His tea had turned cold. The coffee shop kept bubbling up with people, their constant chatting filling the space around England's table and reminding him that he was not truly alone yet. It was one of the reasons why he had not moved yet, the reason why he had held back his tears and kept his screams at the back of his throat, the main reason though was sitting quietly besides the cold tea paper cup that England held in his hands.
He couldn't keep his eyes off the pretty black velvet box, wishing, hoping, that it would disappear and that it would take the last hours of his life with it turning it into some sort of sick delirium. Yet the longer the box stood unmoving by his hand the stronger England's urge to cry was.
He couldn't believe how stupid he had been. He knew France had been acting odd the past couple years, avoiding him, and always with some lame excuse to not go out drinking with him when England finally managed to track the Frenchman down. But he hadn't given much thought about it because it was France. France always came back. They had centuries of history, had stood by each other's side in their best and in their worst. They had been together in more secret affairs then England could count. And even when they eventually where together with other nations they would always end up coming back to each other in the end. England had always imagined that in one way or another they would be together forever. That things would always remain the way it had always been with them.
That was why England had said no when France proposed to him the first time centuries ago, because he had been scared that if something changed then they would change, that France would change and no longer love and want him like he did. They had remained the same back then, France's propose soon forgotten, until he proposed again. England had denied him again the second time, and the third, and the fourth, and all the other times after that that France had popped up the question. Now he knew how stupid he had been.
Today had been the first time seeing France out of a meeting room in over a year, he had thought whatever the Frenchman had going on before had finally ended and that they would go back to their usual routine after today. France had called and asked them to meet at the coffee shop to talk, so England had showed up on time expecting to have a brief chat with France before they headed back to his house to have some much needed rough getting-back-together-sex. He did not expect however what had happened.
France showed up five minutes late at the coffee shop as expected. England noticed that France was still kind of odd when he approached him. He was making awkward small talk when sitting down and avoiding looking England straight in the eyes. France actually seemed nerves, and England didn't like that at all.
"Just spit it out frog. What did you call me here for?" Sure his words sounded rude, but it was how they worked, England didn't even consider changing the way he spoke to the other man.
France let out a long tired sigh and then grabbed the small velvet box that England had become so familiar with. France opened the box, exposing the engagement ring with a single diamond and five emeralds around it, and placed it at the center of their little table. "Will you marry me?"
England hadn't even hesitated. "Bloody hell no. Now what do you want?" He regretted saying it now. Regretted that he hadn't jumped the man he loved kissing him senseless and saying that Yes he would marry him because he never wanted to be away from him. That having France avoid him the past years had been maddening and insufferable and that he never wanted something like that happening again. But he could no longer take that moment back.
France smiled back to England then. "I'm getting married."
England scuffed at that. "No you're not, I just refused you."
France just shrugged his shoulders and looked away from England. "Tell me mon cher, do you know why I was avoiding you these past years?"
England sipped at his tea, freighting ignorance. "Were you now? Sorry I did not notice."
"Of course you didn't" The way France looked back at him make his stomach turn cold. He was quite sure he was not going to like the way this conversation was going. "Did you know that you were the reason why all my other relationships failed? That they all left me because I simply could not love them as I love you?"
England raised his cup again to hide his blush. Yet he was getting a bad feeling about all this. Something about the Frenchman's voice was just off. "Where are you going on with this?"
"The reason I avoided you until now was because I wanted to give falling in love with someone else a shot. And the reason I asked to meet you here now was to give us one last chance."
England's heart twisted so painfully that he couldn't, refused, to understand the meaning on France's words. "What?"
"England." England panicked inside. France had just called him England. France never called him England. "I am with someone else, and I love him and I am going to marry him."
England's world had suddenly crashed. "Why?" England's hands had favored to release his tea to grab the edges of the table in an attempt to steady himself, he desperately wanted to sound less panicked then he was, but his voice was growing steadily louder as he tried to find back his reason. "You can't marry someone else! You just admitted you loved me so why are you marrying someone else? You can't love us both! You can't! You can't marry someone else!"
"And what would you rather me do then Angleterre?" France spat back at him. "To come back to this? To remain forever as a secret affair? To be with you for the rest of my life even when you refuse to acknowledge our relationship?"
"Yes!" England nearly screamed.
"I can't Angleterre." France sounded so desperately sad now. "I wish I could but I can't. You may be able to live like that but I can't. I'm the nation of love Angleterre. I need romance. I need picnics on sunny days, kissing beneath the stars, going to the ballet together on dates, to be able to hold my lover's hand in public and not have him swatting my hand away. I need someone that is not ashamed to have me as a lover, someone that actually says that he loves me and not mumbles it in a whisper when he thinks I am asleep."
England fell quiet. He wanted to scream at France that he would do all those things that he would announce his love to the entire world if that was what France had wanted. That he would swallow up his pride and give France all the romance he wanted and needed to be happy. But no words managed to come out. England felt impotent, defeated.
France let out a sigh and stood up. "The ring is yours. I got it specifically for you so I would feel bad about keeping it." He then moved and began walking away from him.
England remained seated, unable and unwilling to move. His eyes locked on the Frenchman until he disappeared from the shop. England then turned his eyes at the box now besides his hand, the ring inside still shinning brightly. He had remained unmoving and staring at the box and ring, regretting everything he had done, until one of the waitresses of the coffee shop shook his shoulder and told him the were closing.
England grabbed the box shoving it in his pocket, paid for his single cup of tea and headed straight home. He spent the night crying alone in his room, blaming only his own stupidity for ruining everything he had with the one man he had truly loved.