[Fanfic] To My Most Precious Person
To My Most Precious Person...
Pairing: Eng/Canada, Canada POV
Warning: Possible inaccurancies in history
Rating: G
Genre: Angst [?]
A/N: Written using Matthew's POV. Sorry for inaccurancies, I wrote this in one go. Thanks Zanney.
----
He's not what you guys think. Sure he's bit cynical, sharp in tongue and sometimes extremely hot-headed, not to mention not that of a great cook but, really, England's not that bad. England... England's just misunderstood that's all. To be honest, we're bit a like except, well for the fact that people actually recognize him and not mistake him for his brothers. But really, he's not that bad.
I look up to England a lot.
He's strong, he's intelligent, which might be one of the reasons why he was able to be one of the world's superpower until the end of World War 2, and he's a good brother. Although I feel sad, that even though he took responsibility of taking care of me when France left the New World, I could shake the feeling of being alone and, would you believe this?, jealous.
Jealous of who, you may ask? Let's say, he dotes on America more. As much as I want to say negative things towards my brother, things won't even change even if I do.
I remember vividly when I was handed over to England's care. I was so sacred, I barely understood a thing he said. But he didn't abandon me. No. In fact, I remember how kind he looked. How gentle and caring his eyes were at that time. He was patient with me. He didn't force me to forget what France' had already taught me. England gave me his own language and pretty soon, I began to understand what he's been trying to say. Looks like his patience eventually paid off. I kept my inherited culture and gained a new one as well. To be honest... I was happy. I wasn't alone. Even England was happy. When he introduced me to my brother, he kept of reminding America to be nice to me. Now that I remember that, that memory is something to be treasured. Sure I had the label "The British Empire's Colony" plastered on my forehead, but I felt that I wasn't a colony.
No, I was more of a very close brother to him. But I wanted-
But then again, as much as he treated me so well, he dotes on my brother more. I don't blame him. He fought France just to have custody of America. America came before me and stayed longer in England's care than me. He knows England more than I do and it somehow makes me sad. But what made me even more sad was the look on England's face when America demanded his independence. I was older then by that time. Old enough to understand things. I remember seeing England seated on his usual armchair but not as cheerful as he used to. He kept on staring at the fire burning brightly within the fireplace with such sad green eyes. When he used to always have a smile on his face as we drink our usual cup of tea by the fire, he was just sitting there with a blank, depressed look on his face. I don't blame him for being like that. After all, to have a gun pointed at you by the very person you raised and loved is a very big blow indeed. I've seen him cry a few times but he would stop and pretend as if nothing ever happened when he sees me.
England, why do you keep hiding your feelings from me? I wished he looked at me more. I wanted to tell him that I'm still here. He's not alone. Yes, not alone. I was willing to be America's replacement but I highly doubted that it would entirely work out. Then again, I also remember him asking me in one of those sad nights, right after America's declaration of independence, when was I going to declare independence. Of course, he was very much surprised when I replied that I wasn't going to declare that soon, especially when he needed someone to actually be at his side especially now when he needed someone to actually seek comfort with. I wasn't bluffing. I was aware that most nations hated him and I could see that he didn't have anyone to talk to. He needed me.
England was thrown into a lot of wars after that and I was there to cheer him up when he felt like giving up. I was proud of it somehow. I was proud of actually doing something America couldn't. Soon World War 2 was among us and England seemed to look even more and more weaker due to the crumbling of his empire.
I was worried and he knew it.
He kept apologizing about it actually and kept of hinting that I was free to declare my own independence anytime. But I replied that I should stick around a bit longer. I wanted to be with him unlike America. I didn't want to leave him just yet. Then America finally joined in the war, guns ablaze and pretty soon I saw Arthur with that same smile he would do when hes around America, this time he could only do it behind America's back.
England... when will you finally look at me?
The war ended with the Allies victory. A victory yes but England was left barely standing. His Empire was in crumbles after the war. He had to let go of his colonies and so I became independent but that didn't mean I was going to leave his side.
Eventually America became the new world power and I saw how much he reveled in that power. Little did he know that England was bedridden after the war due to the economic crisis his country was suffering and as the country itself, I'm sure he felt sick like a mere human would be when attacked by a virus. I was there beside him when he was moaning in pain. I was there when he softly called out America's name in his sleep.
It hurt so much England.
It hurts.
I want to tell you how much I... how much I love you.
Don't you know it hurts so much to see you smiling that special smile at my undeserving brother? But then again, you have always looked at him, doted on him so much. You love America more than me and its clear. But...
I love you too, England. I'm thankful for the care you gave me. I'm thankful for your kindness. I'm thankful for everything you've done for me. And so...
To my most precious person, I only wish for your happiness
-END-
---
A/N: Shall I write Arthur's response?
Pairing: Eng/Canada, Canada POV
Warning: Possible inaccurancies in history
Rating: G
Genre: Angst [?]
A/N: Written using Matthew's POV. Sorry for inaccurancies, I wrote this in one go. Thanks Zanney.
----
He's not what you guys think. Sure he's bit cynical, sharp in tongue and sometimes extremely hot-headed, not to mention not that of a great cook but, really, England's not that bad. England... England's just misunderstood that's all. To be honest, we're bit a like except, well for the fact that people actually recognize him and not mistake him for his brothers. But really, he's not that bad.
I look up to England a lot.
He's strong, he's intelligent, which might be one of the reasons why he was able to be one of the world's superpower until the end of World War 2, and he's a good brother. Although I feel sad, that even though he took responsibility of taking care of me when France left the New World, I could shake the feeling of being alone and, would you believe this?, jealous.
Jealous of who, you may ask? Let's say, he dotes on America more. As much as I want to say negative things towards my brother, things won't even change even if I do.
I remember vividly when I was handed over to England's care. I was so sacred, I barely understood a thing he said. But he didn't abandon me. No. In fact, I remember how kind he looked. How gentle and caring his eyes were at that time. He was patient with me. He didn't force me to forget what France' had already taught me. England gave me his own language and pretty soon, I began to understand what he's been trying to say. Looks like his patience eventually paid off. I kept my inherited culture and gained a new one as well. To be honest... I was happy. I wasn't alone. Even England was happy. When he introduced me to my brother, he kept of reminding America to be nice to me. Now that I remember that, that memory is something to be treasured. Sure I had the label "The British Empire's Colony" plastered on my forehead, but I felt that I wasn't a colony.
No, I was more of a very close brother to him. But I wanted-
But then again, as much as he treated me so well, he dotes on my brother more. I don't blame him. He fought France just to have custody of America. America came before me and stayed longer in England's care than me. He knows England more than I do and it somehow makes me sad. But what made me even more sad was the look on England's face when America demanded his independence. I was older then by that time. Old enough to understand things. I remember seeing England seated on his usual armchair but not as cheerful as he used to. He kept on staring at the fire burning brightly within the fireplace with such sad green eyes. When he used to always have a smile on his face as we drink our usual cup of tea by the fire, he was just sitting there with a blank, depressed look on his face. I don't blame him for being like that. After all, to have a gun pointed at you by the very person you raised and loved is a very big blow indeed. I've seen him cry a few times but he would stop and pretend as if nothing ever happened when he sees me.
England, why do you keep hiding your feelings from me? I wished he looked at me more. I wanted to tell him that I'm still here. He's not alone. Yes, not alone. I was willing to be America's replacement but I highly doubted that it would entirely work out. Then again, I also remember him asking me in one of those sad nights, right after America's declaration of independence, when was I going to declare independence. Of course, he was very much surprised when I replied that I wasn't going to declare that soon, especially when he needed someone to actually be at his side especially now when he needed someone to actually seek comfort with. I wasn't bluffing. I was aware that most nations hated him and I could see that he didn't have anyone to talk to. He needed me.
England was thrown into a lot of wars after that and I was there to cheer him up when he felt like giving up. I was proud of it somehow. I was proud of actually doing something America couldn't. Soon World War 2 was among us and England seemed to look even more and more weaker due to the crumbling of his empire.
I was worried and he knew it.
He kept apologizing about it actually and kept of hinting that I was free to declare my own independence anytime. But I replied that I should stick around a bit longer. I wanted to be with him unlike America. I didn't want to leave him just yet. Then America finally joined in the war, guns ablaze and pretty soon I saw Arthur with that same smile he would do when hes around America, this time he could only do it behind America's back.
England... when will you finally look at me?
The war ended with the Allies victory. A victory yes but England was left barely standing. His Empire was in crumbles after the war. He had to let go of his colonies and so I became independent but that didn't mean I was going to leave his side.
Eventually America became the new world power and I saw how much he reveled in that power. Little did he know that England was bedridden after the war due to the economic crisis his country was suffering and as the country itself, I'm sure he felt sick like a mere human would be when attacked by a virus. I was there beside him when he was moaning in pain. I was there when he softly called out America's name in his sleep.
It hurt so much England.
It hurts.
I want to tell you how much I... how much I love you.
Don't you know it hurts so much to see you smiling that special smile at my undeserving brother? But then again, you have always looked at him, doted on him so much. You love America more than me and its clear. But...
I love you too, England. I'm thankful for the care you gave me. I'm thankful for your kindness. I'm thankful for everything you've done for me. And so...
To my most precious person, I only wish for your happiness
-END-
---
A/N: Shall I write Arthur's response?