I'M BACK OMG BACKKKKKK! With another Hetalia update instead of Death Note -_-
I'll eventually get back to that. Right now, my muse just isn't in it. Regardless! More FrUK! :D And I'm right proud of this one. There's no hinted!Death or any death at all :D
Edit: THANK YOU FOR THE CORRECTIONS WITH MY FRENCH! :D I appreciate it! :D
Please Review
I let it fall, my heart,
And as it fell, you rose to claim it
It was dark and I was over
Until you kissed my lips and you saved me
Francis' heart often didn't think before it jumped across the gaps and obstacles set before it. It was the one price to pay with being the Nation of Love – oftentimes you wore your heart upon your sleeve and tried to share it with all of those who would take it. It was the one thing he often hated about himself – the one thing he prided himself in, or so most believed.
What was there to be proud of?
His heart was stupid. It was much too eager. He knew this – he had known this for such a long time.
Yet, he had no control over it. Just like he was a separate entity of France, his heart was a separate entity of Francis.
My hands, they're strong
But my knees were far too weak
To stand in your arms
Without falling to your feet
Still, it was something he had come to live with. The heartbreak he set himself up for. It was painful sometimes, but it was something easy to get used to when you experience it so long over centuries. Be it with humans or with other nations – though Francis did try to avoid starting anything with nations. So far, he had been rather successful – though there was always one exception that could bring him to his knees with just a word and had so many times before.
Regardless, Francis fought it with all that he had. He didn't want to be considered the weak one. Always the conquered and never the conqueror.
But there's a side to you
That I never knew, never knew.
All the things you'd say
They were never true, never true,
And the games you play
You would always win, always win.
"Bloody Frog, how do you get yourself into these things?"
The gentle touch of calloused fingertips against his injured flesh was one memory that Francis would never be able to shake, really. Neither would his heart – but it was his heart that was clinging to it so dearly.
"Ah, might I add, Angleterre that it was never my intention to -"
"Oh, sodding hell. Shut your trap, wine bastard. Hold still. Stop moving, damn it! You'll rip out the stitches I just put in."
The tone of voice was another thing Francis' heart would never let go of. It sent these ridiculous shivers down his spine even now. Yet, he didn't fight them and instead allowed his heart to win another battle as it yearned and ached for something it could never have.
That didn't mean it didn't dream and in turn, it caused Francis to dream.
But I set fire to the rain,
Watched it pour as I touched your face,
Well, it burned while I cried
'Cause I heard it screaming out your name, your name!
"Francis?"
"Oui?"
"Are you alright?"
"Oui."
Green eyes flickered slightly, trademark scowl falling into place as he watched the Frenchman squeeze a particular spot right above his heart as though it was in pain. Blue eyes were dulled, atypical and unusual considering they were normally so full of some perverted gleam.
Arthur didn't ask again, however. Concerned as he may be, he wouldn't dare admit it even if he wasn't entirely sure as to why.
Francis stared at an empty space just above the Englishman's left shoulder. The expression was almost dreamlike, and full of something Arthur recognised, but didn't want to.
As much as he hated to admit it, he had seen that look before.
When I lay with you
I could stay there
Close my eyes
Feel you're here forever
You and me together
Nothing gets better
At night, Francis rarely slept. Strange thoughts that weren't really all that strange kept him up late at night sometimes. Often enough. But, with the right amount of concealer and the perfect lie, he could oftentimes claim it was either work or that he had slept a perfect eight hours.
The truth was that these thoughts, caused by his stupid emotional heart, made him imagine what it would be like to actually have someone to wake up to in the morning.
It made him yearn for it and it was rather a stupid concept, really, but he couldn't help it.
His heart had unbelievable control of his mind, soul, and body.
'Cause there's a side to you
That I never knew, never knew,
All the things you'd say,
They were never true, never true,
And the games you play
You would always win, always win.
"I've won."
"Oui."
"Giving up so easily, Frog?"
"Je te déteste."
Sometimes, it was words that could hurt the most. Arthur realised this quite a long time ago. Especially when it came to a certain Frenchman.
While Francis wasn't particularly strong physically, Arthur would begrudgingly admit to himself and himself only that he did indeed have a way with words. He knew which words would hurt the most and he used them. Especially when he felt threatened.
It was possibly one of the few things Arthur could admire about the Frenchman.
Even if it was in secret.
But I set fire to the rain,
Watched it pour as I touched your face,
Well, it burned while I cried
'Cause I heard it screaming out your name, your name!
Unable to sleep, once again, due to his heart's yearning, Francis often had to bring himself to step outside. Sometimes it was clear and other times it was not.
Tonight was one of the nights that were not clear. Especially since he had just stepped outside from his hotel. A hotel in England for a conference. He had decided to share a room with no one, much to the surprise of many of the nations and he had smiled and said that "Ah, Brother France needs some alone time too, oui?"...everyone seemed to think relatively bad thoughts regarding this, but Francis wasn't entirely surprised.
He had a reputation and he wasn't entirely sure how he had received it.
Since when did flirting mean 'I want sex?'.
The Nation of Love was not the Nation of Sex. Frankly, it didn't sound nearly as appetizing or flattering. Yet, he knew that was how the others saw him. He couldn't be bothered to prove them wrong.
To tell them the truth about himself.
The only thing remotely romantic about Francis was that his heart just couldn't let go. It couldn't cut ties and it couldn't stop yearning for something that Francis did not want.
I set fire to the rain
And I threw us into the flames
Well, it felt something died
'Cause I knew that that was the last time, the last time!
"Angleterre, may I tell you a secret?"
"Why?"
"Because I really don't trust anyone else."
Arthur knew the truth.
He was the only person.
The last person.
It was probably one of the only reasons he was remotely concerned about the Frenchman standing outside in the rain right now.
It was the only reason he went outside to join him.
Sometimes I wake up by the door,
That heart you caught, must be waiting for you
Even now when we're already over
I can't help myself from looking for you.
"It aches again." Francis' voice was low as he stared up at the clouded, raining sky.
He didn't even care that his clothes would be ruined. That he looked a mess. That the darkness under his eyes was growing more visible with each passing minute out there in the rain.
"Does it?" Arthur murmured in response, keeping his distance, but watching his companion (rival, friend?) warily with a faint air of concern about him.
"I can't control it."
"Yes."
"Do you believe me?"
"Yes."
"Ah...merci."
...
Quiet.
"It searches for someone."
"Oh?"
"Oui."
"Who?"
"It doesn't matter." In other words, Francis knew, but felt too ashamed of himself to admit it.
I set fire to the rain,
Watch it pour as I touch your face,
Well, it burned while I cried
'Cause I heard it screaming out your name, your name
"Don't be so bloody proud." Arthur muttered darkly, half-heartedly.
How he managed the two, it didn't matter. He just did. He was strange himself. He had centuries to perfect it, after all.
"Why would I be proud, cher?" The tone he was returned with was weak in comparison, but still managed to hold some air of strength – however much it was waning.
"You need to tell someone."
"Why do you insist it be you?"
"You said I was the only one you trusted, don't you remember that?"
...
Silence.
Hesitance.
A sigh.
Francis turned his gaze to Arthur, blonde hair falling limply in front of his face because of the rain. He didn't seem bothered, but Arthur had a hard time reading this man often enough. He was surprisingly good at hiding things when he wanted to.
"Don't play games with me, Frog."
"I would never dream of it, Rosbif." The insult was half-hearted at best, but there was a twitch of the lips to show that Francis was at least somewhat amused.
Arthur figured that was a good sign.
"So, the truth then."
"Oui."
I set fire to the rain,
And I threw us into the flames
Well, it felt something died
'Cause I knew that that was the last time
The last time, oh, oh!
Was it an ironic thing?
That the Nation of Love was afraid to love?
Especially when he felt so forced into it by something he could not control. Francis hated being controlled. Being conquered, but he was always conquered. Now it seemed that even his own heart was against him.
"Angleterre. Do you understand?"
Arthur pushed himself closer, pressed his fingers to Francis' lips and just smirked.
"Of course."
The Frenchman's heart skipped several beats before pounding even harder at the gentle sensation. It felt inflamed – on fire. The rain felt hot too. On fire as it flooded down his cheeks.
He let it burn.
Then realised it was his tears.
Let it burn
Let it burn
Let it burn