It was a blur, as he walked away from her. No tears, not much words, more shouting, as he burst out of the door. He walked past the gate, and looked back only once. Her chocolate hair unruly, marked by how many times she'd run through it with her fingers. Her eyes growing red with tears, her chin set determined not to cry in front of him. Her eyes said plenty. Anger, sadness, pain and hurt.

Am I better off dead? Am I better off quitter?

A few hours ago, he'd come to see the mess he'd made; it just unraveled and frayed to the point of everything falling apart. He knew how much of an idiot he was; how much he would lose when he looked back at her burgundy eyes.

They say I'm better off now, than I ever was with her.

He walked with his friends to the local bar, as they laughed and slapped him on the back. He nodded at the right moments, though in reality, he was trying his hardest to tune out their words, because he knew they were wrong.

As they take me to my local down the street, I'm smiling but I'm dying trying not to drag my feet.

It was hard to walk, against the cobblestones, over saw his reflected face. He tried to look up at the dim but starry sky; he couldn't stop hanging his head in shame.

They say a few drinks will help me to forget her, but after one too many, I know that I'm never.

His friends were trying to distract him; getting lost in conversation and the loud music. He could only hear her voice in his head. He stared into his glass of red wine, thinking of how much it reminded him of her eyes.

Only they can see where this is gonnna end, they all think I'm crazy but to me it's perfect sense.

He wondered where she would be now; what she was doing. By now, they should be having wine with the dinner she'd made for him, if he'd come home late, she would always smile and welcome him into her arms.

And my mates are all there, trying to calm me down, 'cause I'm shouting your name all over town.

He could feel his friends' arms dragging him back to the bar, away from the door, in a drunken stupor only one thing was clear, and he repeated her name over and over again.

I'm swearing if I go there now, I can change your mind turn it all around.

He could hear voices, telling him to calm down; like they knew what he was going through. But they didn't know how much he was losing.

I know that I'm drunk, but I'll say the words, and she'll listen this time, even though they're slurred; dialed her number and confessed to her.

He was thinking that he needed her; he didn't care whoever she was with. He managed to escape his friends and stumble outside and pulled out his phone from his pocket, dialing the number he knew by heart.
He knew what he was going to say.

I'm still in love, but all I heard was nothing.

It rang and rang, but no one was on the other end.

So I stumble there, along the railings and the fences. I know if I'm face to face, she'll come to her senses.

His world was spinning, he could barely stand up straight as he walked down the street, heavily leaning on the walls. He remembered even her fences clearly; black, metal, covered with ivy and vines. Everything was the wrong height, wrong kind, wrong plant, all ugly to him- they weren't hers.

Every drunk step and path leads me to her door. If she sees how much I'm hurting, she'll take me back for sure.

It was cold, but it didn't matter. He could barely stand, but he knew exactly where he was going - to her door. He would knock, and beg, and all he needed to do was see her face, and she'd understand.

And my mates are all there, trying to calm me down, 'cause I'm shouting your name all over town; I'm swearing if I go there now - I can change your mind, turn it all around.

He was alone, on the wet street, alone in his mind, alone outside, it was nighttime and doors and windows closed, lights off. He leaned heavily against a lamppost, a litany of promises and vows with her name on his lips.

I know that I'm drunk, but I'll say the words, and she'll listen this time even though they're slurred. So I dialed her number and confessed to her, I'm still in love, but all I heard was nothing.

He was lost without her. He knew - just knew, she was feeling the same. He may be drunk, but he loved her. Could not be without her. He called again, and he heard her pick up the phone.

She said nothing.

He could imagine her pulling back the tendrils of hair that escaped her loose chignon, and cradling the phone gingerly between her ear and her shoulder.

Oh, I wanted words, but all I heard was nothing.

A few more seconds, and he heard the click of the reciever as the line went dead.

Oh sometimes love's intoxicating.

He was drunk, he knew - and yet he'd found the way back to her door.

Oh, you're coming down, your hands are shaking.

He couldn't stand upright, he couldn't see straight or anything at all past needing her.

When you realise there's no one waiting.

Hers was the only house with the lights on; curtains down, rosebushes wet with dew. She would sit on the porch, and smile when she saw him.
She would leave the key under the doormat, and he would find her smiling in her sleep.

Am I better off dead
Am I better off quitter
They say I'm better off now, than I ever was with her.
And my mates are all there, trying to calm me down
'cause I'm shouting your name all over town.
I'm swearing if I go there now, I can change your mind and turn it all around.

He stumbled on her steps, shaking hands, falling against the door.

I know that I'm drunk, but I'll say the words,
And she'll listen this time, even though they're slurred

He whispered her name, beating on the door. Tears could fall from his eyes and he wouldn't notice. "I love you..."

I'm still in love, but all I heard
was nothing.

On the other side of the door, she pressed her ear close to the wood, listening to him.

She said nothing.

She sank against the door, her face red, her hands over her mouth to keep from making a sound, tears falling freely from her face.

I wanted words, but all I heard was nothing.
I got nothing.
Oh, I wanted words, but all I heard was nothing.
I got nothing.

"Please..."
She raised her fingers to where his were, separated only by the door, sobbing soundlessly, desperately wishing she could call to him, but her voice seemed lost.

Nothing.

Hope you liked it. This song reminds me so much of fem!France and England.

I want to dedicate this to Nicolette Bonnefoy, the awesomest France I've ever had the chance to meet with, and Artery Kickland. You know who you are.

Requests, whatnot. Hetalia does not belong to me. France and England don't belong to me. This song does not belong to me. Adieu.