"Hello, Canada."

England stands on top of Canada's welcome mat, the irony being that he isn't welcomed at all. Canada is using all the will power he can muster not to slam the door shut. Instead, he politely smiles. "Hello England." The calmness is forced and he is trying to bite back all of the venom he holds so close. "Please do come inside."

He steps aside for his former care taker to enter, his face contorting into anger and disgust only briefly – briefly enough for England to believe it was a trick of the light. He follows England into the living room, a grin plastered on his face. They both sit down; Canada sits across from England, palms down on the table that separates them.

"Your visits are becoming more frequent." Keep the atmosphere light. Pretend to be embarrassed. Pretend to want his company. Canada casts a shy smile and averts his eyes to the floor. "It makes me happy."

"I enjoy your company. It's refreshing from what I'm used to."

Then England looks about, eyes feral, scanning the Canadian's living room. Canada's riches are subtle, but they are still there. They are in the form of vintage pieces of art work, the hard wood birch flooring, the ring on Canada's finger that is encrusted in diamonds and the Blancpain 1735 watch that is wrapped around Canada's wrist.

England coyly slides his hand across the table and their finger tips are now lightly touching. At this, Canada pretends that a shock has run through his body, and he jumps from his seat.

Stammer. His mind tells him. It makes it so much more believable.

"O-oh my gosh! S-sorry, I forgot to make you some tea! H-how rude of me!"

He hurries away to the kitchen. "Earl Grey?"

"You know me too well," is England's reply.

Yes, Canada did know England too well. The tea was prepared before hand, but Canada stands there idly for the sake of the charade. Moments later – perhaps too soon, but England took no notice- Canada emerges with such elaborately decorated fine China, even China would be jealous. England regards Canada with greedy, carnivorous eyes.

"That looks expensive."

"I can afford it."

Canada picks up the teapot and England's cup and all the while he pretends to be entranced and captured by the Brit's gaze. Purposefully he misses the cup and pours a bit of the tea on his hand. The scalding hot liquid was still quite, well, scalding hot, which is more than what Canada had anticipated. Instead of just dropping the cup, he drops the teapot as well.

"Shit," he mutters, as he holds his burnt hand.

"Let me see, lad."

Canada cradles his hand and pretends to contemplate. Then he feigns reluctance and slowly extends the hand so England may examine it. As lips gently brush against his knuckles, Canada looks away and snatches it back, holding it protectively with his other hand.

"It – it's better now, thank you."

That feral look again. England must feel accomplished.

"I'm s-sorry about the tea."

"Don't be. Accidents happen."

Canada tries to look delighted, and cocks his head to the side. "You are too kind. I'll just get some paper towels and clean this mess."

He walks into the kitchen, duly noting the footsteps that follow. But he pretends as if he has not heard, and he opens a few cupboards above.

"Canada."

England says his name with a fondness that was unheard of, at least when he was addressing Canada. Suddenly arms are wrapped tight around the Canadian's torso, and he sighs lightly. As England places his head between Canada's neck and shoulders, he whispers, "You're so beautiful."

What about Canada was beautiful? His vast lands? His many lakes? The prairies? Or his beautifully and newly crafted currency which has risen above America's?

"America…" Canada whispers, his voice soft and airy.

"Let's keep this our dirty little secret,"

Canada gasps, and turns around, breaking free from England's grip.

"I- I can't do that to him!" He backs away, but for every step back he takes, England takes one step forward.

"Yes. You're strong, you're brave. You can."

They kiss, desperate, excitement, and with all the risks – well that is what Canada wanted it to appear like. Then he pushes England away and his hands fly to his face.

"Out!" Canada cries, hopefully sounding enraged.

England nods and within minutes he is out the door and at the car. But before he can open it, he hears Canada's soft voice.

"M-maybe we can have dinner some time."

England looks hopeful, and he appears to be pleased with himself. "I would love that."

England drives off.

"What a fucking gold digger." Canada comments dryly, before he spits into the ground. "He sucks at kissing too."

America joins Canada on the porch and stares idly at the direction of where England left. "I-I t-thought he actually loved me." Unlike Canada, America's stuttering is real.

Canada turns around to face his brother, expression cold and hard. "I thought he did too. But he's just a power hungry slut eager to sleep with the next empire."

"I w-was never an empire."

"Not by name."

They stare out into open empty skies for a moment, until America breaks the silence with a soft and distressed voice.

"You're going to do it."

"Yes I am. Are you planning on stopping me?"

America pulls an arm over Canada's shoulder "You're too good for me," He whispers. "I know I should be stopping you, but I don't want to. Break his heart, Canada. Break it just like he broke mine."

Canada tilts his head up to plant a kiss on his brother's cheek.

"I plan to do just that."

So the Canadian currency just rose above America's. I know the Americans want our money - not because it's worth more, no. It's because our money is colourful and see through.

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