Yes, I know. It's been a while since I've last updated. I had to study for the semester exams, multiple plot bunnies kept popping, and I just couldn't help but write them down, and the fact that I have S.A.D. as put me off this story for a while. Now that all of that's out of the way, I should be able to update this story more often. Can't wait till March finally arrives. Stories are always fun to right in the spring.

America awoke as light from the autumn's sun continued to shine through the bedroom window, and invade his closed eyes. Of course, he could've shielded himself from the sun's light with a blanket, but he didn't quite enjoy covering any part of his head with a thick overlay such as the one he currently had. America figured that since it already seemed to be late into the day, he would just wake up despite how tired he was. Light, if only it could be ignored as easily as almost every other visible object in the universe.

A rather cheery voice caused America to flinch, "Good morning mon cher. Did you sleep well?"

Of course, life always found a way to annoy the young nation. Especially when he was already in quite an exasperated state. America glanced over at France, who was holding a plate of food and a glass of orange juice. The American was not in the mood for any company, and the fact that food happened to be involved didn't help at all. France set down the breakfast on America's lap, and placed the orange juice down next to the alarm clock. After that, he glanced out the window and stated, "It's a nice day outside, non?"

America hummed his response, clearly not interested in the random statement as he glared at the food on his lap. France looked over at the younger nation, and inquired, "Is something wrong?"

"No," America answered, "Just a little tired."

France tried his best to sound encouraging, "Well, maybe that pancake will help you feel better. Matthieu cooked it, so I know it tastes good."

Reluctantly, America began to eat the pancake, knowing perfectly well he didn't have a choice no matter how much he resisted. France watched the American eat as he continued his attempt to create a conversation, "Well I was thinking that maybe the two of us could spend some time together today. Not in a romantic way since I know Angleterre wouldn't be okay with that. Unless of course that's what you want."

There was no doubt about it. The suggestion was by far the most embarrassing thing America had heard anyone say, but at least he was now paying attention to the conversation. Which happened to be France's only incentive at the moment. With a sigh of vexation, America explained, "France, I have no idea why you would even think of coming up with a suggesting like that, but it's obvious that I don't want to have anything to do with you romantically. Seriously dude, don't you ever think before you speak?"

"Don't take it personally," France laughed, "I was merely pulling your leg, and apparently it worked. Seeing as I now have your full attention."

Hope began to pluck at America internally as he suddenly blurted, "Wait, so does that mean that you're not going to spend the day with me?"

"Oh your words wound me," France remarked sarcastically, clearly not afflicted by America's rudeness, "Of course I'm going to be spending the day with you. England and Canada both decided that it'd be for the best, and besides, I've made some plans."

Oh boy. America rolled his eyes, and asked with absolutely no enthusiasm, "What type of plans do you have in mind? Nothing that involves eating a bunch of 'fancy' foods, right?"

"No," France replied, "but I do plan on taking you to a nice restaurant. Don't worry about it too much. I won't make you eat two large meals, or anything like that. I'm sure you'll have fun."

"Okay," America responded, losing his patience, "Seriously, are we going to do anything else besides eating?"

"Well of course," France's reply was perky, "We could go to a park, watch a movie, and maybe even go to the beach, since the weather outside is rather warm today. What would you like to do?"

At last, America gained some positive interest in the conversation, "The beach sounds like fun, but there aren't really any new movies that seem interesting."

Once America had finished guzzling his orange juice, he glanced down at his empty plate, and immediately began to feel queasy. The only thought that came up in his mind was, Did I really eat all of that? France seemed to take notice of the tensions building up within the younger nation, and asked, "Is everything alright?"

America nodded, "Yes, I just need to use the bathroom real quick."

Before France could say anything, America began to dash off towards the bathroom. Once he arrived to the safety of his destination, he quickly locked the door, and knelled down in front of the toilet. Sweat began to build up from all of the pressure, as the food he had just eaten began to weigh his stomach down. Oh god, he thought frantically, It's starting to feel like huge rock. I need to get this disgusting food out of me. America began to shove his index and middle finger down his throat. He began to retch, but nothing came out, so he tried shoving his fingers down his throat again. This time, making sure to go deeper. Suddenly, America felt someone grab both of his arms, in order to stop him from causing any damage to himself. The young nation turned to see who was restraining, only to discover France gazing at him with an unreadable expression. His tone was soft as he scolded, "Non Amerique, there will be none of that."

With a shocked expression, America inquired, "Um, how exactly did you manage to unlock the door so quickly, and without me noticing?"

There was a moment of silence before France finally smirked, "Trust me, you don't want to know."

"France," America began with slight annoyance, "This isn't what I think it is. Is it?"

"Well," France replied thoughtfully, "I do seem to have a specialty for bathroom and bedroom doors. Perhaps that's enough information to help you figure this out?"

At last, America managed to free his arms from France's grip as he retorted, "Oh my god France. Can't you go one hour without coming up with a perverted remark?"

"Yes, I could." France answered, "I just choose not to."

I think I'm starting to understand how England feels now. With a sigh. America tried to reason, "Look France, do you think you could lay off with trying to annoy me? You know I'm going through a hard time right now, so please try to act more civil."

"My apologies. I should've known better." France replied, then smiled as he stated, "I might sound old for saying this, but it surprises me how mature you've become over the past few years."

Upon hearing this compliment, America became silent. Never in his entire life had he been so confused. Thus began his internal consultation, Mature? How in the world did I become more mature? If anything, I think I've degraded in that skill. For crying out loud, I fell victim to a disorder that only teenaged girls are suppose to have. Not only that, but it feels like I have little control over most of my behaviors. I can't even control my own self-esteem, and aren't people my age supposed to be able to do that? France is obviously bluffing, there's no way a whiny freak like me could be mature. America could have continued the hurtful rant within his head, but decided to stop himself from losing it when he heard France say, "Come on now, let's get ready to go to the beach."

America trudged out of the water, shivering as a chill began to settle deep into his bones. However, the lack of heat the water seemed to provide wasn't the only reason he was shivering. His body was currently being exposed, which made him nervous as to what France might think of his figure. America continued to stare at his stomach in shame, and poked at the thin layers of fat that happened to be present. It was quite a bit to him, but everyone else would've thought his waist was too tiny. Just thin enough to make most people wish for him to gain some weight.

After a while of poking at the non existent fat, America suddenly dashed towards the stack of towels he brought along, and wrapped the largest one he could find around himself, in order to hide his 'flabby' frame. However, the embarrassment he felt refused to wane, but instead became worse when France decided to speak to him, "Amerique, what are you so worried about? I'm the only one who's with you on this beach, and if there were other stranger lingering around, they wouldn't pick on you for your appearance. I've already told you multiple times that you're a handsome nation, so what are you nervous about?"

America answered, "I just feel so bloated right now."

France sighed. He had given America the same lecture quite a few times now, and even when it did seem to work, it also somehow managed to become forgotten over the course of a few hours by the younger nation. Yet France still managed to keep his patience as he explained, "Your appearance should never determine whether you're worthy or not, especially as a nation. Everyone loves you for who you are, not what you look like."

America glared at France as he snapped, "I've heard that line so many times. Why can't you be more original?"

"You want original?" France questioned as if the whole conversation wasn't turning into an argument, "Well then, here's something that might urk some interest. Has it ever occurred to you that someone can be hated for being attractive?"

Well, I never really did think about it that way. America thought, and then inquired, "Are you talking about jealousy?"

"I guess, in a way," France mused, "but you can still like someone if your jealous of them. I'm talking about envying someone to the point where you'll do anything just to be better than them, and I mean anything."

America asked, "Don't you think that's a bit extreme?"

"Nations do it all the time," France shrugged, "The point is, there's always going to be someone who hates you, and someone who just can't live without you. That's just how life works."

"Okay, you've proved your point," America couldn't help but smile, "Now do you think you could return to being, as England would put it, a 'stupid frog'."

Relief littered France's face as he replied, "Gladly."

America set the towel on the ground, and sat down on it as he allowed the sun's rays to warm up, and dry off his soaked body. For the first the time in quite a while, America was not ashamed of his 'bloated' stomach, nor his 'flabby' arms. As much as the young nation hated to be lectured, no matter how much he hated the so called corny quotes everyone seemed to through at him, for once he felt as if they actually helped.