Alfred's eyes moved visibly behind his eyelids, and his body slightly began to twitch. He felt something warm hit his eyelids, and with that, his eyes snapped open.

Sunlight beamed through a pentagon-shaped window, burning his eyes. Alfred turned his head away from the light, and found his face in contact with something soft. It was a soft and gray colored pillow. Alfred reached up and rubbed at his eyes, blinking once as his eyes began to water.

Where was he?

Alfred felt a dull, but still thudding, headache present in his skull. Propping his elbows up, he sat up, and rested his back against something behind him. It was the arm of a couch. Scanning the area, Alfred immediately recognized the blue-gray walls, the white fabric furniture, and the birch wood-framed windows. He was in his living room.

So he was back home?

Alfred slid back down against the arm of the couch, and plopped his head back on the tan cushions of the couch. Was it all just a dream?

Maybe it really was. Alfred sighed, and reached a hand up to rub his eyes, but felt his knuckle brush up against something on his neck. America bit his lip, and touched his neck. It felt like it were, cloth. It was a bandage.

So that meant that it all really happened? The bandage on his neck, his sweaty suit and bomber jacket still sticking to him, and the headache were there to prove it.

America pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly shocked to find that Texas was gone. How did he get here? Wasn't he just laying on the bathroom floor a minute ago? Unless...

How long had he been unconscious?

How did he end up on the couch? The questions made his brain throb with pain. America rolled his head to the side, and buried his face in the cushion of the couch. He let out an aggravated sigh, and nuzzled his head deeper in the cushion.

Whatever had happened, it had made him exhausted. He was completely drained of any energy, and couldn't move a muscle without feeling sore.

Why did he pass out? What happened before he did?

America puffed out short and detached breaths as he kept repeating the question in his head.

Suddenly, his thoughts stopped spinning. Why did he feel so...suddenly strange?

For a second...he thought he heard another person inhaling and exhaling.

America lifted his head away from the cushion, and ceased his breathing for a moment. Just as he thought, he heard small and light breaths.

Who else was here? Alfred immediately sat up, and scanned the room. His blurred eyesight locked onto something, and America jumped, practically toppling over the couch.

In the corner of the room, a dark shadow covering the area where the tv and two arm chairs rested, sat a figure.

But it just wasn't anyone. It was the one who had caused him all this trouble. It was Natalya.

She sat almost regally, like a queen, on one of the arm chairs in the corner, his glasses delicately clutched in her gloved hands, and her legs crossed.

"W-what-" Alfred was lost in a jumble of words. How the hell did this chick get into his house? Why couldn't she just leave him alone for five minutes?!

Natalya uncrossed her legs, and slowly rose to her feet. Her hair was carefully stroked over her shoulders, and her bangs were delicately brushed to the side, to reveal her amethyst eyes, and long lashes.

Natalya slowly stepped out from the shadows, the light bouncing onto her pale face. And the most unexpected thing happened. Her eyes. Her eyes began to shimmer, and flash. It was as if he suddenly got his clear sight back, to see dozens of different purple hues dancing in her iris. He saw the flash of orchid purple for a moment in her eyes, then lavender.

Regal purple.

Cyber grape.

Royal purple.

It was all so inquisitive. It all suddenly came to a stop, as Alfred's vision immediately blurred again. But it still didn't stop him from looking at her. The light seemed to make her hair glow, and the dress she was wearing, seemed flowing and elegant, like an untamable sea.

His cheeks suddenly began to burn red. He blinked a couple of times, hoping his vision would blur the sight upon him. He quickly reverted his gaze, and felt his cheeks slowly return to their natural color.

Before he could land his eyes back onto Natalya, he felt someone brush up against him, its weight resting upon his side. Alfred looked up, and saw Belarus sitting next to him, resting her weight against him. She avoided eye contact, and slowly handed him his glasses.

Speechless, Alfred slowly reached for Texas in her hands, but hesitated. He felt a dreadful sickness in his stomach. Why was she suddenly so calm?

As if she could read his mind, she scooted closer to him, and carefully slipped his glasses onto his nose for him. As soon as he felt the cold surface rest on his face, he arched back, and bit his lip.

Natalya slowly rested her hand in her lap, and sighed. America looked away, and stared down at the floor, clenching his jaw. Was she actually safe to be around?

She seemed neutral right now. But Alfred wouldn't let himself forget that she was like a rabid wild animal.

And he suddenly remembered. She tore down the door, pinned him to the floor, and caused a whole scene that Alfred had only ever saw in TV dramas on Netflix.

Alfred planted a hand on his face, and shook his head.

The silence that the two were sharing, was killing him. He had to say something!

He would have thought that by now, she would have broken the silence, but she only remained mute.

"U-uhm s-so..." Alfred stuttered quietly, lowering his hand from his face. "D-do you uh....want something to drink?"

Seriously?!? That was literally the stupidest thing he had ever said! Why did he say that out of all things?!

There were at least 250 good conversation starters Alfred knew about, and he said that?!

He felt so stupid right now!

Belarus still said nothing. Alfred twiddled with his thumbs that lay in his lap, and nervously tapped his feet.

"I-I uhm....can go get us....some...water." Alfred whispered, ceasing his tapping, and slowly rising to his feet. Still nothing.

Why was she so quiet?! It was creeping him out!

America sighed, and ran a hand through his blonde hair. "I'll go...get us some water," he stated, swiveling on his heels, and slowly walking toward an opening in the living room, that led to the kitchen. Before he entered, he turned back, and looked at her.

She only stared up at him. Still complete and utter silence.

He grunted, and entered into the kitchen. He felt a soft breeze tickle his cheeks, and saw that the window over the counter was open. Did she get in that way? Or maybe he just left it open.

Before he could walk up to the window, and close it, his eyes landed on a note that was pinned to the refrigerator. That wasn't there before.

He slowly walked up to the fridge, and tugged the note from the magnet that pinned it down.

Hey brother,

I hope that you're feeling better after the whole incident.

I brought you back home when you didn't wake up after we laid you down in the clinic.

If anything is wrong, give me or Arthur a call.

Matthew

Ps, I got you something to eat. It's in the fridge. Your welcome.

America smiled, and laid the note down on the counter. Matthew had always come through to him.

It was tough for both of them to get along in the past. In the end, Alfred had to fight his own brother. And Matthew had to fight against France. France was practically his dad, and fighting him with England, who was practically Alfred's dad, was the hardest thing the two of them faced.

The two went their separate ways, and that was that. And for a long time, Alfred could never forgive his brother for going against him. But things had begun to change. After both of them became successful, it only got worse. Canada was dragged into his own fights, and thrown into situations that he couldn't handle. And America was too conceited about his own country, that he hadn't bothered helping out his brother! Matthew was shy and quiet, and struggled every single day to try and stand out, or make a difference for his country.

It was hard for Matthew, and America knew that.

And he should apologize. Matthew deserved more than Alfred. And he would make it up to him. America would one day show Canada that he was stronger than he thought he was.

Alfred tugged open the fridge, and saw what Matthew was referring to. On one of the shelves was a brown paper bag, a yellow M printed on the front.

Almost as if on cue, Alfred's stomach growled. He desperately clutched his stomach, trying to resist the temptation to snatch the bag, and scarf down the contents inside.

But he should probably wait. Belarus was probably hungry too, and Alfred didn't know if he was willing to share his precious fast food meal...

He sighed, and finally let the loud growls of his stomach take over, immediately defeating any willpower left inside him. He quickly snatched the brown bag from the shelf, and tucked it under his arm. He closed the fridge door, and crossed the room, toward the cupboard, taking a glass from the shelf.

He proceeded to then walk over to the sink, and turn on the tap. As he waited for the water to cool, and the glass to fill, he let his eyes wander outside of the window.

He saw a small bird swoop onto a tree branch that sat right next to the window. Its feathers were a flashing cherry hue. Following behind, was another bird, its feathers a brownish dull color, meaning it was most likely a female.

She perched on the other's branch, and scooted closer. The female then proceeded to nuzzle up against the male, and chirp happily. The male chirped as well, and nuzzled closer to the female.

America practically choked, and he felt sick to his stomach. He didn't need to be reminded of what situation he was in right now!

Alfred suddenly felt cold water splash up his hand. He looked down, and saw the glass was overflowing. He quickly turned off the tap, and dumped out a small portion of the water. He placed the cup to the side, and reached for a hand towel. He snatched it, and began to dry off his hand.

He saw something flutter up to the window sill. He turned his head, and glanced over to see a petal.

It was a light pink petal, turning white around the sides. It smelled like lavender, and bore the shape of a-

Alfred dropped the hand towel, and suddenly felt his elbow brush up against the glass, tipping it over, and pouring out water all over the counter, and dripping onto the floor.

The petal was in the shape of a heart! What was happening?!

Everything around him was driving him nuts! First the birds, now the flower! Was the world trying to tell him something?! Because if it was, it was not making things any better!

Alfred turned toward the glass, and let out a sigh.

He crouched down onto the floor, and picked up the hand towel. He gripped it tightly in his hand, and brushed it across the oak tiles, soaking up the water.

He stood back up, and continued to wipe away at the counter, until the towel was damp, and dripping water down his arm.

He folded the towel and placed it aside, and reached over and closed the window. The petal fluttered forward from the force, and twirled onto America's arm.

He turned to see the petal resting on his arm.

It smelled so very sweet. It was so delicate. It was beautiful.

He carefully plucked it off of his arm, and held it in his hand.

He sighed, and gingerly cupped it in his palm. Alfred placed his bag of food aside, and grabbed the glass, and once again, filled it up.

He carefully balanced the glass in one hand, and the McDonald's bag under his arm, the petal still carefully cupped in his hand.

When he walked back into the living room, Natalya was no longer sitting on the couch. She was standing by the marble mantle over the fireplace, staring at a framed picture she had clutched in her hands.

He placed the glass of water, the petal, and the bag down on the coffee table that sat by the couch, and slowly approached her. He peeked over her shoulder, and saw what picture she was gazing at.

The picture was a hue of mostly gray, but was black and white.

And there he was, grinning bravely, a bomber jacket with think pants underneath a parachute, and a helmet and goggles covering his messy locks of hair.

He stood on the wing of a Thunderbolt, waving.

He watched as Natalya brushed a finger across the glass surface.

"I loved that fighter plane," Alfred said, startling Natalya.

She turned around and practically jumped, clutching the picture nervously. Alfred backed up a few steps.

"S-sorry. Didn't mean to startle you," He apologized. She sighed in relief, and looked down at the picture again. Alfred suddenly found himself smiling.

"Thunderbolt," He beamed. Natalya looked up at him. "W-what?" She whispered.

"I-it's called a Thunderbolt. The plane," Alfred responded, slowly slipping off his bomber jacket, and throwing it off to the side. "That plane was a good fighter, that's for sure," Alfred began, slowly walking back over to the couch, sitting down, and tugging off his black boots.

"Too bad I lost her in the heat of battle."

Natalya titled her head to the side, still clutching the picture close to her. "Her? Lost?"

Alfred's smile disappeared, and he sighed. "Oh uh...we called planes "she"."

Belarus raised an eyebrow. "That's strange." She grunted, slowly placing the picture back on the mantle, but hesitated on reaching back for it. She must have liked that picture.

"What happened...to the plane?" She asked, turning back toward the American.

Alfred bit his lip and sighed. He never enjoyed recalling that.

"Got hit during a mission," Alfred began. "We were flying across the Pacific, and a fleet of enemy fighters ambushed us. They shot my wing, and I went down."

Natalya suddenly looked shocked.

"I went down with the plane into the ocean. I almost drowned, because the cockpit window wouldn't eject. I owe my life to my comrades."

Alfred crossed his legs, and slouched up against the couch cushions. Natalya remained silent.

America curled into a ball, and sighed. How the hell was he gonna deal with this chick?

Her emotions seemed so random, and so unsolvable.

He was trying his hardest to be open and friendly. But, he felt like he was shut down at every attempt.

He would never understand the mystery that would forever lie behind those amethyst eyes.

Belarus stared at him, and brushed a bang from her eye.

"I am glad...that you are alright," Natalya began, nervously stepping closer to him. Alfred slowly uncurled himself, and stared up at Belarus. She avoided eye contact, and confidently began to stride up to where he sat, and elegantly seat herself painfully close to him.

"If you weren't....I would have never met you......or get to marry you."

Alfred's eyes widened, and he quickly shot back, practically rolling off the couch.

Not this nonsense again! Just when he was starting to feel that he could open up a bit more to her, she had to mention that up!

If she hadn't gotten the message that he wasn't into her before, he didn't think she'd be getting it anytime soon!

Natalya's eyes widened, as Alfred managed to upright himself again, and heave in a deep breath. Then he saw those colors again. In her eyes, he could see the hues flashing in different shades, as if it were trying to speak to him. But then he saw a swirl of pale blue in them. And the color sent something creeping up his spine. It was an emotion. He felt....guilty.

Did he just make her feel sad? Did he make her feel guilty for expressing her love toward him? Before he could let that guilt sink any farther, Alfred stopped himself. No.....he shouldn't feel this way. She should understand that he didn't love her back.

Would she ever understand?

And it came to him. The aching feeling in his head. To be precise, it was the exact same feeling he had back in the bathroom.

Was she ever going to really understand? It was as if his soul had shattered into a million pieces at the thought of that.

That would mean that this madness would never stop.

No.....it would mean....she would have wasted her time. Alfred was nothing. He was a loud, obnoxious, child. That was all he was. He was immature....he was.....pathetic...he-

He couldn't hold it in anymore. His body began to quake, and a pathetic whimper erupted from his mouth.

He curled his knees up against his chest, and placed his hands over his blue eyes, that began to leak a mess of tears.

He sounded pathetic. He sounded so stupid when he cried.

Why did he crack now? He had been under many other stressful situations. But....but this....

He didn't know what he was going to do. He swore he was going to help....but he didn't even know how.

Alfred had no idea what he was going to do. God, he was supposed to be the hero! But he was nothing but a useless piece of shit. He had done nothing at all to help her so far. He only caused her guilt.

He wanted this all to stop so bad. He wanted this all to work out. He didn't want this stress of marrying a girl he barely knew on his shoulders anymore.

"Don't look at me," He mentally sobbed. "Don't look at me! I'm nothing! I can't do anything!"

Now they had switched roles. As he helplessly wept in front of her, she was left frozen, scared and unsure of what to do.

He didn't need her to do anything. He knew that she was already stressed out enough. He only wanted to cry.

He wanted that horrible feeling in his stomach to be gone. He wanted that weight to be gone. He wanted to do something right for once.

Suddenly, he felt something sit in his lap. He let out one last whimper, and slowly lowered his hands from his face. It was the McDonald's bag. She stared at him, concern in her eyes.

Real concern. And he could see it in her eyes. He could see it in her heart.

It was the first real emotion he had felt her present.

Belarus stared down at the floor in shame, and proceeded, to crawl towards him, and snuggle up against his side.

"I love you with all my heart," She whispered, nuzzling her head into his sleeve.

Her eyes said something different. I want to do more for you.

He stared down at the bag in his lap, and slowly reached in. Warm. Everything in the bag was so warm, despite it sitting in the fridge for a few hours.

His stomach begged for the food, and he quickly obliged.

In his shaking hands, he held a large cheeseburger, wrapped tightly away.

He fumbled at the wrapping, and pulled the greasy sandwich from its prison.

God he was hungry. He was stressed. He was exhausted. He was miserable.

He was so confused. He was so scared. He was so lost.

Could he help the girl? Could he do anything at all?!

The question was far from an answer. More tears.

He hadn't felt this lost since the Revolutionary War. Just like he had felt about leaving his fatherly figure forever, America was guilt-stricken.

Ugly sobs from Alfred broke the silence, and he bit into the plump cheeseburger.

An arrangement of flavors exploded in his mouth, and he could taste something salty. His own tears. As they continued to plop down on the cheeseburger, Alfred tore the chunk he had bitten into, and viciously chewed it in his mouth.

His cheeks were plump with the food crowded tightly in his mouth. He looked absolutely ridiculous. His running nose, his teary and red eyes, his swollen cheeks, the cheeseburger clutched in his hands. He swallowed slowly, and allowed himself to cry for a moment.

Another bite. So warm. Another one. So greasy.

Bite after bite, Alfred continued to sob, the food in his mouth barely muffling the loud noises. As he continued to scarf down the large cheeseburger, Natalya only watched him shamefully.

He leaned forward, shoving the last bit of the sandwich in his mouth, and resting his forehead on his knees. With a mouth full of food, Alfred continued to cry. At this point, he didn't care what she thought. The sloppy eating, the ugly sobs, the runny nose and eyes. He just couldn't keep holding himself together in front of her.

His shoulders bounced up and down, as he continued to let a litany of whimpers just barely escape from his full mouth. America, the land of the free, and home of the brave, was pathetically crying and shoving cheeseburgers in his mouth. He felt proud, that's definitely for sure. Sarcasm wasn't enough to emphasize that.

If any of the countries saw him now, they would laugh their asses off, as if it were the funniest thing in the whole damn world. And Alfred figured it probably was. But not for him. This was simply his feelings right now.

God he was so lost. And it continued to build up, leaving an aching pain in his head.

He finally swallowed. But he wasn't finished. He reached for the bag, vigorously wiping at tears on his cheeks, but was stopped by Natalya.

She grabbed his hand in her own, and reached for the glass of water that sat on the coffee table. She held it toward him.

"Drink," She pleaded. He only stared at her, blinking away at any remaining tears that threatened to roll down his cheeks.

"T-tha-that-that's for yo-you though....." America stuttered through a hiccup of whimpers. Her expression didn't change.

"Drink," She repeated, nudging the glass closer to him. He still just stared at her. She gave him a pleading stare, and scooted closer to him. "Drink."

She placed a hand underneath his chin, and lifted his head up. Without hesitation, she lifted the glass to his lips, and tipped the clear liquid into his mouth.

His eyes widened at the sudden splash of cold water against his teeth and lips, but slightly relaxed, and generously swallowed.

When half of the water from the glass was gone, she lifted the glass away, and placed it back aside in the table.

Alfred scoffed for a moment, small droplets of water shooting out from his mouth, and began to cry again.

Was he letting it go too far? Maybe. But he didn't know how much longer he could have bottled up these emotions.

And she was fine. She just watched him release his emotions, without a complaint.

Maybe....just maybe....she really was a good person.

Without Russia, she could be a lot more than everyone thought she was.

Natalya wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled him in closer, hugging him tightly. His head rested against her shoulder, in the crook of her neck.

Alfred didn't complain. He didn't resist. He felt.....safe.

He hadn't felt this way since he was a little kid.

Her hair was silky smooth, and smelled sweet, like nectar.

He proceeded to let himself cry. She said nothing. He said nothing.

The two just stayed that way.