This is for AdmiralAwesome, because she is the best friend I could ever have. I wanted this to be a surprise for you because you do so much for me. Love you :)

I'm actually still writing Spain's part of this, which I started first. But last night I had to write, and this is what came out, so I'll publish this now, not sure how long it'll be until the other one is finished.

For anyone who reads Teacher's Pet, my SuFin fic, I'm sorry that the next chapter isn't ready yet! I haven't been in the right mind to write it for a while, but I'm trying :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or the characters, unfortunately…

Warnings: Sexual references, (plus my own feeling slightly shit and depressed may have bled into my writing.)

I'm awake again. At least, I think so. I don't have the strength to open my eyes, but all my other senses are working fine.

There's a hand holding mine, and I know it's yours. I can't forget the feel of it, not if you left for a hundred years. The familiar calluses, the thin raised line where you sliced your hand open on a fence wire.

You laughed and assured me it was fine the whole time that I was frantically trying to find alcohol and bandage to take care of it.

Why do you do that? Play down your hurt, always trying to take care of me? I'm not a child, and you know that, very well.

Why am I still the one who ends up needing to be looked after, sheltered so carefully?

You hold my hand in both of yours now, brushing your lips over it as I heard the mumblings of prayer. My heart still aches in my chest when I think of how I conflict with your religion, the way you looked when a friend from church talked to me as only your friend.

Did I tell you how I felt?

The next time I wake up you're not holding my hand anymore, there's Papa and my brother, each on one side, they're talking quietly, Papa asking me forgiveness, Feli assuring him that I loved him, I was just angry at being coddled. How does Feli get into my head sometimes?

Papa goes quiet for a minute and lets go of my hand, next thing apologising to you. I thought he sounded surprised when you wouldn't accept it.

The ward was quiet: and then I hear you choke on a sob.

Dammit, I'm the one that's supposed to cry. You're the most cheerful person I've ever known; I haven't ever seen you shed a tear. And why do you have to cry over me? Stupid, worthless me, who can't even tell you that it's alright.

You say some shit about it being your fault, and your friends were berate you about it, serves you right, you big idiot. They must have pulled you over to beside my bed, because you clutch my hand again.

Why couldn't I move? The way you desperately entwine our fingers, press your forehead down to mine, soak my skin with tears. Why can't I comfort you for once? Why can't I kiss you, embrace you, when it really matters?

Somehow strength moved through me, and I manage to press your hand tightly, never letting you go.

You call my name softly, barely loud enough for me to hear, slide your free palm to my face, rest your forehead on mine as I slip away again.

I think you knew something was up with me that night.

I'd been so adamant, I know, about not letting anyone else know about us, but there I was, kissing you like there was no tomorrow, right in front of others.

And you kissed me sweetly, and smiled kinda sadly, but I don't know if you knew you were.

In the bedroom you were sweet again, laying me back on the bed carefully, leaning in, stroking my face and asking if it was okay.

The feeling of your hands running over my body, just because they were yours, got me hotter than I'd known I could be. You began to take my clothes off, pausing every second or so to kiss me, as if asking permission again.

At some points I wasn't even sure whether you ever planned on getting off yourself, so intent you seemed on making me come, giving me pleasure.

I felt like yelling at you for being a generous idiot. Why couldn't you tell that this wasn't the time?

Why was it that all I wanted was for you to be mine, for you to hold me at say my name as you thrust inside of me.

But you knew it the whole time. And you keep fucking fulfilling every single wish I have.

Anything that's possible.

I was exhausted after, and fell asleep in your arms.

When I woke, our legs were intertwined and you holding me so tight that it was hard for me to get up.

I tried to write more of the letter to you, but you woke too soon, and I was too upset to write, and you ended up with me sitting in your lap as I cried once more.

And then you were angry, silently angry and reproachful, when Papa explained. I couldn't look at you, even when I knew you were blaming yourself horribly.

But I just couldn't handle it, I know that now, couldn't bear the thought of not being able to feel you that way. I wanted you to tell me it was alright, you were there, it was going to be okay. That nothing could hurt me.

You sat in the room, silent. You helped me out of the bed when it was time to go, and made me sit down every few minutes, without speaking to me. It wasn't until I was settled in your car that you turned to me and said that you were sorry.

Were you really surprised when I slapped you?

You were truly an idiot if you thought I could regret you, us, because of some measly tiredness.

I was glad to be able to kiss you again.

I'm not sure how long it is between wakefulness. I think it might have been a while. For a long time today you are silent, just sitting there beside me, occasionally stroking my hair. Feli comes in too, for a time, but surprisingly for him, he's also quiet.

I wonder if something in particular is wrong.

When he left, you just start speaking.

You love me.

I don't know how to describe how my heart felt squeezed in my chest. It was worse pain than I'd ever had, kind of nice, but mostly bad.

I don't want you to love me right now.

You're speaking as if you know I can hear you, telling me that you've read my letter, how you've been writing to me, and 'oh god, don't leave now.'

I don't know the first time you told me that you loved me. We were probably kids. I can't really remember you not telling me, whether I was the princess to be rescued in games (I still haven't quite forgiven you for that) or when we had to write cards to another person in the class for Valentine's Day, and you wrote yours to me.

Though I think you first proposed marriage to me when we were ten.

Really though, the thing is that I can't remember what I did. When you first rescued me from the dragon, you kissed me on the cheek, I think I may have hit you in the stomach. It's not like it stopped you from doing the same thing every time I was rescued.

And you asking me to marry you when we were ten, well, I think I kicked the knee that wasn't on the floor and ran away.

And when you swept me up off of my feet when we were fifteen and asked me the same question, I hit you on your head and shoulders until you put me down.

By the time we got to the age the kids start to get interested dating and sex, I think you had pretty much got everyone used to the fact that you were going to ask me out forever, and I was going to turn you down forever.

It turned out that the second part was not view that anyone besides me shared.

But in all this time, in all these years, even in the last couple of months,

I don't know if I've told you I love you.

I have the strength to do this.


If you ask to me to marry you again, I'll say yes, and then you'll be stuck with me for the rest of your life and won't be able to do a thing about it.

Thank you for reading this. I'm sure you all know how much it means to get reviews for stories, whether it's completely positive or someone cares enough to offer you constructive criticism.

I'll try to finish Spain's POV, it will probably be published as a separate story.