A/N     Okay.  So before I start this, I would like to clear something up.  Part of this chapter was copy and pasted to one of my other stories, The DN Club or something like that, because I was too lazy to come up with an argument between France and England.  This did come first, and just because the events between this and the DN Club are similar does not mean that the DN Club is EngIta.  In fact, I'm probably planning for it to be something else. ;)

And I'm sorry if this chapter is really boring or anything!  Most of this is being written at night, which can mean one of two things:

1)  I come up with really wacky and mostly original ideas that actually work, or

2) I have no creativity and can't really think properly, the only thing keeping me going is pure determination and self motivation (*cough* guilting myself into doing it and convincing myself with self-hatred *cough*) and it ends out rushed and overly long and terrible.  More first-draft like.  Because it usually is a first draft.  One that wasn't edited along the way as usual.  So yeah.

Let me know how it ends out!

Saturday

"That idea makes no sense," England said bluntly after America's presentation.

"It totally did, dude!" America replied. "I'd like to see you try and do better!"

"Amérique is right, Angleterre," France said. "You would probably just suggest to use your non-existent magic and friends to help you."

"Magic is real, and my friends are not imaginary," England said angrily.

"Then why can't anyone else see them?" France asked, smirking.

"Because they're-" England stopped halfway through talking, sighing and glaring at France. "I knew I should never have told any of you about them. This is what happens when I reveal my secrets to someone I used to think I could trust." He stormed out of the room, instead of fighting France like he usually did.

France blinked. "Angleterre?" The door slammed shut behind England.  France frowned, not liking the different than usual reaction.  This was no where near the worst argument that they had had. So why did England react differently?

Something was wrong, and France could tell. The others might've just thought that England was being overdramatic, but in the senseless fighting they always had, there was an unspoken agreement that their fights would always go the same way. They both needed the sense of stability (lol ironic) and normality that came from it.

So for one of them to deviate from the usual way that it went... something was definitely wrong.

"Angleterre..."  France stood up and started to walk towards the door to go get England, but he felt a hand in his arm.  He looked at the nation and realized that it was Prussia.

"Let him alone for a bit," Prussia said quietly, yet seriously, meeting France's eyes.

France hesitated a moment but reluctantly sat back down. When he looked at Prussia again, Prussia wasn't looking at him, but at the door.

France felt that something was missing. A couple moments later, he realized what it was.  A certain Italian wasn't there.

"Ve'll continue zhe meeting vithout zhem," Germany decided.  "Is anyvone villing to make a copy of your notes for him?"

"Zhe awesome me vill do it!" Prussia volunteered.

"Okay.  Now who vants to present?"

Francis sat upright in his bed, wide awake as if he had never been asleep at all.  Ever since England had committed suicide, France had been having more dream flashbacks and memories than he used to.  He remembered all the times that he had argued with England, known something was off, and didn't do anything.  He thought about Prussia obviously distracting him from Italy going off to talk to England-now it seemed obvious that that had been what happened there-and wondered why he never guessed about England and Italy being together.

Oh, that's right.  And France remembered, this time not in a dream flashback, but a waking one.

"Is something wrong, love?"  said a voice with a barely detectable hint of worry.

"No, I'm fine,"  France replied.

He felt a hand on his shoulder.  "Francis, are you really dumb enough to think I can't tell when your lying to me?  It's not like we just met.  Don't be afraid to talk to me."

France didn't look at him, feeling upset and guilty.  He sighed.  "It's just..."  He hesitated.

"Don't feel uncomfortable speaking to me,"  Arthur said softly.  "You can talk to me about anything.  That's how it's always been when we're not with the others, right?"

Francis was still reluctant to say anything.  "...Yes, that's how it's been...You have always been there for me when we're not around the others..."

There was silence for a couple of seconds as Francis figured out how to say what he was thinking.

"So what's making you act so sad and pathetic?" England gently prompted. "Just tell me."

"I...can't do this anymore," he finally said.  "I'm sorry."

"W-what?"

"I can't do this.  I don't want to keep it secret.  I don't want to constantly insult you and argue with you and fight you.  It isn't a healthy relationship, and neither of us should have to go through that.  So unless we're both willing to tell everyone about us, I think we should break up."

There was a silence that worried France a bit.  Then, he felt the hand on his shoulder let go of him and heard a resigned sigh.

"I get it,"  England said quietly.  "If it's causing you so much pain, then you shouldn't have to be put through this situation.  If this is how it has to be for you to be happy, then I guess we're over."

"I'm sorry," Francis whispered.  "I just don't think either of us can be really happy in a situation like this."

"I had never been happier,"  England said, turning away from Francis, starting to walk towards the door.  "But you're not.  I understand that.  Goodbye, Francis.  I hope you manage to find someone who can be what I couldn't."

"I hope you find someone who can make you happier than I did, Angleterre."

England stopped by the door but didn't look back.  "I hope I never fall in love again."

And then England had been gone, and things had never been the same between them since.  France had regretted his decision ever since, and had never really gotten over England, but knew that England would never take him back.  But France would never be able to figure out that England had found someone else without being told directly because he didn't want to think about England being with anyone else.

France sighed.  He had seen the state that Italy was in at the funeral.  He knew how Italy had sneaked out of meetings on the occasions that England had stormed out.  He had noticed the time that they shared an umbrella despite both of them having one, and had tried to forget the time he had spotted them sharing an ice cream cone.  The black eye he had gotten after the funeral when Italy punched him despite his strict non-violence rule still hurt.

There was one time that France had forgotten something in the meeting room.  He couldn't remember what it was now, and it hardly mattered.  He had been walking back to get it when he was sure all of the other nations weren't there, but just before he pushed open the already slightly-open doors of the meeting room, he heard two people laughing and froze.  One of them was a laugh that he recognized very well.  The other took him a couple of moments to recognize.  England and Italy were still in the meeting room, laughing about something.  He looked through the small crack and saw them, casually sitting on the meeting table next to each other, hanging out.  The smile on England's face didn't disappear for a second.

France had stared for a second more, his face expressionless, before he turned and left without getting whatever it had been that he had forgotten, and instead focused on putting the event out of his head.

Since then, it had still popped into his head multiple times, but he didn't want to let it linger in his mind, or find out what it meant.  He didn't want to think about it at all.

France sighed, letting himself remember it, now that it was pointless to deny what it meant.  It all added up and everything, so... And Francis wasn't a fool.  He could see that England had been happier with Italy than he had ever been with him.  Francis was happy that Arthur could find some level of true happiness in his life before died, even if he couldn't be the one to give it to him.  Italy had been better for England, even if England had killed himself anyway.

"Congratulations, Italie," France whispered, not noticing the single tear that fell down his face. "You were able to make him feel love and happiness again, and you didn't blow it. Angleterre really needed you in his life."

He stood up after a moment, starting to walk to the door of his room.  "I need my wine...."

_________________________________________________________________________

(A/N You'll Be Back from Hamilton just turned on. XD  ((You'll see why I find it funny in a moment;)   )))

"When did it change?"

It was a question America kept wondering.  He had always been aware of the change, but he was never completely sure about when.

"When did you change?"

He could never pinpoint an exact time.  Of course, the most obvious choice was...

...The American Revolution, duh. The author would have written out a flashback, but he is too lazy to do so, so has decided to have mercy on your souls this once.  What can I say besides your welcome?

What is that I hear?  Someone heard me make a Disney reference?  Well, congratulations.

Did someone catch a Hamilton reference?  Whoops.  Well then.

Back to the story, with the fourth wall existing again...

After America's flashback to the American Revolution, he shook his head.  England had been different since then, but he also honestly doubted that after the first couple weeks that it still had a really large effect.  Sure, when he was drunk or it was July 4th, England could get pretty upset about it, but he had gone right back to arguing with France shortly after (though their insults seemed a little more hurtful or at least more malicious on England's end for some reason from then on) and had focused more on his other colonies.

At least, America seriously doubted England would have killed himself over it.

And America wasn't stupid.

(A/N  *coughs*yesheis*cough* I just mean not completely haha)

So what else was it?  America felt a nagging at the back of his mind, and then it hit him.  England had rarely told America about his past, and the things he did tell him were all in a small space of time for a nation.  Of course, there were some other stories about England as well, but they were more fairytale-ish as if England had just put himself into the role of a character and told some made up story.

But other than these few things, America new practically nothing about England's life.  So what did happen in his past, and was that the reason?  Did it all finally catch up to him, and he couldn't stand it anymore?

America thought about all of the world meetings.  Out of everyone at those meetings, the ones that always seemed to get the worst of the insults and everything was most definitely England, France, and himself.  Mostly because they always insulted each other...Especially France and England, who seemed to know all of each other's weak points, but even America often hit some kind of nerve.

Ever since America was a child, he had always looked up to England.  England was a strong nation, with an empire greater than Rome's.  And while America usually found it weird that England had imaginary friends, terrible cooking skills, and something that was supposedly magic, England was still strong.  Maybe not as physically strong as America was (though he could tell from England and France's fights that England could definitely hold his own in a fight), but England was pretty smart, usually good at not showing emotions in front of others (with anger being the obvious exception) and America knew that England was pretty light (*coughs* too light *coughs* ...idk why I included this unnecessary information but oh well) which made him incredibly good at sneaking (and killing people, but America usually tried not to think about that).

America aimed to be like that.  He was oblivious at times, but was certainly not completely dumb.  He was good at not showing how he was really feeling most of the time.  And America could sneak, though tended to be pretty clumsy.  The weight part of it was a problem (*coughs*no it wasn't but that's what the stupid git thinks*tries to cough and sneezes instead*), but America was working on it.  He could live with the bad taste in his mouth, if it helped him get the skills he needed to be a true hero.

A hero.  Like England.  England was America's role model.  His brother (despite having said that he's not, but whatever).  His hero.

America knew that despite them arguing all the time, England did want what was best for him.  He would want America to follow his dreams.  So America decided he'd continue trying to surpass the person he respects.  Because that's what all heroes do when they want to succeed, right?  They try to be their role model, but better. 

America wanted to be stronger, smarter, faster, lighter (why?! -author rereading this), sneakier, and as amazing as his hero.  And that's what America was going to do.

_______________________________________________________________________

"What did I ever do to deserve all of this?"

Feliciano looked at Arthur questioningly.  "What do you mean, Artù?"

"I mean that I must have done something really bloody amazing to end out with someone as wonderful as you, Feli, but I have no idea what it could have been."

"You've done many amazing things,"  Italy said, taking England's hand in his.  "I don't know exactly why you think that I'm so wonderful, really, but you deserve anything that you could possibly want and more."

England wasn't looking at Feliciano, so he couldn't see his expression, but this was normal.  Arthur was incredibly hesitant to be open about his emotions to others, even Feliciano, so this whole conversation had come as a surprise to Italy.

"This is exactly what I mean,"  England said.  "I'm worth practically nothing to most others, including myself, and yet you seem to want to give me the world.  Anyone else would deserve you more than me, but I'm still the one that you give all of your love to.  I just don't get it."

"Artù, you are perfect.  You shouldn't think of yourself as worthless, and if any of the others think you are, then they don't know what they're talking about.  I would give you the world because you are my world, and nothing will convince me otherwise.  You are thoughtful, determined, loyal, and open-minded."

"I don't know about open-minded,"  England said with a short laugh.  "Or thoughtful.  I'm pretty selfish, if I'm being honest.  I would say stubborn instead of determined. And it's more along the lines of attachment issues than loyalty."

"One of these days, I will really make you see how great you are.  You won't hate yourself anymore, and I will make sure you end out feeling amazing.  Actually, you know what?"  Italy reached up a hand and turned England's head so that he was looking into his eyes, and smirked mischievously, saying in a low voice,  "Let's start now." 

(A/N Wink wink nudge nudge... #sorrynotsorry)

Feliciano saw England's face turn bright red as he leaned in to start kissing him.

  _______________________________________________________________________

Feliciano saw lights.  They would randomly pop up on occassion, in the corners of his eyes, but when he looked at them, they'd be gone.  The longer this happened for, the longer the lights stayed before they disappeared.

He glanced at a certain picture on his wall of him and England.  The unicorn he had seen was now permanently part of the picture.

Am I going crazy?  Italy wondered. Then,  Arthur could see unicorns and fairies.  Did he go through all of this?

This was exactly the kind of thing that had convinced Arthur that his boyfriend was so amazing.

Even in the face of possible insanity, Feliciano thought of Arthur.

A/N  So I'm sorry if that was bland or terrible.  Please comment!  Be a grammar/spelling police.  Be rude.  Be mean.  Be blunt.  Be funny.  I don't freaking care, because at least I would know that you guys care about the story and at least somewhat want it to continue.  If I choose to give away a story or discontinue it and you haven't once commented on the story, you have no right to tell me not to get rid of it.  

Comments always make my day.  Often times I might have had a terrible day, and then I read comments-even ones most people consider rude-and I immediately feel a bit better than I did before.

Anyway, the point is FREAKING COMMENT PEOPLE and also music recommendations are amazhang.

Bye, poppets!

~Some weird mix of Arthur, Oliver, and Reyna (from Percy Jackson) idek I'm too tired for all of this right now