Francis had led what most would consider a very lonely yet eventful life. He had had the pleasure to know many different people, some more intamently than others, but all with their various quirks and habits that made them them. He had known them all, however for a relatively short period of time. Sure, he would still speak to them and occasionally have a meaningful conversation with them, but for the most part he had left the relationships just about as quickly as he had entered them. There were many times when he had absolutely no one to turn to and talk to. Most would have found this to be depressing, but if asked, Francis would simply reply that he didn't mind it.
And in truth, he didn't. He had enjoyed the cold comforts that solitude had granted him. Without the knowledge of someone depending on him, he was free to do as he wished. He was free to go anywhere and do anything he wished, needing not explain it to anyone. It left him free to protect himself from those who would only hurt him. He had been alive long enough to realize that, as much as he talked about love, it only ended in heartbreak and was often best avoided.
He found his reputation for sleeping around had actually helped in his endeavor of staying distant from people. It didn't really stop people from approaching him, but it did slow them down and he didn't have to explain himself when he found that he started to become to attached to someone, for when that happened it was time to leave. He had found that he cared deeply for several different people through out history. However, he had been careful to never let it get to far.
He had figured he would live the rest of his days like this and found that he didn't really mind too much, but there was a twinge in his heart that screamed for the constant love of another person. He had kept that twinge at bay for a long time by soothing it with relationships that lasted only a few months at most. He admitted that sometimes, when he saw how hurt that some of his various partners became when he broke everything off with them, he felt a little guilty. But he reminded himself that this was all for the best and someday they would learn to protect themselves the way he had.
He had thought he had perfected his art. He thought that for all his smiles and flirting, he had more or less isolated himself emotionally from the world around him. He thought he was safe forever, safe from the pain that only a true love could bring. However, he found one day that a certain man had found someway around all the walls that he had built up. He had knocked a hole in them and was slowly making the French man feel very vulnerable, if for no other reason than he seemed not to know that he was doing it.
He had done his best to keep him out, he honestly had, but he found himself talking to the intimidating man, trying with all the effort he had to make the butterflies in his stomach die when he talked to him. Yet, even with the odd things the man would say that sent a chill up his spine, he found that he was still thinking of the man. It was rather distressing and he had become quite the nervous wreck over the predicament. He was, for once, unable to separate himself from someone but the person seemingly felt nothing for him. Having such deep feelings for the cold nation of Russia was truly the hardest thing to explain to himself and it was even harder, no, impossible to stop.
He quickly found himself in a relationship, one that he had half thought Ivan didn't truly want and one he felt would end in the same way all his others had ended. But months passed and Francis felt that there was no real reason to leave, he felt strangely safe. He found that the walls around his heart crumbled when it came to the taller man. He looked at him and felt that there was truly nothing within him that wanted to leave. Ivan was something special. He seemed to know what was on Francis's mind and was always able to comfort the troubling thoughts.
Than he found that he, for the first time in what felt like forever, he felt love. He adored the Russian with all his heart. He could speak endlessly of him and just how wonderful he was. His emotions truly knew no depths when he was with him. For the first time, he found he wanted to be with someone for however long the ride would last. He didn't really worry about how it would end because, for the first time, he felt that it wouldn't end. He loved him. And when he looked at Ivan, even if the words weren't truly spoken, he knew that he loved him too.
Because I'm incapable of expressing my feelings like a normal human, I wrote them out. Title = irrelevant. Take this as you will, really nothing special. It turned out much longer than I thought it would. It was supposed to be a drabblelike thingy. Also, interesting fact, when I can't think of a couple, I revert back to these two. Huh. For my own personal Russia whom I feel like I owe everything to.