Comfort Where You Least Expect
The personification of France, otherwise known as Francois (Francis in English) Bonnefoy, was a tall attractive man with long, shoulder length blonde hair and startling blue eyes. Said nation ran a hand through his hair pulling out some of the tangles in the process as he sat on his sofa, a glass of wine held delicately in his right hand. Thunder shook the house as the French nation watched droplets race each other down the glass of his windows, it had been raining for the past few hours so far and did nothing to lift the mood of the Frenchman. Exhaustion making him ache and his brain tired; it came to the point where he believed that it was just his imagination; or his mind playing tricks on him that made the door bell sound. However, a few seconds later the sound echoed throughout the empty hall once again, checking the small clock that had been hung above the lit fireplace told France that it was midnight. Who could be calling round at this hour... and in this weather too? Which is why it is not an understatement when I say that France was utterly flabbergasted when he swung the door open only to find himself face to face with his life long 'enemy', England.
Now the personification of England, also going by the name of Arthur Kirkland, was slightly shorter than our dear France and had short messy blonde hair, captivating Green eyes which were normally compared to emeralds and the most predominate eyebrows the world had ever seen. Normally the Englishman was wearing his signature scowl (or glare) but not today; oh no, today France noticed small tears escaping the man's eyes, a sad, distant expression now shaped his features. What shocked the French nation the most was the dead look in the man's now dull eyes, not a hint of their usual gleam. "Mon dieu! Angleterre, What are you doing here?" France looked up and down the frail man that stood in front of him, concern shining in his eyes as he checked for any injuries or glaring problems. England, however, refused to look up from the floor, gripping his hands so tightly in front of him that his knuckles had turned white. "I...I don't know." There was a slight pause as France stood there stunned both at the lack of insult and at just how broken the man sounded, he hadn't heard him sound like this since the revolution. After a few moments of deliberation, France opened the front door wider and stood to the side allowing for room for the younger nation to fit past him. "Well, why don't you come in out of the rain mon cher. I will find you some dry clothes to wear."
England stepped into the house, dripping water as he stood just inside the threshold, violently shaking. "Thank you France." Said nation took the younger's blazer and hung it up on the metal rack situated by the door and walked England to the sofa; as it seemed the broken nation was not making a move himself any time soon. "It is my pleasure, Angleterre. Now wait here and I will be right back" France made to move away from the sofa but found a slight force holding him back, upon looking down at his jumper he found that England had secured a solid grip. "Angleterre? Are you alright Mon ami?" France turned back around to face the other nation and bent down resting his knees on the ground as he tried to look into the others eyes.
England still refused to look at the older nation, "Don't leave me." with a small sigh and a smile playing on his lips France stood back up and gently pride the others hand from his clothes. "I will be right back mon cher. Do not worry, I promise I won't leave you." Before the English nation had chance to respond, France was off hurrying up the staircase. This, unfortunately left the British nation to his thoughts; memories of his Privateer days, his wars and the days of his empire; vivid images of his little America growing up, looking up to the British nation, aspiring to be as strong as him one day.
Then the revolution came, the day he was left all alone; the words echoed so clearly in his mind "you were so great." It wasn't said as a question, nor a judgement but as a hard, clear fact. Tears started to fall in a rapid succession, once again down his cheeks as Britain shakily placed his head in his hands as his body was ravished by sobs; sobs so loud and heart wrenching that he didn't hear the rapid footsteps growing closer to where he sat. "Mon Dieu, England! Are you alright?"
France threw the towel and clothes he had gathered for the Englishman down on the coffee table and without thinking, drew the other man into a tight embrace, not minding the water seeping through his own layers of clothing. The older nation rubbed soothing circles on the younger nations back, placing a soft delicate kiss to his forehead, as if not to break him any further. Though he gave a small start when he felt arms wrap around him in return; and a head nuzzle closer in his neck seemingly hiding from the outside world. Instead of stopping the embrace and his calming ministrations France simply drew back bringing one hand up to wipe a few tears from the Brit's cheeks. "It is okay Angleterre. Je suis mon cher."
As the younger of the two calmed down, France untangled himself and picked up the discarded towel, gently towel drying the other nation's hair. "Right Angleterre. I brought some of my pyjamas down for you to change into okay?" France still spoke as if one was speaking to a frightened animal, he was rewarded with a small nod in response, France stood up slowly and took the now wet towel in to the kitchen to be washed.
When he returned, England had already changed out of his suit and was seated back on the sofa, twiddling his thumbs. France chuckled as he looked over his 'friend', He looks just like he did when he was just a little nation, oh how I miss those days. I just wish I knew what was wrong with him. He is such a delicate nation. Making his way over to the sofa and sitting down next to England who, this time, graced France with a small smile and a quiet "thank you." Before he leant over resting his head against the other's shoulder; France was surprised not for the first time that night at the others strange behaviour but simply replied by wrapping an arm around the others shoulder. Rubbing his hand up and down the others arm hoping to open him up a bit.
"Oh Angleterre, will you tell me what is wrong? I worry about you sometimes." England looked down at the floor before turning his head burying it in the crook of France's neck, he took a deep breath as if to calm himself but really he was taking in the familiar scent of his French neighbour. "I got into another fight with America." France looked down at the British man next to him and placed yet another kiss on his forehead. Knowing that the fights they normally have never left the Englishman in such a state he knew something had went wrong this time and he wasn't going to like it one bit. "What was it about mon cherie?"
Know you are all wanting an explanation as well, as to why our little England is so upset for. Well I will go back to the ending of the G8 meeting. -Flashback-
Well the meeting was held in France this time and nothing had gotten done, but that is not even surprising really now is it? Anyway, America had called out to the English nation to wait behind as he wanted to talk to him. After waiting patiently for all of the other nations to escape from the four walled prison they had been trapped in for the past few hours Britain turned to his ex-colony and glared "What the bloody hell do you want America?" The younger nation looked back at the Brit a huge smile plastered on his face, almost bouncing up and down with excitement. "I wanted to know if you would come to my party this year? I mean I could have sent you an invitation but you would just claim you didn't received one and end up not coming. So are you gonna come?"
England was disgusted with the question, I mean why on earth would he want to attend that bloody party, no he wasn't nearly as torn up about the revolution as everyone else thought but he still hated the idea, in fact he was very proud of each and every colony he used to own. "No, America. I will not attend your party. Why on earth should I?" As you can see, this started a perfectly good argument; pretty much as you would expect of this pair.
However, this time it was not like the other arguments and fights these two had, for one England was tired and grumpy. He had been anticipating something like this to happen sometime soon given the date and he was not in the slightest looking forward to when it would materialise. Oh no, it was not the same as all of the others because America ended up screaming at the older nation, screaming something that happened to affect the other dramatically
"I HATE YOU BRITAIN! I AM SO GLAD I GAINED MY INDEPENDENCE; YOU HAVE NO POWER OVER ME. FINE DON'T COME TO MY BIRTHDAY. ACTUALLY I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU EVER AGAIN!"
This particular outburst brought burning tears to the Englishman's eyes but he refused to let them fall. Instead he glanced at the floor, counted to five and faced his ex-colony, green eyes portraying hurt and anger; not at America but at himself, for being such a horrible big brother to his colonies; not that he had any positive role-models to show him.
His shoulders slumped and an exhausted sigh escaped his mouth as a hand was scrapped through his untameable blonde hair. "I know America, I know..." His voice had never sounded so broken; at least never to the younger nation who had finally realised all he had said and tried to call out to the other nation as he slowly turned his back and walked out of the meeting room. No particular destination in mind.
England had walked around for a few hours, honestly he had lost track of time, it had been raining for quite a while but the depressed nation could not find it in him to get out of the warm June shower that had seeped through his three suit in a matter of minutes. However, after a particularly loud clap of thunder sounded Why did the weather seem to perfectly reciprocate his feelings? His feet turned towards an unknown destination; well honestly England subconsciously knew where he was headed he just didn't want to admit that he always sort comfort from his life-long enemy.
-Back to Present-
After France had heard the reason as to why his England was so upset, his own anger surged through him anger at the American nation for hurting his England so deeply; he noticed the huge black bags under his eyes and stood up. Not offering any snide comments or jokes about England's depressed state but simply lifting the small man up in his arms, bridal style mind you, and started to carry him up the stairs. England, though most would expect him to fight back or argue simply wrapped his arms around the Frenchman's neck and held on tight "Where are you taking me Frog?" France smiled at the return of his nickname and replied gently "To bed mon cher, you are exhausted and need to rest but don't worry I have a spare room for you if you would like." France looked down at the Brit to find him shaking his head; a light blush dusted his cheeks as he again spoke, this time much quieter than the last "Don't leave me alone Francis." He looked up at the man carrying him arms tightening around his neck before adding, as an after thought "Please?" The way it was said sounded as though it meant to be a question, France was again shocked (how many time does that make it now?) this time at the use of his human name, something reserved for intimate friendships or more. "Of course, Arthur. I would never leave you mon amour."
England again rested his head on the Frenchman's shoulder as he was carried into the bedroom of said nation before he was gently placed under the covers, a light feathered kiss placed on his temple before France walked to the other side of the bed and slipped under the covers. Turning off the lights he faced the other nation and was startled to find him looking right back, however, it appeared that the younger nation was already half asleep. That is until his small, almost vulnerable voice broke the silence "Thank you Francis, good night." France smile at the nation before brushing some of his hair away from his face, "goodnight Arthur, pleasant dreams." France, stiffened as England shifted under the covers tucking himself up under the chin of his friend curling up against his side giving a small smile before closing his eyes whispering something under his breath that made the Frenchman's heart skip a beat "I love you Francis." Then when France thought the Englishman was asleep, he wrapped his arms around the smaller nation drawing him closer to his figure before whispering almost as softly as the other had "Je T'aime mon amour. Je t'aime pour toujours mon amour, n'oubliez pas cela."
England smile slightly slipping into a deep sleep, wrapped tightly in the arms of the man he loved.