England hissed in pain as he moved. It was about 9 p.m., and the nations were heading off to bed, most of them eager for the day to be over and sleep off the soreness in their bodies, England himself being one of them. With each step he took, his body had to protest loudly, and he hissed again.

"Bloody hell..." he groaned. America really knew where and how hard to hit, and even how to humiliate his victims. Years of war and keeping secrets must've trained him well.

But it still bothered England, especially since his former colony beat them all up with a joyous grin on his face, like he was watching his favorite sports team win the game. It was something he never saw even during a war, and England never thought America of all people would have that characteristic.

Then again, it wasn't like he really knew his former charge.

England stopped when he was in front of the master bedroom, which was cracked open slightly. Inside, a gentle light bled through the crack, and shadows were dancing across the floor in response to their owners. Curious, England peaked through the door, spotting the room was lit up by red candles that smelled of apples and cinnamon. On the large bed located in the corner of the room, America lay, sleeping, his upper torso bare and the sheets covering up his lower torso. His glasses were also discarded on the nightstand next to him, making him look older than ever.

England was suddenly reminded of the time when America was still a colony, an innocent, cheerful boy who always eagerly awaited his return. Nowhere did he find that boy in this man, this man who was married, who was so unlike his little boy, and who grew up into this behind his back, all while he was too blind to look closer.

England always prided himself on being intelligent and observant, and while that has been the case half the time, he never saw this, not even a hint. He didn't know if it was because of his own pride or America was that good of an actor.

Either way, what's happening now was obvious; he had been an idiot, the biggest idiot known to man, and there was no excuse to counter that.

Movement came from the other side of the room, and England peaked that way to see (Y/N), her hair damp and her clothes discarded for a nightgown, brushing her teeth. A serene look of concentration was on her face, and she was making rhythmic movements with her hands that England found odd as she finished brushing and washed her mouth before placing a retainer in despite her teeth being perfect in American standards.

She then walked over to the candles, blowing them out before she moved to join her husband in bed. Before joining him however, she stopped and looked at America, a look of reluctance on her face. England's brow furrowed, and he watched as his former colony's wife began to fidget uncomfortably before she seemed to mentally slap herself and walked over to her husband's side.

Then, seeming to brace herself, she placed a kiss on America's forehead.

Her lips lingered there for a moment before she slowly pulled away, a soft smile on her face before she walked over to her side of the bed, and after climbing under the covers, blew out the last candle before joining her husband in slumber.

England walked away after seeing that, gently closing the door behind him. He knew he didn't imagine it; the smile that appeared on America's face when his wife's lips touched him, the serene expression. He had never seen that on America as a boy, not even close.

Had he been lied to all this time? Had everything he knew about America before the Revolution been a lie?

England was scared to find out, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to try.