Hetalia oneshots

(America x canada) (fluff)

Alfred never really said, and Matthew never really asked, but he accepted it as law either way. It was easy to miss little things, to miss the signs. But at the same time, when you love someone, it's easy to spot the little things, to see the signs.

The tiniest things.

Like how Alfred's lips would tremble when they held hands. And Matthew would carefully untangle their fingers, giving the other blond's hand a little squeeze before relinquishing his grip.

Like how sometimes when they hugged, Alfred would hold just too tightly, pinioning Matthew's arms to his side, trapping him.

Like how sometimes there was a hysterical edge to his laughter.

Like how Alfred was too happy.

Happy enough to be covering up sadness.

Matthew never asked; he simply accepted it as law. Alfred would tell him in time, and until that time, he would accept what he could. Accept that kisses were not okay unless Alfred started them. Accept that hugs and kisses were as far as he was going to get without his boyfriend shutting down completely.

Once and only once had he tried to push the American for anything and he had been so scared by the experience that he never tried his luck again. The light that always danced in Alfred's sky-blue eyes had sparked and faded, blinked out of existence as he responded with detached, robotic movements. Matthew had stopped dead. Not dared to continue. He was afraid of those eyes. Dead ones.

He had woken on the first morning of July to soft kisses being trailed over his shoulder and up his neck, hands stroking over his chest. It was a pleasant way to wake up, but somehow it didn't feel right. Blinking sleep from his vision, Matthew came face to face with Alfred.

"Al?" he asked groggily.

"Happy birthday, Mattie," he whispered, his eyes wide and terrified as he slid lower, touching kisses to pale skin as he went. It was quite obvious that Alfred knew exactly what he was doing. He knew where to touch, and how to look, but there was still animalistic terror in his eyes as he tugged at the waistband of the Canadian's pyjama bottoms.

A hand closed around his, stopping him. Alfred looked up, questioning but painfully grateful.

"You don't have to do this," Matthew whispered.

"But it's your birthday."

"And I don't want anything you don't want to give me," he answered firmly.

"It's not that I don't want to," Alfred implored, looking thoroughly miserable, "Believe me, Mattie, please, I dowant you. I just- I – I just – I can't."

"I won't make you."

"Dear God," Alfred sighed, his forehead resting against Matthew's shoulder, "I am so sorry about this, I don't know what I did to deserve you."

"Don't be sorry, Al. You tried, and that means more to me than anything else. And if I can help with this, in any way, you just let me know, okay? I love you," the Canadian felt something hot prickle against his skin. He could see, but judging by the way it slid over his shoulder and onto the pillow, it was a tear