A/N~ I am so sorry for the lack of updates; I have had so much going on recently... My grandpa died, my sister had to go to a mental health facility, my best friend is leaving, and my doctor seems to think I might be depressed. Winter break starts soon, so I'll be writing more often and I'll try to update more.

Disclaimer~ I don't own Hetalia. The only things I own are my OCs and my train of thought (neither of which are very important).

Peter Pendragon

London, England

April 23rd, 2164

Just apologize, Peter, it is his birthday, after all; you owe him an apology and today is the best day to give it to him, I thought, hesitating before deciding to knock on the door. I hated this. He hated me again. It's like what happened with him and America the first time, only he never cared for me like he did for America. It hurt me that I had hurt him, but I needed to apologize and make him understand that it hurt me to hurt him, because I love him.

...I had no chance. No chance whatsoever.

He loved AMERICA not ME.

No chance.

Never any mercy for a sinner, I suppose, though.

It was my own fault for not telling him.

I may have loved him, but he never knew, because I never told him.

It was my own fault that I became a tyrant.

It was my own fault that I had hurt him.

It was my own fault that I had no chance.

It was my own fault that I lost to America before I even started.

All because I never told him.

I heard someone moving inside, and I abruptly turned to leave; I couldn't apologize. If I tried, I would have to explain how I felt and I... I just couldn't.

I couldn't tell him.

America already had him for sure, anyway; I had already screwed up any chances I may or may not have had by doing what I had done. Overworking him- beating him- it was all a twisted way to show him that I was the strong one and I would take care of him; I had snapped while trying to show him that I was strong enough to have him to myself. I was such a fool.

I ran from his house as fast as I could, only aware of the soles of my shoes hitting the ground from the sound pounding in my ears. I laughed at myself inside my mind; You're just like he is! a sharp bark-like sound escaped my mouth, half a laugh, half a sob, You love him but you won't tell him, just like how he was with America!

I can't tell him anything. I'm just like him.

We look the same, we talk the same, we even act the same.

We're just the same.

Always have been, always will be.

Maybe that was why he never noticed when I started pulling the tsundere act like he normally does; he's been doing it for so long that he doesn't even notice when he acts all lovey-dovey over America. He probably just saw it as me lashing out at him, finally trying to grow up.

That wasn't what it was, but he would never know.

He would never know, because I would never work up the courage to tell him.

I looked around, wondering how I had gotten to where I was. It was obviously America, seeing as the skies weren't foggy and it was warm (if not hot; bloody hell, if this wasn't hot, I didn't have any idea what hot was). Everything around was perfect, one of those neat little suburbs that I had heard about when I was younger; each house was identical to the next one and the last one.

All except for one.

I stared at the house, wondering why this house was so...

...it looked more perfect than perfect.

Like someone had put everything they had into this house.

And yet, it also looked run-down.

Like that person had died... or, that the person had nothing left to give.

"Ah... why am I thinking such dark thoughts..." I sighed.

Because you can't tell him how you feel. Everything seems dark if you can't make anything better.

~Until I Changed~

I felt stupid. Looking for someone in a house that was quite clearly empty. I could hear doxies in the back garden, which was proof that no one was living there; humans would just suddenly move out if a doxie colony moved in and Nations never let doxies have a chance to move in. There was no one here, and yet I looked anyway.

"Hello?" I called, looking around curiously, seeing numerous photos of children hanging on the walls and sitting on tabletops. Every single child had blue or green eyes, every child had dark or light blond hair. Every single one had America's smile.

I knocked one off of a counter- half by accident, half on purpose -and smirked a bit when I heard the glass of the frame shatter. Passive aggressive. I was being passive aggressive. Knocking over the likeness of the rival who won without even trying.

I laughed again, preparing to knock over another until I heard the sound of footsteps. Light footsteps, the sound of pads touching the ground. Someone walking barefoot then.

"...who's there...?" it was a familiar voice, but I couldn't tell from when. It sounded almost like a mix of America's loud and confident tone and Canada's soft and shy one; like America's only normal.

I stared when I saw the person walk out of the shadows; he looked nearly identical to America, only the sky blue eyes that England loved so much were a dull greenish brown. "Who are you and why the bloody hell do you look like America?" I shrieked.

He stared at me for a moment, then spoke softly and slowly, "I'm Will. Formerly known as Texarkana. Before that I was the Confederate States of America."

That explained why he looked so much like America; to a point he /was/ America, or at least part of him. "I'm Sealand," I noticed him looking at the photo on the ground and felt compelled to apologize for breaking it. "Ah, sorry... I accidentally broke it..."

"It's fine. She's long gone now... if I recall correctly, that one was... Sofie." He didn't look even a little upset over the broken frame, but he seemed... strange. Someone who'd been alone for too long, perhaps.

"Ah, I'll just leave, then..." I said, starting to leave.

"Wait. You're the one who took over England, right...?"

I nodded hesitantly.

"...ah... I heard about his crush on America... "

I froze here, "What about it...?"

"...he'd best be careful. America is not so innocent as he pretends to be."

A strange smile... like a rotting Jack O' Lantern.

"You should leave now... I have cleaning to do before they get here..."

I walked out of the house, more confused than I had been before I got there.

But, then, suddenly... I got it.

There were five pictures that held the same two people, one was America... and the other was this mysterious 'Will'. All five were wedding photos.

I took off running, laughing a bit at the prospect of making England hate America more than he already hated me.

A/N~ Et Voila, C'est Le Petit Confédéré. Well... kind of. He seems broken, yes? America broke him long before the start of the story, but that's a different story, with no guarantee of ever being posted.

Reviews make me type faster, so review away (flames are welcome, criticism is wanted, and motivation is needed).