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* Note: To those who have already read this, it's okay to not read it again. I just made some very minor edits to this thing, but it's basically still the same. If you still insist on reading, well, leave a review now okay? :))

* Hey guys.! Sorry I haven't updated Warmth Under the Snow yet; I'm currently suffering from writer's block. T_T I wrote this story when I came across this cool quote in an English master class and a plot bunny hopped in. Enjoy.!

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PARLER PERSPICACE

"You're not attending his birthday party again this year?"

England glared at the speaker. His head was hurting again and his chest felt tight. He was not in the mood for any taunts the Frenchman may have up his sleeve. He barely even had the strength to just glare.

Unamused by the silence, France stepped closer to the Brit, staring into his green eyes. England just stared at his blankly.

"When are you going to get over it, Angleterre?" France whispered, his expression that of concern. "It's been three centuries."

"I know," England replied, closing his eyes. His head was pounding, and he could barely hear the Frenchman's words. "I'm trying my best to... Forget about it."

And it was true; even France knew that. England was desperately trying to forget about what had happened three hundred years ago, desperately trying to act as normal as he could around his former charge. But it was during this one week that he would feel the weight of all his emotions, the sadness, the sorrow, the grief. It was during this one week that he couldn't bear to see America, for if he did, he would break. France knew, and he understood.

"Mon cher," France said, taking one of England's hands in his. Even though the world knew them as enemies, they were actually also brothers, and France would do anything to help his younger brother. But this was not something he could help with. England would have to do something about it himself, and England would have to get through it himself.

"You're doing it the wrong way."

England opened his eyes and stared into France's blue eyes. The Frenchman could see the pain in the other's emerald orbs, but keeping everything inside that little body of his would not be good. He couldn't help, but he could at least push the other one in the right direction.

"You shouldn't forget about these things," France said. "These events that gave us pain, the memories we want to bury in the past, we shouldn't forget them. They are essential to us; they made us who we are. It's because of them that we were able to become strong. Angleterre, you shouldn't forget."

"What am I to do then?" England squeaked. France felt a pang in his heart. It hurt to see his younger brother so frail, so vulnerable. It didn't fit the image that the Brit projected to the world; if the other countries saw him right now, they would've thought it was just someone who looked like him. But France knew, and it hurt him.

"If I can't forget..." England said, his voice trembling and tears threatening to spill from his eyes. "What is there left to do?"

France pulled the Brit into a hug as the tears finally left England's eyes. He hugged his brother tightly, knowing he needed all the warmth he could get.

"Someone once said that the only way out of a traumatic situation is through it. I think you should try to face it. Things have changed within the past three hundred years. You know he's not the same innocent America he used to be. But he is still America, he was still the child you thought of as a younger brother and raised. He may not be the same, but he is still the same." France chuckled. "Does that make sense?"

England sniffled. "I... I get it. He's not the innocent America that I had, he has grown. He's not blind to the world anymore, he doesn't need my protection anymore. But..." England raised his head and looked into the Frenchman's eyes and France thought his eyes were more hopeful than before. "Even though now he's annoying and obnoxious and stupid..." France chuckled. "He's still America. My America."

France smiled. "Oui, mon cher. Your America."

They stayed contentedly hugging each other for a few more moments until England squirmed in France's grasp.

"How long are you going to hug me, frog?"

France chuckled. "I see you're still the same as ever." His expression once again turned into one of concern. "So, are you going to Amerique's birthday party?"

England sighed. "Might as well."

"Are you sure?"

"Why did you go through the trouble of convincing me to face him if you're just going to ask that?" England huffed.

France smiled and pinched both of England's cheeks. "I just wanted you to know that running away is not the answer to your problem. It's alright if you don't attend this year's party, but face it anyway."

"I know. But I'll go this year anyway." England smiled, the first genuine smile seen on him for the past three centuries. "Thank you, France."

France gave a smile of his own before smirking. "Well, well. You said thank you. To me, no less."

England immediately turned red. "Why you... Let me beat you up, you bloody wanker!"

France laughed his obnoxious laugh. Deep inside he was very flattered that the Brit had thanked him and he was extremely glad that he had helped solve England's problem and cheer him up. But there was no way he was telling England that.

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* To those wondering about what the title means, according to Google translate, it means "insightful talk". (But one shouldn't always trust Google translate. I used it because it sounds cool enough and I can't think of anything else.)

* Ermergerd. We had a bomb threat at school today. It was so freaking scary. We were eating lunch and somebody just shouted "Emergency evacuation! This is not a drill!" Classes are suspended until further notice. The event got me a few plot bunnies, but I'm not sure if I'll ever feel safe in my school again.

* Thanks for reading guys.! I hope you liked it. Please review.! I'd appreciate some feedback so I can improve my writing. :)

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