Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, sadly (or there would be many more canon pairings ~)
Enjoy!
How unusual.
Even the voice in his head strictly maintained a politely disinterested tone.
The gardeners don't typically let strays in.
Francis picked up the small, dirty puppy that was wagging its tail in defiance of the clean, sterile order of the garden.
"Bonjour."
A ridiculous impulse. Dogs don't understand speech. He was about to put it down and wash his hands when the little thing licked him.
The nerve! How dare it slobber all over him!
Yet though his tutor would have flung it away with a cry of 'Filthy animal!', Francis found the gesture oddly endearing. He hadn't expected its tongue to be so warm.
"You are in desperate need of a bath," he strictly scolded it, suppressing the pompous voice that scolded him for talking to the animal again. It might be amusing to shelter this mutt. If nothing else, it would at least break the monotony of lessons, and maybe cause some of the servants to lose their cool.
When he was younger, his parents had hired nannies to watch him while they were away on their constant business trips. He used to like them. He remembered one in particular, a tall, blonde young woman with the prettiest smile. Emilie, or maybe Aimée, he couldn't quite remember (there had been so many after). She always called him mon ange and brought him toys and treats. Every time she talked to him, she was smiling. They had great fun for a few weeks, playing games, drawing, learning to read. But then, at times, Francis had seen her staring out a window darkly, smoking a certain brand of long, foul-smelling cigarettes he grew to hate.
One day, he decided to cheer her up with a pretty white and red lily he picked from the garden. He ran up to her as she was brooding and surprised her with a hug. She turned on him with a terrible scowl. Slightly taken aback, he said with a shaky voice,
"Look Emilie," (yes, it was Emilie, now he remembered) "I picked you a flower!"
The scowl quickly turned into a smile that looked almost painted onto the previously frowning face. She took the flower and ruffled the boy's hair.
"Merci, Francis."
Later that day, as he was playing in the garden, he passed by a brutally crushed red and white lily thrown on the side of the garden path, but paid it no mind.
A few days later, as they were playing outside, Francis asked Emilie what was making her sad. She had paused for a moment, then crouched to his level with a big smile on her face and said she was having a bit of trouble with her boyfriend. Francis pondered the subject a moment, then announced his decision,
"Your boyfriend is a meanie. You should leave him and be my girlfriend instead." He nodded resolutely, "I'd be very nice to you, always!"
He had been serious, too. He had loved her, and even thought she felt the same, until That day.
That day, Francis was sneaking down to the kitchen to "liberate" an extra pastry after lunch when he saw Emilie talking to – no, ranting at – one of the maids. Emilie always said eavesdropping was bad, but Francis never quite understood why. He had always found it a perfectly good way of finding things out. He crept closer, listening carefully. It sounded like she was talking about her meanie boyfriend. Maybe if he could find out what's so bad about him, he could help Emilie, and then be a better boyfriend for her!
"I cannot stand him anymore, Marie! You can't understand what it's like having to deal with such an entitled, stuck-up, and demanding brat every day! If it weren't for the money, I would have left ages ago."
He sounded terrible. Francis made a mental note to write to his Maman to pay Emilie more so she could leave him without worrying about money.
"The atmosphere of the house is oppressive: so many people inside, but if feels empty, abandoned. You can just feel the hatred and regrets oozing out of the walls, casting misery on everyone inside"
How awful! He'd have to ask his parents to give her a room in the house so she didn't have to go back to a place like that every night.
"And every day, he acts like he's so much better than me, so much smarter, just because his family's richer than mine. It's like with every word he says, every gesture he makes, he's reminding me that he'll always live his pampered life in a big house, while the best I'll ever reach is a servant, a worthless, replaceable girl paid to smile and play with the little shit because his parents don't care enough to ever come home. I swear, one more week and I'm leaving this goddamn job and this awful child, to hell with the money!"
Francis stood very still for a moment, processing. That couldn't be right. Emilie loved him like a brother, she had said so, once. If he ran out there now, she would smile her bright smile and hug him like she always did, right? He must have misunderstood. Of course. Everyone always smiled at him, said he was so sweet and smart and handsome ("Spitting image of your father!"). Everyone liked him, most of all Emilie, right? Of course. Paid to smile… No. He walked out of his hiding place and marched up to Emilie. She turned at the sound of his footsteps in the hallway.
"Emilie, you love me, right?"
He imitated the tone he had once heard one of his father's friends use, trying to sound grown-up and serious in order to cover up his worry about the response. His back was clenched straight and his hands balled up in his pockets in order to suppress the small, traitorous trembles that were aching to turn into full-blown sobs.
Emilie had almost made an effort to smile when she first saw it was Francis, but at the question, she froze with the unnatural half-scowl still marring her pretty face. Then she started laughing, a hard and bitter laugh quite unlike the one Francis had heard before.
"Love you? Hardly. In fact, that question embodies everything I despise about you. Your imperative tone, nosey questions, presumptuous attitude, and smug little expression make me want to kick you down, just to see your clothes dirty, your conceited smile bent into a howl of pain and shame. If your parents ever come back, tell them I quit. Though if I were them, I would stay away forever."
She marched off, head held high, with a smile much brighter, but also much crueler than Francis had ever seen on her before. He slowly turned and walked to his room, found a small teddy bear Emilie had brought him weeks ago, cured up around it, and cried late into the night.
He had never seen her again. The next day he was left alone, with the servants quickly cutting off whispered conversations as he passed them by. The day after, there was a new woman, with a new smile, new toys, new candies, but Francis would not be fooled again. No matter how sweet they may be, he now knew they all hated and envied him, so he hated them back. He began to delight in torturing them, administering many small cruelties that drove some to cry, others to yell, and all to leave.
When he was eight, the two-faced nannies were replaced by somber tutors that did not even pretend to like him. They would come, do what they could to get him to learn his family tree, or proper French grammar, or whatever other tedium they had planned for that day, then they would leave. These tutors were much harder to get rid of, but Francis had plenty of practice.
And that's where the puppy came in. His current tutor was an uptight woman in her late 40's who absolutely hated disorder and filth. Finding a stray in her purse, no matter how small, clean, or cute, would drive her insane. Chuckling at the thought of her reaction, Francis snuck the puppy to his room, plotting all the way.
Author's note:
Hello everyone! Welcome to my very first attempt at writing things! I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. I have loose plot-like things floating around in my head, so I can't really tell you a length (probably not too long, though - 3, 4 chapters is my current vague idea) or a solid anything really right now, but I do plan on trying to get some adorable FrUK in there eventually ~
Thank you all for reading! I would very much appreciate comments, suggestions, and improvements! Have a lovely day/night!