Confession
"Hey, frog!"
France turned. The blond nation was surprised to find his former rival not being able to look into his eyes. Furthermore, he was blushing. Hmm… France thought with slight curiosity as the Englishman continued to refuse to meet his eyes. What is wrong with mon Angleterre? Normally France would have a couple of girls surrounding him, but tonight he felt tired from the World Meeting he had attended with Angleterre. Nothing, as usual, had gotten done. France was only left with a pounding headache and a certain Englishman's screaming of calling him a pervert.
For some reason the insult had hurt the Frenchman, causing him to quiet and not say anything that meeting. France ignored Angleterre's glances, annoyance diminishing to concern. France didn't say a word to the shorter blond as he exited the room. France sighed, his once smiling face now morose. The flowers adorning the room did nothing to lift his mood, nor did the images of his history through the portraits of the French countryside and leaders make his thoughts of a short-tempered and insufferable nation go away. I'm starting to think I'll never get a chance with Angleterre, the Frenchman thought as he passed a scene from the American Revolution.
Starting after World War II, the nations started to meet every time when their bosses went to the UN. Nothing, unlike their bosses' meetings, got done. It usually ended with insults being shouted across the room, France trying flirt with Angleterre, and America being an idiot. The meetings were usually held in a nation's house once a year (no more than that no matter how hard America tried to explain the heroicness of his house) because other underrepresented nations would be insulted if they did. The paintings as each nation walked or ran to the meeting always portrayed each individual country's history.
Even though England paled at the sight of the American flag waving in the wind as the soldiers in their blue uniform stood proudly in the snow with George Washington in the center, America insisted on having that picture there. "It's the best picture of American history, dudes! Even though it was a long time ago!" What made matters worse was that America suddenly got the bright idea to clasp England on the shoulder. "Right, England?" The shorter nation was visibly growing paler by the moment, and France could see him starting to crack with blood starting to leak from his nose. Since that day shortly after World War II, France made sure that there were twice amount of pictures of English victories against the French. Having Angleterre gloat about his military victories was much better than having the Englishman collapse.
"Yes, Angleterre?" France stated with a smile that didn't quite reach his face.
"Um…" Angleterre's emerald green eyes shifted, and a faint blush ordained his cheeks. He was looking down at his feet. "I…um…wanted to say something."
"Go ahead," France stated. He watched with faint amusement as his Angleterre shifted and mumbled under his breath. He's so cute when he's like this, with the most adorable blush on his face.
"I…just wanted to say…that…" France watched as Angleterre gulped. "…I don't think that you're a…pervert, frog."
"Oh?" France stated with a slight high note. A small smile graced his lips at the sight of England nodding his head, blushing furiously and not being able to meet his eyes.
"W-what? Idiot, don't look over here!" Angleterre yelled, his shout twice the volume than it was before. He ran his fingers through his hair nervously. He cleared his throat. "It's not like your precious to me or anything…" France's eyes widened and tried to stare into Angleterre's eyes as the nation would allow him. "I-I said, stop looking at me!" The Englishman's voice was desperate almost, trying to not look at the Frenchmen who was looking at him with increasingly interested eyes. Angleterre continued to stare at the floor, not able to hide the slight shakiness of his hands and of the strain of his upright body. "Well…I'll say it…um…" Now he looked up at France, and the taller nation was surprised by how close he was to Angleterre now. He could even feel the uneasiness of his breath. He could see his eyes...
"I love you."
The kiss against his lips was so soft and quick, France barely thought it was there. Suddenly he could see a blushing Angleterre briefly looking at him with a hint of fear in his eyes as he started to run away. France could see that it took every ounce of Angleterre's willpower to not run. Before he could successfully exit the room, however, France took a hold of his hand.
"Angleterre."
The name caused the shorter nation to turn, and France was shocked to find tears rolling down the nation's face.
"Pourquoi pleures-tu?"
Why are you crying, he asked.
The nation wouldn't look at him. His shoulders shook, and his voice was slightly choked as he began to speak. "You'll forget about me, France. …Like everyone else." His tear-stained eyes caused France's heart to slightly crack as he could see the sadness and cynicism echoed within those emerald mirrors. "You…flirt with girls all the time…and I…will remain your toy to play with until you find someone else to torment." Tears started to fall onto the floor. "Oh, bloody hell…" Angleterre whispered as he looked at France with a sad smile on his face. "I was doomed from the moment I fell in love with you, wasn't I?"
Suddenly France held Angleterre's trembling shoulders and leaned his face against his. "I would never forget about you, mon ami. I would never forget you." Angleterre's stunned emerald orbs bored into his own intense blue. "I'm sorry if I hurt you in the past. I never meant to. I just…never thought you returned my feelings."
"W-what?" Angleterre whispered. He stilled. The smaller blond seemed to searching for something in France's eyes that was not there. "You…"
"I love you, Arthur." Angleterre slightly jumped at the sound of his human name. It was France that taught him that having nations refer each other by their human names as a sign of intimacy. Hundreds of years passed before nations did that, or if they were… "Or as I would say, je t'aime assi, mon amour. Mon Arthur." The kiss was nothing that his Arthur had given him. It was passionate. France felt his lips against Arthur's own, feeling nothing but bliss as the lips belonging to his love were soft and warm and precious. He slightly sighed in satisfaction when he felt Arthur start to kiss him back, with more vigor than he had. The feverish kisses and the feeling of hearing Arthur's heart pounding against his own and the feeling of Arthur's hands through his hair was nothing short of beautiful.
France was surprised to feel Arthur pull away from him for a moment. He was silenced by a warm finger to his lips. "Merci," he told stunned France as French was spoken from his former enemy's lips. "Merci, mon Francis." He called him by his name. Francis felt Arthur's warm hand grasp his own, smiling gently at him.
Then he kissed him again, one more beautiful than before.
If anyone recognized the confession, it was done by England's seiyuu in a video on YouTube.