One missed meeting lead to many absences, from both ends. The assistants might as well have been countries in their places because England nor America were attending a World Meeting for the longest time. I f the other countries could get in touch with either of them, they'd tell both blonds they were being ridiculous and childish for not confronting one another, again if they could get in touch with either of them.

England was waiting for America to swoop in like the shining knight he envisioned him to be lately, but didn't want to seem desperate for him to come back (although he had become increasingly more desperate with each day that passed) America was doing the exact same, waiting for England to burst through his door begging for forgiveness like they did in the movies. At least England was actually going to work, never mind how hard it got to keep his inevitable fantasies to himself.

Through the course of his absence, America had accumulated quite the scruff under his chin. He didn't have to shave, he didn't have to wear a uncomfortable suit, and he didn't have to leave his house if he didn't want to. All his work was faxed to him or brought by an assistant. Understandably his home had become a literal sty to live in.

He'd be determined no matter how much he wanted to see England come through his door, his resolve was to be furious at him for the rest of time. No matter how much he pleaded for America's forgiveness, he'd never be granted it. Nothing he could do would ever excuse England for breaking his heart like that. Not only breaking his heart, embarrassing him to thinking that they actually had a chance to be happy together but crumbling it up in his hands and tossing it over his shoulder.

Despite those thoughts, sometimes late at night he would think about the amazing month they'd spent together. He'd think about what would've happened if England actually said yes. Of course those thoughts made him fall asleep with tears staining his cheeks. He'd wish for England to be there holding him while he cried like he did when America was younger. It made him cry more to believe that he was hurting so badly over England and England probably couldn't care less over in his own country.

When, in contrast, it was the exact opposite for England. The whole debacle hurt him just as much as it hurt America, if not more. He'd spend his nights on his terrace staring out at the darkened sky to see if any airplanes would be flying past, hoping America was on one of them. Unfortunately, the night was clear as America's beautiful eyes. He wanted nothing more than to just see those eyes again. To see them peering into his own one more time, what he wouldn't give.

"I quit." England said.

"You what?!" his boss asked as if he didn't just say that.

"I quit." England repeated, shrugging, "I can't stand being this miserable and knowing I'm making America miserable. As long as he know there's a possibility of me showing up at a meeting, he's not going to go to one, I don't want to be the reason he's been missing so many meetings. It's just better for me not to be there anymore."

"You can't quit, how do you quit from being a country?" he asked.

England shrugged off to the side, "I don't know. I'll keep working until you figure out a way, but I just don't want it anymore." He started walking away but stopped as his boss kept talking.

"You're going to give up the greatest honor because your boyfriend is mad at you?"

England peeked over his shoulder, "He's my husband, first of all. Second, I'm sure I'm replaceable." He walked out.

England's boss sat there at his desk in shock. He leaned back into his chair with a hand over his temple for a long moment before he decided to do something about it. He dialed the number of America's boss, maybe that man would be able to knock some sense into the adolescent. He held the phone against his cheek and waited after the dialing tone rang for five rings. "Hello?" a voice said, very groggy.

"Handle your damn country!" England's boss exclaimed.

"Richard? Is that you? What the hell? It's like one in the morning!"

"I don't care. Tell America to get over this damn high school break up and start acting like a fuckin' adult!"

"You think I haven't tried? He's not answering his phone and unless it isn't work related, he throws away all his faxes."

"Well, you better fuckin' do something about it, because England says he wants to quit being a country because America hates him."

"What? Can he do that?"

"Apparently he thinks I can."

"Wow, I… I'll see what I can do but no promises."

"Fine, go back to sleep, sorry to disturb you."

"It's alright." America's boss hung up on the call with England's boss and tried calling America himself. With no luck because America, while he was still awake watching late night television, was adamant on not answering the phone. Tomorrow (or today) he was settling on just turning it off all together.

"China?"

"Shi de."

"Russia?"

"Da."

"Italy?"

"Pasta~!"

"France?"

"Oui."

"America?"

"Uh, Mr. America still doesn't want to attend these meetings." The American sit in for America said. Germany's temper with those to almost had reached the boiling point.

"Ugh, fine," Germany said and continued his checklist, "England?"

The doors opened and a rushed Brit entered in a huff, "Sorry, Mr. England gave short notice that he wouldn't be here this morning." He explained and sat at Britain's reserved seat.

"That is it!" Germany exploded, "These two have been acting like kindergartenkinder for too long! Someone has to snap some sense into them. Just because you can't stand somebody doesn't mean you can avoid important meetings just to avoid them!"

"Mr. Germany, please calm down." The assistant tried, "Apparently, this'll all be over with soon, according to Mr. England's boss."

"What do you mean?" Germany asked him, the room grew stone-silent in order to hear this man's words.

The man cleared his throat before continuing, "Mr. England… plans to quit his job as a country." They all looked to the Brit in complete shock to hear those words. How could he just quit being a country? Why does he want to quit? Questions such as these scrolled through their brains.

The quiet lasted too long, the only one to break it was Italy, "Why would he want to do something like that?"

"I don't know the reason, that's just what my boss told me. As far as I know, it's for personal reasons."

"Well, someone has to go talk to him." China spoke up.

"We shouldn't get involved in his personal affairs." Switzerland pounded his fist. Of course, not even on a subject such as this can the countries agree.

"We can't just let him stop being a country anymore!" Italy said.

"If they want to be children and act like this, then the repercussions are their fault." Austria said.

"But England's been a country for so long and he's really good at it! We have to sap it out of him." Hungary objected.

At that point, everyone's discussion overlapped with each other's, no one argument was hear over the other. The room was overcome with shouting, hand gestures, and debates. One country stood and left, hopefully remedying the situation.

Hours later, a knock came to America's door. The dirty blond had reluctantly gotten up to open it, though he was not in the mood for guests, but it might have been a representative telling him what work needed to be done. Unexpectedly, it was France, who had a dark scowl on his face. "Oh hey France, what do you want?" America asked halfheartedly.

"What do I want? Well, it's not just me, it's every nation's wants. We all want you and England to quit this stupid feud at once." France answered, stepping into the America's house, instantly noticing how filthy he was living. If he wasn't here on a mission, he'd gag a long time ago.

"What did I do? He's the one that lead me on the whole month, making me think that we could actually be something, and then just dropped me as soon as our month was up. Go give this speech to him." America closed the door and went to the couch.

France walked in front of his sulking figure, "You think he's just going to stay with you forever? He was away from work for an entire month, America! He had to go home sometime!"

America looked to the ground, he hadn't thought about that, "Well, now he's home, everybody's happy. And he can stay there as long as he wants for all I care."

"You don't mean that, Amerique." France spoke softly, "Do you still love him?"

America crossed his arms and looked away, "No." he said bluntly.

"So, you wouldn't care if I told you that he's planning on quitting?" France tempted.

"Quitting what?" America asked.

"Quitting his job."

"His job is being a country, how's he gonna quit that?" America finally looked to France but with skepticism in his expression

"Je pais," France shrugged, "That's just what he plans to do, so says his assistant."

"But if he's not a country anymore, then he'll be just like everyone else. He'll keep aging like a normal person and- and-"

"Die." France interrupted.

"Yeah, he'll die. Why would he want to do that?!" America frantically asked.

"Apparently he said that it's so you can go back to work. If he's gone you can go to the meetings once again." France explained.

"He's just going to quit because of me?!" Alfred stood.

"I though you didn't care." France said.

"I don't," Alfred defended, "I mean, of course I care… he was my husband for a month. I don't care. Whatever he want to do with his life isn't my concern anymore." Alfred crossed his arms once again.

France placed a hand on his shoulder gently and looked sympathetic. "America, just put aside your pride and admit you don't want him to do this to himself."

America looked to France skeptically again. Thoughts ran through his head as he contemplated actually doing what France asked. The silence that the Frenchman was giving didn't help Alfred keep his stoic mindset. The young nation finally gave in to the silence. "I've gotta go talk to him."

"And tell him what?" France insisted.

"And tell him that he shouldn't throw away his life just for me." America answered.

"And…?"

"And that his plan is stupid."

"And…?"

"And… and that I love him. And I don't want him to die way before I do."

"Garçon bon."

A loud knock came out of the front door, along with multiple doorbell rings. The first one made England wake and get up from his bed, the other 40 times were unnecessary. That didn't stop him from opening the door and asking politely (and drowsily) who it was at this hour. Much to his surprise, it was America who was soaking wet from the London rain, his breathing was absolutely ragged. "America, what're you doing here?" England didn't get a verbal response, but instead was kissed deeply. The shock that America just waltzed his way in his house without a word and kissed him sent England's head spinning. After the initial shock of what was going on set in, England closed his eyes and opened his mouth for America to enter his tongue into America pulled him in close and gripped the back of his head, England could feel the coldness of his wet leather jacket but the warmness of his chest. Just as England started melting into the kiss, it stopped, with him still high as a kite. He barely noticed that he was gripping onto America's cold jacket for dear life. He finally opened his eyes to America's aquamarine gems, "What are you doing here, America?" he said, breathing heavily and overall trying to be closer to the taller nation.

"I can't let you give up your job, England." He responded after so long, smoothing his hand over England's cheek

"How did you know I was quitting?" England pushed back the slightest to question him.

"'Cuz this is a dream." America said.

"What?" England asked, but America wasn't making the situation any better.

"I love you England." The fake America stated. At this point, England started pushing him away because he wasn't the real thing. If it wasn't the real America, he didn't want anything to do with it. But this ephemeral America wouldn't loosen his grip at all, he just held on tighter and tighter. England felt like he couldn't breathe, being smothered by America while he repeated his love to England.

"Let me go!" England struggled. He screamed loudly, but it felt like no one could hear him.

He finally shot up to a 90 degree angle when he woke up, breathing heavily and drenched in sweat. He swept the droplets from his brow and then gripped his chest where his heart rested. After he exhaled and calmed down, he heard his doorbell ring. He climbed out of bed and went to investigate.

When he asked who it was this time, finding out that it was America behind the door he was cautious for this to be yet another dream.

"England, come one! Let me in! It's like pouring out here!" America shouted from the other side of the door. The statement didn't help England's suspicions at all, but nevertheless he decided to open the door. As soon as America saw that the door had opened, he rushed in and hugged England in a tight squeeze. This time, England definitely knew it was another dream.

England pushed 'America' away as far as he could (after closing the door of course). "Get off of me!"

"Why'd you push me?!" America asked.

"I may have fallen for it once, but not the second time!" England responded, determined to not be the victim of his own dream.

"What're you talking about 'a second time'?" America was clearly confused. England's silence showed his answer was still the same. "I didn't just get on a plane and fly 12 hours just to get pushed, England." Now England was the one who was confused.

"…Really?" England asked after a long pause.

"Yes. I'm extremely tired, my back hurts, but I had to come over and tell you not to quit your job." America explained.

Britain looked back and forth between America's eyes to seek sincerity. "How did you know I was thinking about quitting?" he still seemed skeptical.

"France told me." America said.

"Then how did France know?" England asked.

"I dunno know." America furrowed his brow and shrugged. "But apparently everyone's freaking out. Everybody's worried."

England crossed his arms and looked to America, "Even you?"

America breathed in and out a couple of times before he answered. It was this time that he realized there was no more of being stubborn. "Yeah… I wouldn't have taken a plane in the middle of the night if I didn't care." He paused for what seemed like the longest time, "I love you, England." He came closer and rested his hands on England's arms before bringing him closer into a hug (which England clung to his back and craned his head in deeper into America's chest) "Please don't leave." America whispered softly into bright blonde hair, "I wouldn't know what to do with myself if you did."

"I'm so sorry, America." England said in his chest, America could feel his shirt getting wetter than it was already. Though his shirt was cold and wet, England felt the comforting warmth of America's skin and it made him feel like he belonged there, like he was a puzzle piece that found his perfect fit. He looked up to America's eyes, blurred due to his own wetness, "I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused you."

America swiped the bangs from England's eyes and behind his ear, "Shh, it doesn't matter anymore." A long pause came once again to the room, this time coming from Alfred leaning into England's lips and taking them, claiming them as his own. He tasted the salty tears that had fallen on England's lips, though it was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted he would not relinquish those perfect lips. If allowed, he'd keep those lips locked to his for the rest of their lives and even beyond that. Unfortunately, he could tell England was losing breath quickly and he surrendered the Brit's lips slowly with the last few pecks he could give. England laughed to himself softly while he wiped his eyes.

"I must look ridiculous, crying at my age." He shook his head. America smiled and found that he couldn't ease his cheeks from it, even if he wanted to. He chuckled that it was okay and smoothed his hand through England's hair. England sniffed the last bit of snot from his nose with a smile, "Let's get you some dry clothes, huh? I probably don't have anything your size, but if you want to take a shower I can wash these." He offered.

"Thanks, I really need one." He chuckled once more and released England, allowing him to lead him to the shower room. "You know what? A bubble bath sounds great right now."

"That's fine, I'll fix you one." England responded. It reminded him of when America was little asking for bubble baths and skipping behind him all those years ago. Once in the bathroom, England released America's hand and leaned over the porcelain tub to turn on the hot water. He rolled his sleeve up to feel the temperature of the water was not scalding and not freezing, when he dubbed it the correct temperature, he inserted the plug for the tub to fill an adequate amount and then proceeded to pour in the solution for the bubbles. "That should do it, America." He stood up straight and turned around to America completely naked and waiting on England. The now scarlet Brit covered his eyes and shouted, "Bloody hell, America! Cover up at least a little, would you?!"

"Wh-what's the problem? Why are you freaking out?!" America obliviously asked.

"How am I supposed to act normally when you're completely naked?!" England protested.

"England, you've seen it before." America rolled his eyes. "I've been inside you… twice." He shrugged.

"That doesn't make a difference! Just get in the tub for Christ's sake!" England said, while still shielding his eyes.

America snickered, "England, you're so weird." He stepped forward to give a slight peck on England's forehead and then carefully settle himself in the bath tub.

England made his way to America's dirty clothes and picked each article up, "I'll go wash these." He quickly scurried out of the room. Leaving America to chuckle to himself about how adorable he found England to be. When he returned, he pulled up a small chair to sit next to America while he bathed. "I really am sorry about causing you all this trouble, America." He apologized.

"Don't worry about it, it's my fault anyway. I was acting really childish about all of this." America assured England. The room grew silent for a few seconds according to neither of them having anything to say to the other. Well, there was plenty of what they wanted to say, but neither would come to say any of it. It wasn't until America broke the silence that they noticed it was so fragile, "What was your letter about?" he asked.

"What?" England said.

"Your letter, a couple of months back you gave my assistant a letter to give to me. I was… being stubborn and kinda… tore it up. I never got to read it." America explained. "What was it about?"

"Nothing important." England shrugged, "It just said that I needed to talk to you." He said slowly.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" America looked back to him with his gorgeous eyes.

"… uh, nothing." England avoided.

"Tell me!" America insisted like a child.

"Really, it was nothing." England remembered the last few lines of the letter in vivid detail, I'm in love with you. How that was so easy to write but so difficult to actually say. England grew red again from just imagining it. His bangs covered his eyes when he looked to his lap.

"C'mon, tell me!" America insisted again.

"You don't need to know, if you didn't read it the first time, it doesn't matter." England averted yet again.

America leaned over the bath tub's edge and rubbed his hand against England's thigh, "You know I'm gonna have to get it out of you somehow," he said with a devilish grin, his hand slid up to dangerously close to England's inner lap. England flinched and saw the (extremely) seductive look in America's eyes. He seemed to be leaning up towards England and the Brit, being ever so captivated, was being drawn closer and closer to them. He leaned so close their lips were slightly touching just not yet. England let himself get swept away and fluttered his eyes closed. He heard the washing machine's obnoxious buzz to tear them apart. England snapped out of America's spell and looked to the door.

"I've got to get that." He said and started to stand up.

America grabbed his wrist to bring him back under his spell, "No you don't, just let it sit there for a while."

England gave a reassuring smile, "I'll be right back." And he left, against his will, to tend to the laundry. Whilst transferring the dampened clothing to the dryer, England thought to himself. Man up, Britain. He can't just say he loves you and make you cry or make you blush like a little school girl or excite you with just a touch. Get your nerves in check and stop freaking out about every little thing he does. You can do this, you can take charge. With that thought, he pushed himself off of the machine and made a bee line to the bathroom. He had up beat, rock music playing in his head to help his determination. When he entered, he saw America finishing up tying a towel to his hip. When the chorus of the song of England's head approached, the Brit clutched the back of America's head and smashed his lips against the young American's. America, while he was definitely taken aback, just decided to let it happen and boy how he was glad he did. England, without hesitation, inserted his tongue into America's mouth and pushed him against the counter. His hands coursed through his wet hair like they had nowhere else to go while frantically clutching locks of hair between his clenched fingers. Hot breath made a steamy situation all the more steamier, if felt as if England were to touch his skin it would feel like a burn. When America finally felt to fight back, he thrusted England against the closest wall. That wasn't going to fly with England's new mindset, he retaliated with the same action towards America. These actions kept occurring as they made their way towards the bedroom, knocking off picture frames from the walls and tumbling decorative house plants that sat on small desks (those of which England would surely have to clean up later but right now it was worth it).

When they came to the master bedroom, England walked America to the edge of the bed, miraculously never freeing his lips, and gave him a good push for him to fall on the bed. America, feeling he wanted to make a chase out of this, backed all the way to the head board. He just watched as England almost literally became a cat of prey and slowly stalked his way on all fours until he got to America's hips with his eyes going almost beastial. It was quite obvious to both of them that they would not get much sleep tonight.

Alright, that was a lot of writing to make up for being gone for a hella long time. I usually write my chapters around three thousand ish words and this one's over four thousand. Merry Christmas/Happy New Year. I have a lot of stories that are half written that I want to finish my current stories until I post them. So I'm gonna leave it up to you guys to decide if you want one more chapter of this or if you're satisfied with this ending. I'm here to serve you.

Thank you for reading/favoriting/reviewing