Disclaimer: Not mine


"What's your name?"

"Dun have one…what's yours?"

"Arthur. Arthur Kirkland."
"Arthur…heh heh, that's a nice name!"
"You think so?"


"Well how about we call you… 'Alfred'?"


With such a tumultuous past, they should have been the worst of enemies. They shouldn't have gravitated towards each other like they did. It was inexplicable.


Except, maybe…

"Yeah, Artie?"

It might be…

"I-I love you."


From the day they met, Alfred had always been a ball of energy and light. It was refreshing, in a way. The tensions of Europe seemed to dissipate when he was with the younger nation.

Even if he nearly blinded Holly Wood- bright smile, Alfred knew that Arthur couldn't resist it.




"I had a bad dream. Can I sleep with you?"
"Alfred, you're not a child anymore, remember?" Arthur snaps. It's too early…or late to sugar-coat things for his former colony, "Go back to bed."

"But Arrr-thuurrr…"

The young nation was right next to him now, and Arthur knew that in the darkness Alfred was making his best puppy face, and that even if he couldn't see it he'd end up caving anyways.

"There's shadows in my room. C'mon, please?'



"I'm entering the war."

There was something in the way Alfred said it that niggled at Arthur. There was no flourish, no bravado, just…just a statement of fact.

"Well it's about bloody time! You- !"

"Honda bombed Pearl Harbor."

This too was said in a flat monotone. Did Arthur hear a crack, a waver in Alfred's voice? He looked up at the man.

He saw, not a former colony, or a soldier about to enter another long and stupid war, but a man teetering on the edge of breaking. His son, his brother, his comrade, his…

"Oh, Alfred."

Awkwardly, Arthur stood and wrapped his arms around the younger nation. Neither of them spoke for a long time, the silence only broken by Alfred's attempts to quell the agonized sobs tearing out of his chest. For the first time in almost two hundred years, Arthur felt stronger than the younger man.


It would be the first large scar on Alfred's body, and one that stood out against many on Arthur's.

Alfred had expected victory to feel wonderful, albeit a little bittersweet. What he didn't expect was a wrenching pain in the vicinity of his heart.

He thought he was dying. As he lay in his bed -half delirious- he called out Arthur's name, begging to be forgiven, if only the pain would stop.

But Arthur was already too far away to hear.


"I don't think we go anywhere," said the growing atheist part of Alfred one night.

"Perhaps you're right."


For all that Alfred has seen, and done, there are still things that only the older countries know- like swords on shields and maces to bludgeon the skull into a bloody and splintered mess and castle raids. Arthur tells him that even with all the mistakes he's made, Alfred has the least blood on his hands.

He wonders how long he can keep it that way.


"Hah? Arthur, you're driving on the wrong side of the road!"

"You idiot, this is the right side of the road!"

"No it isn't, it's the left!"



After the attacks on New York and the Pentagon, Arthur sat at Alfred's bedside in the hospital, listening to every monitor. He held his breath after every blip- expecting and dreading a flatline.

A/N: Review please? This is my first time doing one of these, and only my second Hetalia fic. CONSTRUCTIVE crit welcome.