Who knew black coffee could taste so sweet?

France assumed it was just sweetened by the moment. There were those moments when even England's cooking could taste as good as any fine French cuisine, and other times when any fine French cuisine could taste as grey and fine as ash. Over the centuries, France had experienced both, but now was one of those sweet moments. In fact, even the feeble rays of light leaking through the clouds seemed to be tinted the taste of honey. Even the vicious insults the Brit hurled at him every chance he got didn't taste so bitter today.

"Why did you have to come all the way over to my bloody house just to drink coffee? How big of an idiot must you be, bloody frog?"

No, they didn't taste so bitter, but they seemed to hurt even worse. How could his voice sound so hateful?

"I grew tired of my house. It's so big and empty… I wanted some company."

"Why didn't you just go find one of your bastard friends or whatever? Why did you have to come over here with your stupid frog and coffee smell? You're stinking up my bloody house!"

"Desole." It wasn't like he hadn't heard these insults for centuries. Often times they were even worse. So, why now, did France decide it was time to let them hurt?

"How can your house be empty anyways? Don't you have whores for that? You've got money, just go buy yourself some girl like always."

France stared into his coffee cup. "I don't buy girls." "Oh, right. You just use your charm to lure girls in, right? Straight to your bed? When was the last time you had a relationship that lasted longer than one night? On second thought, don't answer that. I already know you're a pig, I don't need the details."

He set the cup down; calm, cool, and collected. An art he'd mastered centuries ago. "Desole, this was a bad idea. Forgive me for disrupting your morning. I'll leave." He turned around, his back facing England, but he didn't move to leave.

What are you doing, France? He doesn't want you there, just go already. You said you were leaving anyways, why are you still there?

But – it was impossible! It couldn't be, could it? Two arms were wrapped around his waist. No, this had to be some kind of trick. Maybe he was just trying to squeeze the air out of his lungs? That wasn't necessary though – he couldn't breathe when he was around him anyways. But the arms weren't tightening, they were just… holding him.

He didn't say a thing. Neither did. Finally France tried to pull out of his grasp, but he didn't loosen up. If anything, he tightened his grip, expressing his silent plea of 'don't go'. "It's alright, Angleterre. Just let me go." His voice was even and smooth, but emotionless.

"Why?"

He wasn't expecting that. It took him a moment to think, but then he swallowed and answered him. "Simple. I'm unwelcome and unwanted. I don't belong here – I had no reason to show up unannounced and disrupt your morning - " The arms tightened. "I don't mean it." His heart fluttered. "Don't mean what?" "Everything." Silence. "Why, all of a sudden…" "Because you're an idiot." "And you're confusing. What do you mean?" "I don't know." "Let's start with… why you won't let me go."

"I'm scared," "Of what?" "Of you leaving me, frog." "Why?" "I don't want to be alone. Why so many questions?" "I'm trying to understand this." "What's not to understand?" "I'm trying to believe that this is really happening…" "And it's not just a dream?" They said in unison.