England's hands trembled as he stared blankly at the wall, the weight of the world—and of loneliness—heavy on his shoulders. He had a kingdom, he had power, allies, a rich history...but none of that mattered in the end. He was alone, and he knew it.

He had lost so much. Friends, family, even his place in the world...but then there was you.

There was always you.

He turned slowly away from the wall, his weary eyes still distant as he moved to a window, arms crossing tightly over his chest.

"You're the only one who understands me," he muttered half to himself, the words hollow even in that silent room. You weren't even in the room. He was hugging himself.

He closed his eyes, the memories of his past flashing behind his eyes like a cruel slideshow of pain. But then your face appeared, soft and bright amidst the chaos...and for a moment, it hurt less.

He could almost feel you there, the warmth and scent of you so clear in his mind's eye it was like you were standing next to him.

His grip on his arms tightened, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He wanted to reach out, to touch you, to feel the realness of you instead of the ghosts of memory that were always there instead.

But then his eyes opened, and he was alone—just him and the silent shadows of his empty room.

He decided he'd invite you to the british kingdom of his tomorrow. After his tea of course.. He knew if you said know he'd probably do something about it. So he was hoping you wouldn't.