling and spinning.

Managing to catch one before it fell off the edge and shattered, Roderich shook his head. He subtly pulled the bottle of vodka away from the island nation's reach. "Come now, you know what I'm referring to. I'm saying that it's obvious."

"That's not – you don't-" How could he explain what had happened? How could he describe the casual rejection and the utter turmoil which had enveloped him since? How could he ever tell anyone, much less another nation, how absolutely wretched he felt? His frantic mind was churning out far too many thoughts than he cared to sift through in his current state.

"You don't understand!"

"Ja, I do." Austria countered, as something in his acute expression softened. "It's alright to be afraid of love."

England didn't want this conversation. He'd come to the pub to forget, and here this ninny of a nation had shown up and was making him feel things again... "What do you know about love?" He sneered. "Don't even try to tell me all those marriages were of pure intent."

"On second thought, it's best that America doesn't deal with you in this state..." Austria muttered. "Marriage and love are...not always a package deal. Reality is what it is." He rubbed absently at his left hand – his ring finger, England realized with a hollow pang of ruefulness for the remark. "That doesn't mean I didn't love some of my spouses...or even a person whom I never did marry. Now, in your case... I don't know what you're worried about. He loves you, you know."

England scoffed bitterly. "Not like that. He...he said that it couldn't... He made it clear that it wouldn't work, that he couldn't..." What had America said? Some slang which spelled "no" loud and clear, and that look in his eyes... Arthur felt the burning consume his eyes just thinking about it. Things began to get blurry, and with renewed horror, Arthur realized that he was tearing up. He couldn't do that here!

Try as he might to quell the tears, it was as though a dam broke, and on the other side was the truth.

"I thought of him, when I signed it, I... I thought it might get his attention." Arthur whispered, tracing light circles on the smooth, polished wood of the tabletop. "I've been trying to be patient. He needs that, you know? But I... I'm afraid... I didn't even tell him..." Fisting a hand in his hair, he let out a low wail. "He'll hate me now!"

Austria sighed, folding his hands atop the table. "Arthur, the entire world will hear about it. I'm certain he can't miss it." He placed one of his hands briefly atop the smaller man's, feeling the tension thrumming in his fist. "You're going to be alright. Some love is worth waiting for. He does love you. We all see it."

"But how do you know?" England slurred, his head now resting heavily in his palm. "Even I don't know, and I...I thought I did..."

"Call it musician's intuition." Roderich smirked slightly, not unkindly. "Come now, pick yourself up! The Arthur Kirkland I know doesn't slouch around, moping in bars."

Chuckling, Arthur weakly shook his head. But his eyes were a bit brighter, even through their intoxicated haze. "Then you don't know him very well, do you?"

"Look..." Deflecting the question, Austria pointed outside. Relief was evident in his voice. "The rain has stopped. I hope you can remember where you live."

"Er... Ah, well, that's... Hm." England looked so hopelessly confused, with his massive eyebrows knit together and lips pursed in concentration, that it was almost pitiable.

"Now you know how it feels." Roderich sighed. It seemed as though the night would still be long. At least it would end on a better note than it could have. "You work on that, I'll get the tab..."

"Rod'rich?"

"Oh, gut. You remembered?"

"Well, yes, but...thank you." The words were so quiet, Roderich could have missed them over the clinking glasses and humming din of the bar. But he didn't, and a small smile spread across his lips.

"Bitte sehr, Arthur."

Reluctant as he was to pay for all of Arthur's drinks, Austria was glad to have had such a conversation with England. Or at least, he was grateful for the outcome.

This certainly had given him much to tell Prussia when he arrived home...

.x.x.x.

Alfred wasn't doing anything important when he read about it.

He was sitting at his desk, with a bowl of cocoa crispies – snap, crackle, pop – and a great, big mug of coffee, doctored up with the dose of sugar and cream he loved.

The first spoonful of his breakfast was halfway to his mouth when he checked BBC, and saw the headline.

'England Legalizes Gay Marriage'

Those four words, in and of themselves, weren't overly shocking. Many nations were legalizing gay marriage in this day and age – Netherlands had been the first, followed by Belgium, Spain, Canada, Norway, Sweden, Denmark, New Zealand and Scotland, just to name a few. Even some of his own states had legalized same-sex marriage or, at the very least, civil partnership. Alfred himself was all for it, having seen enough – having felt enough – to believe that love could not always be confined to rigid views. But, like with many other issues, his citizens were divided over the issue, and he could not legalize it as a whole.

But apparently Arthur could. Could it be that Arthur was gay? Arthur, who was always so careful, so quiet these days. Arthur, who showed how bold he truly was in actions like these. Arthur, who was passionate, clever and wise, Arthur who had sat with him on the couch just a couple of weeks ago, laughing and smiling and...

And leaving.

Leaving abruptly, refusing to look Alfred in the eye. Alfred could remember now, the way the green-eyed man's voice had been strained – the careful tone he used when he was trying not to let any emotion show. Alfred could remember what Arthur had said.

"America, do you know what the other nations say about us?"

And he hadn't realized, then, what that meant – just how it was meant.

"Man, I don't think that would ever fly."

He'd been caught off guard, he had been – and the hero in him hated to admit it – scared.

"Oh, shoot."

The spoon fell from his slackened grip, plopping back into the bowl and splattering his glasses with milk.

America the nation couldn't properly legalize gay marriage. Especially not as an excuse to be with the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.

Regardless of that, Alfred the young man had liked his friend Arthur for long time now. Somewhere along the line, he had put aside his hopes of catching the prickly Brit in his arms that way, had realized that it would not be an easy feat to even try.

But Alfred had to try. What on earth had he been thinking? Heroes didn't give up so easily!

Especially not on people they loved.

"Fucking limey." Tony piped up, observing the laptop screen from over Alfred's shoulder.

"Yeah, that's him." America murmured, tearing his eyes away from the headline and wiping his glasses and face off. "It's time I paid him another visit, huh, dude? But first, I've got to get something..."

He should have done it sooner. He only hoped Arthur would be happy to see him, or would at least let him explain. He'd find a way!

.x.x.x.

"Ich bin zuhause." Austria announced as he let himself in, taking off his gloves.

"You're late!" A voice called back from the sitting room.

"Ja, I -"

"Don't say you got lost again." Prussia groaned, sitting up straighter on the sofa.

"Then I won't... Gilbert..." Pausing in surprise, Roderich stared incredulously. "Are you reading?"

The man in question snorted. "You act like it's shocking! Of course the Awesome Me can read! When there's something worth reading, of course..."

"Oh? What is so fascinating to have caught your interest, then?" Roderich set his bags aside, going to flop – in a dignified manner of course – beside his housemate on the sofa. It had been a few months since Gilbert had moved in with him, at the pleading of Ludwig. The situation suited them surprisingly well. Gilbert had settled down somewhat in these recent days, while Roderich had loosened up just enough to make their arrangement work. They had each found the presence of the other tolerable, and, in recent days...far more than that.

Throughout the years, they had always carried passion in their hearts for one another. Somewhere along the line, the thick armor of hate had been stripped away. In its place, there was an emotion even more powerful, an intense bond neither had the power to challenge any longer.

Somehow, they orbited around each other – and gravitated toward one another, as well. Even after Prussia had lost his status as a nation, Roderich and Gilbert had not lost their strange and compelling connection to one another. If anything, it had only strengthened and blossomed into something they could both accept, and even embrace.

Now, a smirk played about Roderich's lips as he swiped one of the papers from the albino man. He only needed to glance at the first line to see what it was. "Gilbert, why are you reading the sheet music to my newest composition?"

"What's it to you? Maybe I was bored."

"Gilbert..." Austria sighed, leaning on the man in equal parts exhaustion and beseeching. "Tell me why you are leafing through my music – I hope you kept those in order, you know that I -"

"Ja, ja, you hate to have them out of order. They're all together," he took the paper back from the bespectacled man, replacing it in the stack. "So keep your corset on."

"I don't wear corsets anymore -" Austria began.

"I've been meaning to ask you about that, by the way. Why did you stop, liebling?"

"Gilbert!" Flushing in frustration and a hint of embarrassment, Roderich attempted a stern tone. "You will cease this changing of the subject right now and tell me why you're suddenly interested in my music."

"Alright! While you were gone, I thought I might as well do something different. So I decided to learn the chords to your new song... I thought we could make a duet version."

Roderich blinked, touched at the sentiment and the interest in his music. "That is...so thoughtful, I...danke. I would love that." He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of Gilbert's mouth. "You should come with me, next time."

"To dreary England? Hmph..." Prussia shook his head, but a faint flush was present on his face.

"It's not so bad, truthfully. Apart from the rain...and the food."

"I guess it is pretty nice, aside from that. How was Brows, anyway? Did you see him?"

"I happened to run into him..." The Austrian musician affirmed cagily.

"So you did get lost! Or was he drunk?"

Shifting his gaze away, Austria cringed slightly. "Well..."

"Both?!" Gilbert crowed in laughter. "Maybe I should have come with you!"

"See? It would have saved me some trouble. I had to deal with him by myself..." Sighing, Roderich curled further against the other man and the sofa, grateful to be back home. "Although, something tells me he'll be alright... Have you heard about his new law?"

"Of course. She told me." Grinning suddenly, the Prussian added, "Is that why you want me to go to England with you?"

"Gilbert!" Roderich admonished good-naturedly, slapping his knee lightly. "You already know the answer to that."

"I know, I know. No more marriages for you."

Guilt and remorse clouded over violet eyes. "I just... It's so difficult to - "

"Es ist Ordnung." Gilbert assured soothingly, stroking a lock of hair away from those eyes with careful, calloused fingers. He tactfully changed the subject. "I get it, Specs. It was only a joke, it's not like it changes how we feel, anyway. Now, about her..."

"Ah..." There was only one her whom they both spoke of so casually, and of course she would have been thrilled at the news. Probably even more thrilled than some of England's own citizens. "I should have guessed. Did she give you any trouble? Does she know about us?"

Gilbert stretched his arm over the back of the couch. When it came down to rest, fitted against Roderich's side instead, neither of them commented on it. "She suspects. But she suspects everyone, doesn't she?"

Austria chuckled. "Whenever and whomever suits her fancy."

"But she is right to suspect us now, isn't she?"

"Of course." Roderich agreed, frowning slightly. "You know I'm not ashamed of you, Gilbert."

That earned him a look.

"Alright, sometimes I am a little bit ashamed of you, when you get too drunk and do things that make me cringe, or insist on using a broom as a makeshift guitar." He amended, patting the man's cheek. "But what I meant was, does it bother you? That no one knows the truth about us?"

There was silence for a few moments, and Roderich wished he had thought to put on some music – he even preferred the harsh discord of those rock bands Gilbert liked so much compared to silence. He abhorred silence. But he felt too relaxed to do anything about it, and from his position he could not hear so much as feel Gilbert's heart beating.

That, he decided, was more than adequate enough.

"Nah..." Gilbert replied at last with a small shrug, idly trailing his fingertips across the dark-haired man's hip. "I'd rather keep you all to myself for now."

"Hm." Satisfied with the answer, Roderich closed his eyes briefly. "I always say they can use their imagination."

"I read it because I was curious, too."

"Curious?" Austria echoed, arching an eyebrow slightly.

"You express yourself through music. I thought that reading your compositions would be like reading you, in a way."

"That's a correct assumption..." Roderich's fingers clutched lightly at the material of the Prussian's shirt. "And what did you find out?"

"It was awesome. I mean, I haven't played music as much as you have, but that song is something special, Roddy. Whatever part of you it came from is beautiful. You're beautiful."

"I...I'm honored that you think so." Warmth spread through his chest, and Austria smiled suddenly. "You know, Gilbert..."

"Was?" He questioned.

"Did you notice that there was no title for the composition you were studying?"

"Ja... I figured you hadn't thought of one yet. I can see why. It would need a pretty good one."

"I figured it out on the plane back home, after my meeting with Arthur." Roderich looked up into vermillion-red eyes, tilting his head to whisper into the man's ear. "Liebe ist warten lohnt für."

Pulling back momentarily in surprise, Gilbert stared searchingly at the Austrian. "Love is worth waiting for?"

"Isn't it?" Roderich returned innocently, although his nerves were tingling with anticipation at Prussia's response. "Do you still want to make it a duet?"

He was unprepared for the swift kiss delivered to his lips, but it left him feeling relieved and overjoyed, and he returned it wholeheartedly.

"Hölle jawohl." The snowy-haired man smiled.

Minutes later, as Roderich dropped his head back against Gilbert's firm chest and shut his eyes, he mused that coming home had not felt this wonderful in such a long while.

Although it was with the last person Roderich had ever expected, love had never been more enthralling than this. It was like an entirely new melody, one he planned to explore and cherish fully. Time had brought them this miraculous love, and time would bring them much more, if they didn't lose sight of each other.

Resting contently against his lover, he felt a truly peaceful silence for the first time in decades.

He had someone else's heart as music to his ears.

.x.x.x.

Arthur was not happy to see Alfred.

He absolutely was not. It didn't matter that his heart seemed to be performing fluttery somersaults inside his chest, or that his cheeks flushed upon seeing those ocean-blue eyes gazing at him intently. It didn't matter that the man appeared to have dressed in his best suit to come and visit him out of the blue, and with...dear heavens...were those roses in his hand?

Arthur was not getting his hopes up; he was not. Alfred could be bringing him red roses because he knew they were his national flower. Yes, that must be it. Only, Alfred had never sought to indulge his patriotism before. He was always too absorbed in his own, after all...

...but he did know as well as anyone else what red roses meant in the language of flowers.

"What on earth are you doing here at this hour?" His bewildered tone cut through the shock and heaviness of the silence between them, Arthur standing in the doorway wearing a faded cotton shirt and sleep trousers, ready for bed, and Alfred pressing in upon him from outside, dressed as if he were attempting to give Bond himself a run for his money. (Well, the suit was a bit wrinkled from the plane ride, but Arthur generously concluded that it was the intentions which counted. Although, that tie could use some help. Honestly, centuries of wearing formal attire and the man still couldn't manage a tie! Not that it took away from the appeal of the look as a whole, but come now... )

"Arthur?" Alfred blinked, seeming lost for a moment. "You look... Have you been drinking?"

"Hm? Ah, no. Not today." England answered, eyebrows furrowing as he forced himself to focus on something other than the way Alfred was wearing his suit. "Why do you ask...?"

"Oh, good!" Visibly brightening up, America straightened his shoulders. "Well, here, I brought these for you." He offered the bouquet to the shorter man, along with a smile that, although not as blinding as usual, was no less sincere.

"It was tough to find a florist open this late. I'm sorry for the time, but congratulations on the new law. I came as soon as I could." It wasn't far from the truth. Alfred had actually spent several hours worrying, pacing, and second-guessing himself before boarding a last-minute flight, but Arthur didn't need to know that. It was better that Arthur saw him as a swift and fearless hero!

"Well, thank you, Alfred." England murmured, bemused and befuddled. "That's very kind of you. I'm sorry," he added, willing to say anything to diffuse the surreal tension of the moment. "If I had known you were coming, and dressed so spiffy to boot, I could have made tea and scones or something, I'm afraid I was caught unprepared and -"

"Arthur, man. Stop." America cut him off gently. "May I please just come in?"

Eyebrows raised in surprise, Arthur nodded. He couldn't remember the last time Alfred had said 'may I' for anything. "Yes. Yes, of course, come in..."

As soon as the door had been closed behind them, Alfred reached out to take Arthur's elbow. He steered them to the sofa and sat them down upon it.

"Alfred? I really should put these in water before they wilt. What's the meaning of all of this?" England questioned, carefully setting the bouquet in his lap. His eyes narrowed minutely as a possibility occurred to him. "You're not in any sort of trouble, are you? Is it another nation?"

"I think it might be." The taller blonde admitted with a sigh.

"I knew it!" Athur's expression darkened, hands balling into fists at the thought of a threat to the younger nation. "Well, who are they?"

"It's you! England... Arthur, I'm the one who's sorry, okay?" America's tone was serious, lower than usual, and his azul eyes bore into England's own with a smoldering intensity. The island nation could not help but be drawn in – indeed, it was taking all the self-control he possessed not to lose himself in them entirely.

"Alfred, I don't know what this is about..." He began, but the younger nation placed a warm hand over his own.

"Yes, you do. You've known for longer than I have. I wasn't thinking clearly, when you tried to tell me. I didn't realize...didn't want want to let myself hope that much."

Arthur parted his lips in shock, realizing with a decided sense of horror that he was getting what he'd wanted – America had caught on. What was he getting at, now? A spark of yearning ignited into a heated blaze within his weathered heart, along with a niggling stab of dread. He didn't know what he would do if his feelings were trampled upon again. There was only so much that even he could withstand.

"Please..." He heard himself whisper, reverently, wretchedly. "Please don't say things you don't mean. Alfred, I know you're young, but I can't take this..."

"It's not like that, I promise!" Alfred watched his friend, taking in his widened eyes, so impossibly green and full of vulnerability. It felt strange, even wrong, to see Arthur like this. Arthur was always confident, or at the very least, furiously defensive. He never looked this small, so easily malleable in America's hands, so fragile beneath his gaze.

There was one other time America had seen his friend this way, but he would not bring himself to think about that now. Even so, it was admittedly fascinating.

Had Alfred always been able to make him this way?

"Don't you see, Arthur? I realize what you were trying to tell me now. I'm sorry that I wasn't clearer... I wasn't sure, and I was cowardly..."

England shook his head. "No, Alfred, it's fine. You don't have to -"

"It's not fine! I love you, too!" Alfred blurted out.

For England, the wold seemed to stop again. Their surroundings faded away into unimportance, and even his own body felt frozen in place.

"Wh-what?" He choked out, quite eloquently.

"I love you." America repeated. "You've been trying to tell me that you love me – that you really love me, haven't you? When I saw the new law you'd passed, it all came together. I had been trying to deny it to myself before. Arthur, I didn't mean to hurt you. I was just scared. Scared of my own feelings, and yours, and what would happen if we did try to...to be more. You know?"

Oh, Arthur knew. He knew.

"I didn't know what to do!" Alfred continued, a resolute edge suddenly entering his expression. "But now I do know what to do."

He stood up decisively, stepping over to kneel in front of the green-eyed man. "Arthur, you're my best friend. But I love you as more than that. And I know that you love me a whole lot, too – even when you're grumpy or drunk out of your skull. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you before. I came here to set the record straight, m'kay?"

Arthur was beyond speechless. He felt himself managing a tiny nod in return, even as his chest felt so tight he feared it might explode. In some vague recess of his mind, he wondered if this was merely a dream, or perhaps even a drunken hallucination brought on by whatever amount of alcohol remained in his system from the other night's woeful trip to the bar. He would no doubt return to cruel reality at some point.

And yet, Alfred was still there; kneeling in front of him with an earnest face and words almost frantic in the sheerness of their sincerity.

"So, I'm sorry, but the United States of America can't officially be with the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, for reasons we both know."

Arthur supposed he should have felt his heart sink at those words, but instead he watched with some electrifying feeling akin to awe as Alfred drew a small, black velvet box from his inside breast pocket.

"But since I love you, and you love me, we don't have to be alone. I think Alfred F. Jones and Arthur Kirkland could have a good thing going. We don't have to tell the whole world just yet, or do anything crazy, but..."

Alfred flipped the box open, revealing an intricate ring comprising of two ruby, diamond and sapphire circles, carefully entwined around each other.

Red, white and blue.

These were the colors which had always defined them.

The gemstones glinted just slightly in the faint rays of moonlight streaming through the window, twinkling and striking and so very natural all at once, as Alfred presented the ring to the green-eyed man.

In that moment, it seemed as though they were seeing each other – truly seeing each other – for the first time. A tidal wave of clarity washed over them both, dispersing any lingering doubts and pains, and flooding their fears away.

"Arthur Kirkland, will you promise to marry me someday?"

Conviction and certainty were all that was left, along with the insurmountable joy that whatever they were, whatever this was, whatever the others said about them...they would never be alone again.

"Y-yes... Yes, yes!" Arthur pulled that beautiful golden-haired man into his arms, saw the sky in his eyes and held him close. He felt Alfred kiss the tears from his cheeks and slip the ring on his finger, felt the cool metallic band and the rush of warmth and the weight of his most important person in the world resting in his arms, and he could wish for no more.

"You foolish, wonderful man..."

It was all that he'd been waiting for.

"I'd like that."

It was all he'd ever wanted.

.x.x.x.

...That these things take forever;

I especially am slow.

But I realized that I need you,

And I wondered if I could come home.

x.x.x.

My inspiration for this oneshot was partially from true events, as well as the song "First Day of My Life" by Bright Eyes (the verses in italics at beginning and end, as well as the title, are from the song). I swear, it has USUK woven into its very chords! 3

Congratulations to England and Wales for legalizing gay marriage! It is a tremendous step forward in overcoming prejudice. This tribute was a bit late, but...I truly am glad and proud for everyone involved.

Love is never easy, no matter what kind. But it is always worth it – even through fear, pain, misunderstandings, even through loss. True, honest love should never be regretted.

Think of all the people who love you, and think of the people you love. Treasure these people. Treat them well, and let them know how much they mean, in small ways, every day.

Love is the greatest gift a human being can ever give or receive.

You, dear reader, are loved. I promise. :3

German Translations:

"Ja" - Yes

"Danke" - Thank you

"Gut" - Good

"Bitte sehr." - You're welcome/There you go.

"Ich bin zuhause." - I'm home.

"Liebling" - Darling

"Es ist Ordnung." - It's okay/It's alright.

"Hölle jawohl." - Hell yes.

Thanks for reading~ ^^