How Do You Feel? (About Me)

This is my first fanfic and the summary makes it sound WAY better than it really is, so be gentle with the reviews, okay? XD

It's a AmericaxEngland fanfic and this idea has been stuck in my head for ages! *_* (with some minor tweeks)

There may be some minor spelling a grammatical errors (I think I used a word that doesn't even exist! XD), but I hope you enjoy it, nonetheless. =)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story nor do I own the series they come from.

"Okay! Let the Monthly Meeting of Allied Forces…Begin!"

That was the starting line to begin the monthly meeting of the Allied Forces. The meeting was being held in a secret building in a tiny, confined room. The only furniture in that room consisted of five chairs, a chalk board, and a golden chandelier that hung from the ceiling. And, of course, the starting line came from none other than… America.

"Today, I have come up with a way to capture Germany and finally end this war!" boomed America.

Murmurs of astonishment and interest danced around the table. Those murmurs came from none other than the rest of the Allies: England, Russia, China, and France.

"I propose we all attack: full force! Now, to the matter of positions! England and France will back me up from the right! Russia and China, you'll back me up from the left! And I shall be at the front, attacking head on showing all my heroism and -"

"No, no, NO! STOP!" interrupted England. "That's a STUPID plan! We've already tried that a million times! I for one-"

"Oh come now, England. You're just mad because you didn't get paired up with America," chimed France.

England's face turned redder than one of Spain's precious tomatoes.

"Wh-! But-! No, I-"stuttered the Englishman. The poor man was at a loss of words. He searched for the right words that would come from his mouth; that would explain everything. But instead came out:

"Th-th-th-that's nonsense! I couldn't care less about that! In fact, I don't!" screamed England.

Laughter erupted around the room showing that England's protesting had, in fact, made things worse instead of better.

"I think the idea of pairing up with him is simply a-a-atrocious! It's the worst possible situation I can think of! The worst situation ever!"

America had been laughing immensely at England's response, more so than his comrades, amused at the shorter man's embarrassment. England's loss for words and flushed face made him, strangely, feel butterflies in his stomach. But now, his smile had all but disappeared. A look of shrouded his now empty, clouded eyes. Still smiling, America just said:

"You're right. It was a stupid plan. And the idea of pairing up with me is just as stupid and…'atrocious'. This meeting is now adjourned. You are all dismissed."

America gathered his things and quickly exited the room, looking only at the cold, stone floor. A look of utmost sympathy crossed everyone's face. Everyone's…except England's.

"Poor guy…that's the third time his plan's been rejected. And to then be told of like that… I feel so sorry for him," said China.

"I agree. But you know, that look of and solitude and sadness filled me with immeasurable joy. I hope one day I can see all of your faces twisted like that," smiled Ivan as a dark, purple aura writhed around him.

…Creepy.

"A plan rejection plus a rejection from him-" here France pointed at England. "-and you've got ONE depressed American.

France's words lingered in the air as silence followed. All eyes turned to England.

"What? What do I have to do with anything? It's not like I haven't said something like that before…" trailed off England.

Another pause. The looks turned from stares to glares.

"WHAT?"

"You're an idiot, you know that?" replied France.

"What? Why?"

"Wow, didn't know anything or anyone could be that dense. Okay, listen veeeery carefully: You hurt his feelings! And I don't mean just hurt; I mean down-right annihilated his spirit."

A few moments of silence…

Then it hit Arthur. Like an 18-wheeler truck. His words had hurt the man he'd taken care of since he was young. The man he cared for more than anything else in the whole world. The man that, when hurt, England felt the same pain. And he was too stupid to realize his mistake on his own. He suddenly wanted to apologize. HAD to, more than anything else in the world. But he didn't know how. How could he possibly get America to forgive him? He'd really messed up this time. Apologizing and being forgiven would NOT be easy.

"Wh-wh-what do I do?" Arthur nervously asked.

"Well…" said France. "I think I can help you there…"

"Uh…no, no thank you. I think I can come up with something on my own," responded England. The truth was that England believed that whatever France would come up with, it would be perverted and sick. No, he would figure things out on his own.

"Alright! Let's do this! "

A few days later…

"Oh crap, oh crap, OH CRAP!"

England had burned his "Apology" present…AGAIN.

"Argh! What am I gonna do?! Nothing's working!"

This was just one of England's many attempts at a way to apologize to America. Some of these attempts include calling his cell phone, writing him letters, visiting his house, and most recently, baking a cake for the fifth time.

"He won't return my calls, he won't reply to my letters, he's never home, and I burn everything I touch!" yelled England.

The Englishman placed the burnt mass of substance on the kitchen counter, walked into the living room, and slumped into his favorite chair.

"It's no use. He'll never like me again…"

And then he cried. Sobbed, actually. He pressed his hands to his face in a feeble attempt to stop the steadily flowing tears. It didn't work. Tears waterfalled through his fingers and landed onto the soft, red carpet.

He missed him so much. He wanted to see him so much...

"America…America…" sobbed England.

And then, there was knock on the door.

The Englishman wiped away his tears with his sleeve and made his way to the door. When he opened it, he was stricken with shock. It wasn't America. (THAT would be too easy) It wasn't France, who England had been expecting to be there. No, standing in the door holding a large, woven basket was…Russia.

"Hiii. May I come in for a bit?" asked Russia

Stunned, England said nothing. He only stepped aside as his comrade waltzed into the room.

"Uh, um, what are you doing here?" England said after finally finding his voice.

"Well, since you haven't come out of your house for days, I thought you probably hadn't made up with America yet," said Russia. Then he smiled.

Wait, how did he know that? Thought England.

"Sooooo-" the voice brought England back from thought- " I brought this!"

Russia held up the large, woven basket and pointed to it.

"What's in it?"

"Yarn."

Yarn?

"And some sewing tools. You know, it's the holiday season and it's fairly cold outside. And scarfs make very nice gifts, don't you think?"

And then England realized why Russia was here. He was here to save England from his sulking abyss. (Russia? Helping?) But now, finally, he had an idea. England was NOT going to let this chance pass him by.

"Alright! Just show me what to do!"

Christmas Eve, Nighttime

He didn't have to be so mean about it, thought America.

America was currently taking a stroll in Central Park. It had already been a week and England had yet to apologize. America had received no calls, no letters; not even one visit from England. Naturally, his despair grew deeper and deeper.

I mean, he's talked to me like that before, but 'atrocious'? He's never said that before…he must really hate me…

America, not paying attention, tripped on a loose stone on the bridge he was walking on and fell flat on his face.

He sat up on his knees and rubbed his forehead. It was cold (freezing actually), the man he cared about more than anything else in the world hated him, and now he had a giant bruise on his forehead. He wanted to…

Cry.

But heroes don't cry. Heroes don't cry…America thought rigorously.

"Hey! What are you doing? Baaaaka."

Alfred turned around and looked up. And there, hovering over him, was England.

"England. What are you-"America began, not believing his eyes.

He was interrupted by something soft that had been thrown at his face.

"Wh-what's this?" asked Alfred.

"... A scarf. It's starting to get pretty cold, an-and I know you don't dress properly. I-I don't want you to catch a cold. And it IS the holiday season…" said England. His voice lowered as he spoke, embarrassed by what he just said. He stared at the ground.

America stood up, holding the scarf carefully in his hands as if it was sacred. He stared at it at disbelief.

England? Giving me something? There's no way he made thi-

Then, he happened to glance at England's hands. They were covered with bandages. Some skin was not covered by the many bandages and withheld multiple cuts.

He must've worked on this non-stop, Alfred thought.

He realized that this must have been England's way of apologizing. He gazed at his beloved with kind and thoughtful eyes.

"Thank you, England," said America.

England looked up, his face completely red.

"What, don't you know how to put it on?" complained the Englishman.

England snatched the scarf from America's hand and put it behind his neck. He then proceeded to wrap it around the American's neck when he noticed the bruise forming on America's head.

"Hey. What'd you go and do this time?" he inquired.

He was reaching to touch the browning patch of skin when another hand caught his wrist. It was America's left hand. The hold was gentle, as if trying not to hurt him.

"Wh-what are you doing?" blushed England.

" Look up. Mistletoe," smiled America.

He looked up. Indeed, the green, traditional plant was dangling above his and America's heads. How? It seemed as if it was hanging from a fishing line, the base taped the railing of the bridge.

Probably some pranksters…England thought begrudgingly.

"I forgive you."

These words snapped England back to reality.

"I forgive you," America said again. "And I want you to know that…you are so important to me," America began. "Your smile, your temper, your embarrassed face; the way you try so hard and state your opinions firmly; your emerald eyes, blond hair, and large eyebrows; all of these things are a part of you, and they're why I love you."

"America…" sighed England.

America placed the fingers of his right hand under England's chin and lifted England's face, his cheeks slightly covered with rose-colored hues. He brought England's face to his own and pressed his lips to his. The kiss was gentle, yet passionate, letting England know America's words were true. He'd never known such immeasurable joy. England slowly closed his eyes and let himself be consumed by the kiss. He wrapped his arms around America's back and pulled him closer. America returned the embrace. After several long minutes, they broke apart, smiles stretching across their faces, both their cheeks now holding blushes.

"I love you too…" replied England, starting into America's deep, sky-blue eyes.

America stared into England's emerald-colored ones as he said: "Let's go home."

"Wherever you want me to go."

The couple held hands as they started along the snow-covered path to America's apartment, England's head lightly resting on America's broad shoulder as they walked.

"Merry Christmas."

Well, that's it! Hope you enjoyed it! Reviews GREATLY appreciated.

Keep an eye open for more fanfics to come! May take a while though…

*rewatches/reads Code Geass and Katekyou Hitman Reborn+ =Hint, hint. XD