Love or Lust (Hetalia/Fruk or USUK?)

England's Rage

Britain frowned when the French man walked into their house after breakfast, looking exhausted. He stood to help him out of his coat and to the couch. "Where were you?" The Brit asked, handing his roommate a bottle of wine and some crackers. "Party." Was all he mannaged before passing out. England smoothed his hair and threw a blanket over his friend, grabbing his coat and walking outside. 

The crisp cool autumn air was like a slap in the face, helping England think better. He walked slowly along the empty streets, glancing at closed shops and parked cars. It was oddly quiet. England was unsure why France and America had been together the night before, but he didn't like it. His two closest friends, whom he happened to love; were hanging out together. And talking about me. He thought to himself as he turned a corner. 

"Who's there?" Someone asked from the shadows. England looked around, seeing no one he walked over to the voice. "No... Go away. I don't need help." The voice sounded wounded. When the Brit got closer, he saw a man laying on the ground, his blond hair dirty and his jacket bloody. "Shit." He said, pulling out his phone to call 911. "Arthur no." England glanced down again, looking into bright blue eyes, with no glasses. He covered his bouth and reached down to take the man's hand. "Alfred?" He asked, dropping his hone in the dirt. "Don't call the police." He said, groaning in pain.

England propped him up against the wall and pressed on the wound. "Who did this to you?" The Brit asked angrily, his eyes full of rage. America leaned his head against the brick wall and whispered. "France." Before passing out from blood loss. England snatched his phone out of the dirt and called an ambulance.

...

Alfred opened his eyes several hours later in the hospital, to look right into England's green ones. "You have lovely eyes." He said to the Brit. England laughed and stood to pour him a glass of water. America looked around the white room, and saw it had started snowing through the window. "You gave me quite a fright." England said, setting the water pitcher down on the nightstand and handing a glass to the American. "No pop?" He asked jokingly. "How can you joke feeling like this?" England asked, folding his slender arms. "Because you're here." He said plainly. "And?" He asked, raising a larg eyebrow.  "You make me happy." Alfred smiled up at the smalller man, and chugged the water gratefully. 

England stood stunned for a minute before sitting back down and taking the empty glass. "So what happened?" America looked away, blushing slightly. "We got in a fight." He stated, biting his lower lip. "About?" The Brit asked, his voice shaking. "You." America whispered. 

England sat dumbfounded. "M-me? Why?" America shook his head. "Figured you wouldn't get it. I'll spell it out." He tried to sit up, but gasped in pain when he did. England jumped up to help, but America settled against the pillows and waved him away. "You know how France kissed you?" He asked, looking shy. England nodded in response. "Well I was jealous... So on Halloween, we were hanging out to talk about it... France got a little too drunk and attacked me. Of course, I fought back." He grinned proudly. The Brit rolled his eyes, but still looked shocked. "I'm only still here because I couldn't stand never seeing you again." Alfred held England's hand tight when he said that. 

He hadn't said I love you, but England knew. He kissed the American's hand and let a single tear fall from his emerald eyes. 

...

England left at the end of visiting hours reluctantly to confront Francis. He stormed into the house, slamming the door behind him and shouted. "You gay baguette where are you!" France appeared  from the kitchen smirking. "So you found him?" England blanched. "You hurt America." France sneered. "Its me, or him." England tossed his coat aside and stomped to his room. "Talk to me when you're not drunk." He shouted behind him and locked himself in his dim room.