A/N: Well, happy FrUK-Day, Meagan Lo Saurus! I finally decided to quit procrastinating and write this already. I hope you like it and that it makes your day!
To all others reading this, I just have a warning: This is my very first attempt at ever writing Teen!France, and especially Chibi!England, so bear with me on this. I hope the fluff is happy anyway, even if they are out of character; at least it explains the beginning of centuries of love... *Trails off dreamily*
Well, anyway. Ahem. Enjoy the fanfic!
France smiled, leaning back against the rough bark of the tree behind him. It must be centuries old, to have a trunk so large that he couldn't even put his arms a fourth of the way around it. Or could he? He turned to the tree, shooting it a calculating glance. It was a wise old tree—so it must have all the answers.
Just to see if it was possible, Francis tried to stretch wide enough to get his arms all the way around the trunk—and, of course, failed miserably. He was just about to kick the wise old tree for being a jerk when a small giggle from behind him made him turn around.
His irritation instantly vanished, blue eyes lighting up. "Bonjour?" France called into the silent woods. "Qui est là?"
But only the distant sounds of chirping birds greeted him. France looked around carefully, pleasantly confused. "Mon nom est Francis!" he called eagerly out to the trees around him. "Quelle est la vôtre?"
A bush rustled.
"Aah, c'est donc là que vous cachez," he smiled, approaching it slowly, so as not to scare who- or whatever was lurking inside. "Venez, mon petit... Je ne vais pas te faire de mal."
The bush giggled again as Francis knelt just in front of it, slowly reaching out to push aside the leaves. But just as he was about to part the branches, a pair of wide, innocent green eyes flashed out at him from inside the bush.
He stopped to admire them for a moment before they vanished; they were the most beautiful eyes he had ever seem in his life. France had never seen a prettier green, like the sea on a warm spring day. And he was said to fall in love with anything that was beautiful—maybe his people were right.
"Venez, mon petit," Francis whispered with a smile, reaching out in a gesture of friendship. He was utterly fascinated. "Vous êtes très jolie..."
The bush slowly rustled again, and very cautiously the brilliant green eyes peeked out at him once more. France nodded reassuringly, trying to coax the owner of these beautiful eyes into the open.
Very slowly, the leaves of the bush parted enough for Francis to catch a glimpse of the face behind these pretty eyes, pale and soft.
"Vous n'avez pas à cacher, petit lapin," France murmured.
The bush laughed once more, this time speaking. "Your voice is funny," it giggled. Francis, caught off guard, suddenly realized that the little child in the bush didn't understand French. He smiled, still captivated by those pretty emerald eyes as he shrugged.
"Perhaps," he replied good-naturedly, extending his arms again and gently pulling the tiny boy out of the bush's tangled branches. To put it quite honestly, he was the most adorable thing France had ever seen. Those eyes looked brightly up at him, full of questions.
France brushed a few stray twigs out of the little boy's unruly blond hair, gently running his fingers through it on instinct and preening until most of the stubborn knots were out.
"I'm Francis," he murmured as he worked. "What is your name?"
"Arthur," replied the little boy, completely unbothered by Francis's messing with his hair. He turned curiously toward the wise old tree, craning his neck to look far up at the sunlit canopy of leaves high above.
"Why were you hugging that tree?" Arthur asked. France smiled, gently scooping the little boy off the ground to cradle him against his chest.
"Did you know, that if you listen very carefully, the trees speak?" he whispered, smiling. Arthur shook his head, and he continued. "That one is a wise old tree. He was telling me a secret."
"What was it?" Arthur asked, so intently cute that France felt his stomach do a flip. He hugged the boy close, but was careful not to squeeze too hard and break him.
"If you come and ask very nicely, maybe he'll tell you, too."
Francis smiled as he hugged Arthur, gently carrying him out of the woods. Arthur sighed and yawned, letting his head fall to rest on France's shoulder. Francis had never seen anything more sweet or adorable than this little boy who was now curled up against his chest.
Halfway through the journey home, he realized that Arthur was asleep, his soft breathing in time with France's heartbeat. He smiled, kissing Arthur's forehead.
"You're much more lovable than an old tree," he whispered.