Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his chair at the world meeting. The last time he had been at a meeting he had got ever so slightly drunk, and had an ominous feeling that he had said things to France that should have been left silent. He was planning on how to apologise for things he couldn't remember, when something broke his thoughts.
The door was pushed open gently and a blonde man shakily entered, quietly shutting the door behind him. He looked around discreetly from beneath his long lashes. The moment England saw France he let out a little smile and beckoned him over, giving him a quick embrace before sitting down, embarrassed at his public display of affection. France smiled at the unexpected gesture from the reserved man. France sat down with his usual grace but he seemed tense. England leaned close to him in an attempt to limit those overhearing.
"Francis, I…" Arthur started, trying to form some kind of apology but the Frenchman pressed a slender finger against Arthur's lips. In an almost silent whisper, Francis tried to console him.
"Ne vous excusez pas, Angleterre. We both said things we shouldn't have." He dropped his hand and the moment was over. Arthur wondered what kind of things Francis had said to him, and what Francis thought of him at that moment. It was certainly not unpleasant for a change; it couldn't have been that bad.
"Sorry anyway," Arthur muttered, biting his lip. France gave his hand a quick squeeze from under the table and the last countries trailed in.
To everyone's dismay, the meeting began with organised bonding activities. America read the memo and stood up.
"Everyone, make two teams." France grabbed England's sleeve forcibly. "You're going with me," he commanded and managed to resist a smile as Arthur obediently stood at his side.
Clusters of countries stood together in groups of 2 or 3, not looking enthusiastically about joining anyone else. America sighed. "2 groups, not 10! Go, go, go people, 5 seconds!" Francis decided to head over to China, with England right behind him. China smiled as he saw the two and they returned it politely. Other countries came over and joined them and they all faced the other team. America grimaced as he saw the axis powers huddled together looking around, still not decided which to join.
"Too late, I decide. Join them!" he pointed to the other team, with Russia towering over the others, metal pipe in his hand. Germany was sure he started to glow as a smile grew on his face when they walked over. Japan hadn't spoken a word as of yet and Germany wondered if he had eaten warm sushi or something.
"OK!" America started, a huge grin on his face. "I'm in that team…" he pointed to England. "…but obviously have to be spokesman so just pretend guys." Various muttering and irritated sighs began but America just grinned.
"Listen up! Activity 1, you will love this!" he started to laugh and Arthur's patience snapped. "Just read the bloody thing or I'll get up there and do it myself." France widened his eyes in a silent protest at the offer but Arthur ignored him.
"All of you stand in a circle pointing in and put your right arm out in front of you." Reluctantly, they did so. "Hold someone else's hand. Come on, anyone's hand it seriously doesn't matter!" He had been watching people trying to find their friend's hand and the buzz of whispering was growing in volume. "Done? Now do the same with the other one, with SOMEONE ELSE!" he screamed upon seeing what people were doing. "You can't let go, but you have to untangle yourselves."
"How the hell are we supposed to do that?" England snarled, his arm straining already, the hand he was holding was practically cracking his knuckles with the grip. "Just do it! Climb over each other and stuff, I did this at summer camp it's really fun guys. First to do it wins." At the last comment, both teams got to action.
"We have to win!" Someone in the other team shouted, and the atmosphere instantly changed to one of intense competition. Voices were raised, tempers were high, and the sudden excitement created a chaotic event. America was beaming down at them all getting stuck into his little activity, supposedly designed by his boss. He scanned down the list of various other games and mentally sorted them into an order. He rubbed at a speck of grease on the paper but had made it spread; he must have got chip grease on his hand. He wiped the hand on his jeans irritably and looked longingly at the half finished chips at his place.
He became aware of the profanities being shouted in various languages and heard a crash as someone fell over in the middle of everyone.
"Bordel de merde!" (Holy fucking shit) France screamed as his arm got twisted and trodden on by a clumsy boot. Spain swiftly lifted his foot and nearly fell again, much to his team's horror. "Stop moving," China ordered "We'll work around you, now lower your arm so Arthur can step over." Arthur, surprised, carefully stepped over and found his crotch close to the crouching France's head, a characteristic grin spreading across his face. "I have to move, I have to move," England called out hurriedly, and almost skipped over someone else's arm, and away from France. He ignored the Frenchman's violet puppy eyes and sighed. "I'm free!" Feliciano shouted in joy from the other team, causing increased anxiety in Arthur's team. They moved quickly, stepping over, under, through and around. It was a close thing, but with a little 'done' by Russia, the exhausted losing team collapsed on the floor in a heap. America frowned at being associated with the losers, but gave the others a thumbs up. "Now, next game!"
By the end of the games, there wasn't much time for a meeting and it was decided that business could continue the next day. America's bonding plan had worked and the countries were chatting in a relatively relaxed manner. On the way out, Arthur left with a pounding headache and a renewed suspicion of Francis' lack of morality. His previous concerns for his feelings were out of the window, having concluded that the man was absolutely unfazed by whatever he'd said, and their love-hate relationship was fully restored.
Arthur headed back to his hotel, which was conveniently situated close to the conference room for a change. He happened to pass a quaint little café with Italian country music playing softly. Arthur had a weakness for music, and also for pastries, causing him to involuntarily turn and head inside. To his delight he saw on the menu 'tè' and felt a grin forming as he ordered tea with his Rum Cake. Italian tea may not be the same as his favourite Earl Grey, but it would certainly do the job. He sunk into his chair and loosened his tie since it was a humid day, and without the cooling breeze that had been making walking bearable, it was sweltering. He picked up the fork and spun it slowly, checking for marks, before slicing into the cake. He tasted each ingredient, the hot burn of the rum, the sweetness of – perhaps vanilla? Arthur smiled. Italian food truly was some of the finest in the world.
As his tea arrived, the waitress was greeted by a grinning Englishman who was using the fork to point at the cake whilst making a satisfied, 'mmm' sound. She smiled and put the tea down next to him, about to pour the milk when he splayed his free hand over the cup and swallowed the cake. 'No milk. No gracié." She smiled again and took the milk away. Arthur coughed and ran a finger around the rim of the teacup before bringing the liquid to his lips. He was surprised to learn that rum and tea went together well. It was just then that Francis had decided to stick his head in the shop, also after some Italian cuisine. Arthur dropped the fork and brought the teacup up to his face in an attempt to hide behind it. It was unsuccessful, however for he soon heard a delighted flood of French.
"Oh, Arthur! Je vous manqué, mon cher."Arthur sighed and rolled his eyes.
"We've spent all day together, frog. Has your memory really gotten that bad, old thing?" Francis chuckled at that and glided over to the Englishman.
"You are so adorable when you are insulting me." He smirked as he pulled up the chair opposite Arthur and ran a hand through his hair.
"Je suis trop chaud," he complained, fanning himself with a menu. He started to fan Arthur but he slapped the menu away. "Arthur, how can you drink tea in this atroce heat?"
Arthur glared at him over the cup and took a long sip. Francis discreetly moved a hand across the table and over to the plate of cake.
"Don't." Arthur warned, but Francis ignored him and delicately picked up the fork, licking a crumb off before cutting himself a corner and bringing it to his mouth. "C'est bonne!" he looked surprised and Arthur snatched the fork away, wiping it on his napkin. Francis sniggered and leant across to the empty table next to them, grabbing a fork before falling back into his seat, brandishing his prize triumphantly.
"Oh, have the bloody cake then." Arthur pushed it towards him roughly, but Francis neatly divided it down the middle and started on his half. "How generous," Arthur grumbled, stabbing his piece and moving it to his mouth. He was aware of Francis' eyes on him and narrowed his own. "What?" he slammed his fork back on the plate and Francis tore his gaze away from Arthur's hypnotic green eyes.
The waitress came over again, asking if Francis would like anything. He predictably ordered red wine, equally predictably, in fluent Italian. Arthur drummed his fingers on the table in irritation as France flashed her a flirty smile and watched her leave. Arthur tried to ignore him and just drank some more tea. France turned back to Arthur at the movement. "Why do you hold the cup in that way?" Arthur looked down at his hand, little finger extended. He quickly curled it around the cup self-consciously. "It's how you are supposed to hold it, stupid." "Don't change, I find it quite funny." Arthur poured the hot liquid down his throat ignoring the burning, and put it down, folding his arms.
"Il conto per favore?" Arthur asked a passing waiter, and swallowed the rest of the cake, ignoring the man opposite him. It was getting rather awkward, not knowing what Francis was doing, so Arthur was pleased to hear the approach of the waiter again, until a bottle of wine was put on the table with two glasses. He put his head in his hands as Francis filled his glass before half filling his own.
Arthur took a sip; his love of wine rekindled, and then took a glug. France held his glass between two fingers and swirled the liquid around, inspecting it and smelling it before bringing it to his lips. Arthur found himself staring at the Frenchman's mouth and blushed, gazing into his wine glass. He thought about the last time they had drunken together, and found that he couldn't remember all that much. There was red wine then too. He felt a smile pull at his mouth and fought with it, disguising it with a cough. France re-filled his glass and Arthur took another glug.
Arthur grew aware of a leg brushing his own, and he tucked them behind his chair legs. Francis grinned and took Arthur's hand. Arthur pulled back but Francis was expecting that and gripped harder. He ripped his hand free, fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a note before placing it on the table and storming out of the shop, casting a glare in the general direction of the table. Francis slumped in his seat and downed his wine before pouring himself another.