(APH) Somebody That I Used to Know - USUK

England would always find himself staring out the window in the same spot, always looking out at the coastline as millions of gallons of rain drove their way into the ocean. It was always raining and gloomy noawadays; England couldn't distinctly remember whether it had been this way before, but it seemed unlikely. After all, if he was happy wasn't the weather supposed to be the same, cheerful? The drab outside matched his insides, his torn and bloodless heart, grey soul. Now and then he'd relive all the times when they were together and want to break into tears. Times when America had shouted with joy in his innocent child's voice that he was so happy he could die, maybe England reading fairy tales late into the night only to find America had fallen asleep on his lap. He'd always made himself believe that America would be there forever, but yet he'd felt lonely even in the other's company knowing that soon America would leave him.
"I still loved you, damn it." England muttered, watching a crack of lighting spider into the sky. He was right; back then he had loved the young child with every fiber of his hardened heart. Love did not come easy to him and when it'd come then, it had ached in his chest and made him want to laugh and cry simultaneously. The feeling was pleasant but not; however in any case he'd kill to have it back. The certain sadness his love had caused was horrid but he was truthfully addicted to it. The end of this, the resignation, was not the same sadness and he hated himself for his disappointment. After all, once America had left he was happy, right? They simply could not make sense together and this was better. Even though America had insisted he'd never leave England...
"You didn't have to cut me off... Make out like this never happened. Like we were nothing." England laughed bitterly. "I don't even need your love, you know that? But you treat me like a stranger, and it feels so rough."
America had stooped low in this bloody war he'd started, but "Anything for freedom" as he loved to say. First having someone take all his things from England's house, then slowly cutting off all trade and connections with England... "But I guess I don't need those things, right? After all, now you're just somebody that I used to know."

...

America sat at his desk late- or maybe it was early- one night and scribbled out the millionth apology to England, trying in vain to patch things up. It wouldn't work, maybe because deep down he was still angry at England and delighted at his freedom. He pushed away from the desk and went to window, breathing deeply to try and clear his head. Occasionally he'd think of all the times England had screwed him over, and this was one of those nights. To avoid a tantrum he'd write out all the things he could think of and calmly burn them, symbolically. With a sigh he looked at the paper in his hand and started to read out loud.
"You would always leave me. You would get mad at the littlest things. You would obsess over everything I did. You made me think it was all my fault, something that I'd done. I would always read into every word trying to see why you did this to me, but I couldn't live that way anymore. Above this all, you made me feel like I wasn't a priority to you. You said that you could let them all go, and I wouldn't catch you hung up on somebody that you used to know."
America ripped the thing in half, crumpled it up, and tossed it across the room. He wiped at a tear streaming down his face, sniffing. "Now I guess I'm just a past trend, though..."

...

"But you didn't have to stoop so low. Have your friends collect your things then leave me to worry about you all day and night. There wasn't anything else to do but..." England sighed, wiping a tear he hadn't noticed. "But fight to keep you. I never wanted to make you somebody that I used to know."