These two, I swear to God, are like a couple trying to kill each other and yet find that they can't live without the other. Like, if Francis dies, Arthur's gonna be Tsundere about it and flat out reject missing him when really HE DOES. But I hope you guys enjoy this one-shot called...!

Differences Between Arguing and Caring

The day had just ended, almost nearing the end as the sunset of afternoon brought down the redness of the sky and clouds, soft and orange-colored, floated away from the outside. However, despite it being near over, two unlikely lovers who were destined for each other were in yet another argument.

"I can cook," said Arthur, "I'm British!"

"How is giving people your scones cooking?"

Or rather, their umpteenth argument of the day.

Arthur was looking furiously at Francis who was sitting in his chair, arms folded and looking rather upset from the basket of scones Arthur brought for today's conference. It was already the end of the day and mostly all the nations left to go home but only Francis and Arthur stayed just to argue.

"Just so you know," Arthur snapped unkindly, "I happened to have the best cuisine in all the world! How dare you say my food is trash!"

Francis scoffed, "Like your country can tell whether grass tastes like rosemary or crap!"

"How dare you, Francis? I am completely offended by your stupidity! I should've known you were always stupid, but I had never known you were stupid enough to not appreciate good food!" Arthur pouted angrily and took his right leg over his left whilst Francis looked angered. "By the by, did you know that your shit deserts cause people obesity?"

"I can't believe you would go so far, you bastard!" cried Francis.

"Oh, did you just turn into Lovino?" Arthur had an opened mouth smirk that almost showed his (bizarre) psychotic teeth. They looked like fangs from a vampire.

"W-well...you're turning into Alfred! Look at you, you gained weight from all the shitty food!"

Arthur gasped and took a quick move to stand up and banged his hands on the table. "I can't believe you said that! You're so much like Gilbert because you're so annoying as hell!"

"You're like Lukas because you lack emotion!"

"HOW DARE YOU?!"

"HOW DARE YOU?"

CRASH! BANG! BOOM! POW! BAM! HIT! SMACK! Wait, smack? PUSH!

Two hours later...

"Do you feel pain here?"

Francis was wrapping Arthur's arm with some bandages as Arthur mumbled unhappily to himself. The whole conference room looked trashed, almost like some sort of war that waged on for hours. Chairs from different directions, tables turned over like shields and all the tableware was destroyed. All an all, it appeared as the usual catastrophe the two idiots generally do.

He didn't want to admit it, but Arthur really felt contented of Francis helping him alleviate his injuries. Ordinarily Francis would leave Arthur alone with his discomfiture while he had a few bruises , it felt contrastive just as Francis tied a knot on Arthur's bandage.

Arthur noticed from Francis' countenances looking quite fixated. But why? Was he planning on another attack? If so, thought Arthur, he has certainly mistaken my true power.

"Should we dim down on the physical violence, mon cher?"

"Hm, never really thought about it," Arthur replied free-mindedly.

"I'm not saying I don't adore battling you whenever I have the chance, it's just that I wish to express my love in a more..." Francis asked Arthur, sounding exasperated.

The pause between them was vicious in its own way. It felt as thought neither could communicate without having an insult in mind. Thankfully, Arthur asked the lingered sentence with a question.

"More what?"

"I think I want to show my love without that physical fighting," he said. "I want to express it with love words and kisses."

Arthur couldn't it, he quirked an eyebrow and smirked, "You rather fight with kisses instead of good ol' fashion battling?"

"It just gets debilitating, all the fighting we do. Can't we just...have a romance that doesn't need violence?"

"I'm seriously getting confused to what you're saying." Arthur answered flat-out. No consideration to his tone or words he expressed.

Francis looked beaten red with his cheeks and snapped, "I'm trying to say I love you and want to stop fighting! Is it that hard for you, a Brit, to get a well-processed love confession in your skull?"

Arthur wanted to retaliate that motion but couldn't find the best words to express how rude yet somehow sweet he was from saying that. But really, was what Francis said a love confession? Or was it just a process into something greater and powerful if not Arthur, with his thick skull, get the idea? All Arthur done to Francis was staring at him in the form of confusion and realization.

"Wait, so you're in love with me?" Arthur asked. "For how long?"

"For centuries," he said. He's not lying, thought Arthur, and his eyes...are getting weird.

"How...come you never told me this before?"

"Because I was trying to find the right time to do it. Have you forgotten I am a man of romance who finds the perfect timing to confess to a stupid yet desirable British man who couldn't figure out I loved him for centuries on end?"

"You're such an arse," said Arthur in his usual bitter tone. "That was the lamest confession I have ever received."

"You had a confession before? I didn't think anyone liked you that way enough to confess."

After Francis and Arthur were patched up from their battle scars and bruises, they both left together side-by-side (leaving the conference in total shambles) and went down the hall where streaks of gentle orange sunlight entered in the building.

"Just because you confessed and everything," Arthur squabbled unpretentiously as they made their way down, "doesn't mean I'm going to go out with you. I have you know I preferred a better, refined confession. Unlike yours." He added with a hissing tone that would make a snake fall to the ground in humiliation. Arthur heard from Francis snickered a mere snicker.

"Oh, why is it that I am in love with you?" Francis sighed a deep, remorsed sigh.

"Whatever," huffed Arthur. But then, he asked, "Why did you confess to me in that ruined conference?" Arthur noticed how Francis suddenly shifted his gaze from straight ahead to him. His eyes shone brightly in the afternoon's streaming lights that made him somewhat purer than before.

"Well, since our argument became overheated," he said. "I thought I should show you the 'caring Francis' instead of the 'arguing Francis'. Basically, amor, I wanted to show you I love you despite our differences."

Arthur wondered whether or not to trust him on that, but if he was telling the truth, he wouldn't have told Arthur all of these things he never knew about. In his heart he hated to admit it, but there was a tick of a last minute heartbeat that came when Francis spoke his mind. Was it just an elaborated feeling of confusion and misguidance? Or was it simply the fast pacing feeling of love? Was this feeling love? And if so, why was it confusing for Arthur to the point of not understanding how he felt when Francis confessed that moment when he patched him up?

Love was, and still is, a bewildering word for Arthur.

"So, what now?" asked Arthur, opened for opinions.

"It depends on you," Francis said. "Will you go out with me?"

Arthur gave it considerable thought until he said, "...fine, I guess I can try it out." His mumbled response was all it took to get Francis to suddenly pull him by the hips, duck him way down like they did on the dance floor, and prepared a kiss when out of nowhere, Arthur smudged his hand on the frog's face. "But that doesn't mean we kiss now! Git!"

Francis spoke in muffled, lighthearted responses wasn't heard by the British man who pushed himself off of Francis' arm tangling grasp, tumbled a little once getting out and stormed off, being followed by a laughing Frenchy who couldn't be more happier than today.

At the end of the day, both realized how much they truly cared for each other. Even when they argued, they both cared deeply.