GerIta yaoi fluff in this chappie : Consider yourself warned :P

America hummed The Star Spangled Banner to himself as he walked to his car, spinning his keychain around on his finger. He couldn't wait to crash at his kickass hotel on the other side of the city.

Britain took a deep breath.

You followed him out to his car. Say something to him, or you'll just look like a creep and a stalker.

"Hey, America!" Britain calls, running the short distance to catch up.

America turned around, breaking into a broad grin.

"Hey! Wazzup, British?"

Don't lose your temper. He's just a stupid kid. Don't lose your temper. He's just a stupid kid. Don't lose your temper. He's just a stupid kid.

"I really wish you couldn't call me that," Britain said, as opposed to 'My name is Britain, you bloody git!' An improvement, as far as he was concerned.

"Sorry, dude. Hey, you wanna come over and play some video games? I just got a kickass new one from Japan the other day!"

(Please just say yes, America screams in his mind. Please, say yes.)

"No thanks," Britain says. "I have some more important things to do. Maybe some other time."

"Oh. Okay." America hides his crushed expression well. "I didn't wanna spend time with a lame-o like you anyway." (He didn't really mean to say that.)

"You ungrateful little- after all I did for you-"

"You ditched me and left me to raise myself all alone," America pointed out. "But whatever. Later dude." Britain clenches his hands into fists and growls.

Why did I ever want to talk to him in the first place? The bloody moron. Is he trying to push me away?

"Later, fatass," Britain said, then turned and stormed off.

America shot a dirty look at the back of Britain's head.

What am I doing? He asks himself, putting his hand to his head. I always manage to fuck everything up. I'm an idiot.

"America-san- uh, Mista America!"

Japan waved his arms at America, running toward him. America composes his face into a smile, and turns around.

"Hey, Japan, what's going on?" He asked, maybe a little too brightly. "You want somethin'?"

"Uh, is it aright if I come to your hotel for a few hours?" Japan asked, bowing his head to hide his furious blush.

"Huh? Why?" America's voice betrays his hope.

"Mista Turkey and Mista Greece are fighting again, and I just can't stand it!" Japan said, as close to a yell as he ever got. "I need to get away untir they calm down."

So he doesn't wanna hang out with me. America's smile fell. He just wants to get away from his own problems...

"Sure, Japan," he said, putting his happy face back on. "Hey, we can play that kickass video game you gave me!"

Japan smiled and perked right up.

"Oh, sat would be wonderfur!"

"Hell yeah! C'mon, let's get a cab and get the hell outta here."

America chased down a cab for the both of them. It was a long way back to the hotel, and Japan didn't seem too keen on conversation anymore. Now he would have to think. And whenever he had to think, he ended up thinking about all the ways that he sucked.

These days, it seemed like there was more than one of him- the truth and the lie.

America One was the Real America- the one that never seemed to smile anymore. The one that spent hours locked in the bathroom, retching and crying, wishing he was dead. The one who wanted Britain's love, his attention, and kept wondering why he was such a screwup.

America Two was the Fake America- the one that laughed and grinned and ate without feeling guilty (or so he seemed), and shoved Britain away without meaning to.

Real America wore Fake America like a mask, smiling in public while rotting inside. But when he was at home, the mask fell away, and all he had left was ugliness.

He slumped over and buried his head in his hands, resting his weight on his elbows.

I hate myself.

That thought crossed his mind a lot these days.

He hated himself. He hated Britain. He hated being miserable. He hated being confused.

(But He loved Britain.)

"Mista America, are you sure you're aright?" Japan asked, a note of genuine concern in his voice. "You seem upset."

America raised his head up.

"Hm? Yeah. I'm alright. Just tired."

They went to America's hotel. They played video games. They drank soda and ate candy. Japan stayed until about seven, when an extremely contrite Greece and Turkey showed up at the door, and he decided to leave.

America hated being alone.

He tried playing the video game, but it wasn't any fun by himself. He tried watching TV, but there was nothing good on.

He wound up eating half the supply of junk food he bought when he got to the hotel. He ate until his stomach hurt and his pants felt way too tight. Then he locked the bathroom door- just in case someone would show up.

Bending over the toilet, he shoved his finger down his throat and gagged. Repeating this several more times, he vomited up everything he'd eaten. Then he laid down on his bed and slept until late the next day.

Anything to kill time.


Britain flipped through channel after channel of mindless drivel, unable to find anything that would ease his soul crushing boredom. He should have taken up America's offer- playing those mindless and violent video games would still be better than this.

Flying Mint Bunny never came back after this morning, and neither did any of his other friends.

Eventually, he nodded off to sleep on the couch, and woke up at three the next morning. He rubbed his bleary eyes and rubbed his stiff neck. His dream was still fresh in his mind.

Britain, will we always be together?"

America is small, round faced, and cute. He snuggles happily in Britain's lap, cherubic and adorable.

"Of course we will," Britain said, patting America's tiny head and smiling.

"Forever and ever?"

"Forever and ever."

"I'm independent now, Britain! Get out of my country and get out of my life!"


"You're a liar, Britain! You promised we'd be together! But all you do is run off like I'm not good enough! You don't even care!"

Britain made himself a cup of strong coffee. The dream slowly faded to the back of his mind with the rising sun.

They didn't have the next round of meetings until tomorrow- so he was free to do whatever he wanted.

Maybe he'd ask America to-

No! He didn't want to have to deal with that idiot, with his obnoxious voice, his gorgeous eyes, his beautiful smile-

Shut up! He yells at himself. He'd rather hang around with Russia than America.

No. He wasn't that desperate.


"Germany! Where are the pasta ingredients?" Italy called from the tiny hotel kitchen.

"Zer are no pasta ingredients, dummkopf," Germany said. "Zis is not home."

"Ve~ I wanted to make pasta for you," Italy whined. But there isn't anything here to make pasta with."

"Zer is more to life zan pasta, Italy. Ve can just go und buy food."

"But I wanted to do something nice for you, Germany." Italy frowned and slumped into a chair.

Germany rose from the bed, and walked across the ugly carpet.

"Calm down, little Dummkopf," he said with a teasing smile. "As long as ve are here, I vill be happy no matter vhat."

Italy broke into a big grin.

"Oh, Germany, you're the best ever!" He squealed. "I love you so much!"

He stood on tip toes to kiss Germany on the cheek, but Germany grabbed him and kissed him full on the lips. Germany pulled him into a tight embrace, taking his single curling hair between his fingers. Italy flushed a bright red and moaned.

"Ve~ Germany, ahh..."

"I love you too, my little Dummkopf."

They barely made it to the bed.