Summary: "Most of all, he was terrified of losing him again. He, the hero, had never been so afraid of something his entire life." It seems that no matter how many years pass, America's feelings for Britain never changed. But will he ever say those words? USUK

So, my first foray into Hetalia fanficiton... Yes. Did everyone enjoy the amazing Halloween Event? I know I did.

I kind of love USUK from the bottom of my heart, and I started writing this because I was bored during one of my inorganic chemistry lectures... Erm, for once, I actually went back through and edited my writing. It's a good bit more fleshed out now than it was in my notebook.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

He didn't know when it happened. At what point did he start feeling these feelings? At what point had childhood infatuation grown into something so much more? So much changed so quickly, he hadn't known what to do. He had grown from a boy into a young man so, so quickly, everything happened so fast, he never got the chance to figure out his own thoughts and feelings. All of a sudden, his stubborn caregiver had transformed, almost before his eyes, and he began to see him, no longer as a father, as a brother; but as a man.

That had scared him. He didn't know what to do, why he felt the way he did, but there was no one he could go to for advice, no one he could turn to for the sage words of wisdom that he so desperately needed. He didn't completely understand his feelings, but he knew exactly what he wanted.

He was afraid of being hated, of being abandoned, when all he wanted was to stand together, side-by-side, hand-in-hand, as equals.

So he did the abandoning first, before he could be hurt. He lashed out and pushed him away, destroying him with cruel words and uncaring eyes. He knew that it would be painful for the both of them, doing things this way, but he wanted it to be. He wanted it to hurt so much that those feelings would have to go away, so that he would stay away. He needed him to stay away.

Because being around him was too painful.

Because he loved him, so much it hurt.

Years passed swiftly, spent in isolation as he tried to define himself as a country, stretching his legs while avoiding the influence of others. He grew older. He had thought that his feelings would fade in time, but they were only intensified. He was sure of it when they were thrown together again during the Great War, and again, not even thirty years later, during WWII. And, of course, their encounters only grew more and more frequent after that.

Whenever their eyes met across the table at the world meetings, or in the hallway as they passed each other, his heart would start to pound frantically in his chest, despite the fact that his gaze was almost always met with a glare, and the eye contact was quickly broken. He couldn't help but be filled with warmth whenever, annoying as it was, he started lecturing him about how sloppy he was, about how immature he was, about how he should learn a thing or two about responsibility. It meant that he was thinking about him, too.

But he still couldn't say the words. He couldn't tell him that he loved him. Through the decades, they had slowly mended their relationship, almost to the point where he could almost call them friends again. He cherished the times when he could make him laugh, the rare occasions when he could make him smile. He hadn't realized it before, but he had been craving this kind of intimacy, he thrived off of it. Just being by his side, like this, filled him with a happiness he hadn't truly felt in years, and even though he wanted more, he couldn't stand the thought of ruining all of that effort.

But it hurt.

His heart hurt. He couldn't stand being so close to him and not being able to touch him, to hold him in his arms, or run his fingers through that soft blonde hair. He longed to hold that slim body against his own, to never let go of him again, to call him his own, to tell him how much he loved him (oh, so much), to whisper it in his ear when he least expected it. He felt all of this so strongly, it was a wonder that his heart hadn't exploded. He had never known that he could love someone so, so much.

To the point where he couldn't move.

To the point where he couldn't breathe without the other by his side.

And that was why he wouldn't ever tell him. He wouldn't be able to survive the look of disgust and derision that he would almost definitely be met with. He wouldn't be able to survive being hated by him, to be despised by him.

But most of all, he was terrified of losing him again.

He, the hero, had never been so afraid of something his entire life.

And it was this fear that froze those words on his lips every time.

Alright! That was Chapter One. As you may have noticed, this fic is not currently marked as 'complete.' I have another chapter typed up (but I still need to edit it). I'll post it depending on the feedback I get. Would you prefer this as a stand-alone oneshot, or should I continue on to the second chapter? It could really go either way.

In any case, thank you for reading! Please review, especially if you think I should continue writing this. I won't know what you're thinking unless you tell me, and I love anything you have to say, be it compliments or criticism. Let me know how I'm doing! =D

Later!

MidnightxBluexBlack