A/N: Hey! This is my first official oneshot, so I would love some feedback! I did this story for a FrUK gift exchange thing, and was then urged to post it on here. So I hope you enjoy!
The Frenchman read the letter over and over again:
Frog,
As our bosses want to start working together, I guess I will start having to see you more. Ugh. Anyway, could you meet me tomorrow by where we have the World Conference at noon? I have something I need to discuss with you.
See you there,
Arthur Kirkland
He couldn't believe it. In just a paragraph, Arthur had invited him somewhere. Without being mean, for the most part. There was still the mention of Frog. This must be serious.
~~~Britain~~~
Arthur was freaking out. Everything has to be perfect, or else. This has been the moment he has been waiting for forever, and all it took was one slip up, and it would all be over. He went over what he was going to say again and again. "Look France, we have known each other for a long time now and I think now is the time to…" No, that was all wrong. The words were wrong, too clumsy.
He threw yet another failed attempt at his love letter in the waste basket. Or at least he tried to. The failed letter completely missed the waste basket and nearly decapitated a lamp at the corner of the desk. "Bollocks," he said as he rushed over to the nearly decapitated lamp. He picked it up, only to drop it again. As he attempted to pick it up, again, he cut his finger on a shard of broken bulb.
"I can't do this," he thought, heaving a frustrated sigh. "I just can't do this." He started pacing the room again, trying to give himself a pep talk. "Come on! You are the United bloody Kingdom! You used to own most of the known world! You can tell a bloody frog that you don't hate him as much as the others!" He stopped, and stared at himself in the mirror. "You can do this."
He continued staring at himself, his confidence wavering more by the second until he gave yet another frustrated sigh and headed towards the kitchen to make some tea, which always seemed to settle him down. A short tea break later saw him significantly more calmed down, but still a mess of nerves. He put on something a little nicer than what he normally wore, and then headed out, picking a fully blossomed rose from his small garden on the way. He got in the car, nervously continuing to try and get himself through this.
~~~France~~~
Francis made his way to the World Conference building. He got ready quickly, excited for what was coming. Once he parked, he saw Feliciano coming from the building. "Bonjour, Italy! How are you?" The Italian looked for the source of the voice before catching France out of the corner of his eye. "Ciao, France! I'm great! I get to go home and make some pasta and hang out with Germany! Ve~" he responded happily back.
Francis laughed, his signature honhonhonhon, "Oh that sounds magnifique! But, may I ask, what were you doing in the Conference building, mon ami?" "Oh, well, funny story. You see, the last time we had a meeting, I left my err, my uh-" The Italian looked around, trying to come up with an excuse. "Your what?" The frenchman questioned. "My…..white flag. Of course! That was it! I came back to get my white flag I- um left," He flashes a smile, hoping the the blonde would buy it. But, to his dismay, his little act failed. "Your white flag? Don't you make millions of those? Why were you really here? Nothing is going on at the minute…." The taller nation got closer and smiled, "But wait- are you planning something?" The Italian was about to respond, when they heard a small British yelp coming from just a ways over.
"What are you doing? I bet you planned this all along! Let me go out of my way to meet up with you, and then have me find you with another! Well, you know what? I don't need you! Have fun with the stupid Italian!" As the Englishman was running away, the pair was left speechless. Eventually, Francis was the one to come back out of shock. He started chasing after the hurt man, worried for him. "Angleterre, wait!" he called out, just as the other raced into his car. But it was too late. The Brit had already slammed the door and started the car. What did I do? He thought to himself, What was he going to tell me?
~~~Britain~~~
He came up to the Conference building. This was it. He grabs the rose next to him and began to walk to the building. "You can do this. It's not like he would say no, or anything. He did once try to marry m-." The Englishman stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth gaping. He couldn't believe what he saw! There, right in front of him, was that Frog talking, no, flirting with Italy, out of all people! This was his day, his day to finally tell him. And what does the bloody frog do? Goes and hangs out with another man right when they are supposed to meet!
"W-what are you doing? I bet you planned this all along! Let me go out of my way to meet up with you, and then have me find you with another! Well you know what? I don't need you! Have fun with the stupid Italian!" He ran back to his car, tears streaming down his face. Why must this always happen to him? Why does the world just hate him? He pounds his fist on the steering wheel, full of rage and heartache. "Bloody frog." He starts the car, wanting to just drive off the face of the Earth. Instead, he drove back to his house like a madman. But, as he was pulling out, he saw a distressed France chasing after him. Oh, trying to get me back? Should have thought about that before you went off with that Italian.
~~~France~~~
Just as Francis saw the Englishman go, the small Italian ran up to meet him. "What was all that about?" The blonde then replied, a hint of sadness and confusion in his voice, "I don't even have a clue, mon ami. Go, run off to whatever you were doing. I need to go work this out. I just hope he isn't drunk when I get there."
"Oh, ok! Ciao, Francia!" the Italian called as he walked away, confused at what just happened. Once he left, Francis made his way to his car, only stopping to pick up a dreary rose he thinks the runaway might have dropped. On his way to the flustered man's house, he sighs to himself, "Oh, Angleterre, what are you doing?" With one final glance down to the sad, red rose, he came to the house.
~~~Britain~~~
Arthur was an utter mess. Crying, he searched for some rum, whisky, or anything with alcohol in it. "Why is there no damn alcohol?!" He exclaimed as he beat his fists on the counter, wincing at the pain. There was a knock at the door, then a lone voice called out, "Angleterre! It's me! Francis! I can explain!" "Piss off!" he wails, in between sobs. Instead of leaving, the visitor let himself in and found the weeping gentleman on the floor in the kitchen. "I thought I told you to piss off, frog face! No one invited you!" he exclaimed, flustered. What was this man doing in his house? The Frenchman lowered himself to the other's height and replied with a calm, kind smile, "You did, mon cheri. You never told me what that letter was about."
"If you were really that concerned, why were you flirting with that stupid Italian?" he stabbed back, still hurt. Francis then let out a slight chuckle. "Flirting?" he asked, "Of course not! The little nation was leaving the building, and I was just trying to figure out why on earth he was there." "Do you honestly want me to believe that?" he questioned, lifting his head to meet the other's blue eyes. The visitor placed a hand on the other's shoulder, "Sil vous plaît, Angleterre. I wouldn't lie to you." The Englishman's breath hitched, this caused him to question everything that had happened that day. "S-so you weren't ditching me?"
"Of course not," the visitor smiled, and added, "So, about that letter…" The island nation then did something that he hadn't done in a while. He blushed. "W-well, I don't really know how to say it, and I've already ruined today enough." Francis inquired, "Tell me what? Don't worry, Angleterre. I won't judge whatever you have to say. Just say it." They then sat together in silence until, in a small British accent, "Francis, since our bosses want to, you know, start working together more, well, I thought that it might be a good idea to tell you…." Francis leaned in, getting more and more curious by the second. "I-I don't hate you. I never did. I actually, seem to have taken up to liking you." He turned away embarrassed by what he just said.
~~~France~~~
He gasped happily. This was it! His precious small Angleterre told him that he mattered! That he likes him! All those nights worrying were not for nothing! "That's good, because I love you too." The Frenchman pulled the Brit in for a hug before the latter could register what was going on. For a while they stayed like that, just enjoying each other's presence, until the Brit pulled back. "Wait, you love me Francis? Really? If this is a joke, I swear I will kill you."
"Oui, mon cheri. I have been waiting for you to make up your mind for centuries now. Je t'aime, Angleterre." His new found lover dropped his head in disbelief. "Is something wrong?" "This isn't how it was supposed to happen. I'm here, on the floor, a bloody mess. I didn't even invite you in, or present flowers, or look decent, or-" at that moment, the Brit was cut off by a finger pressed against his lips
"Shhh, Angleterre. It doesn't have to be perfect. As long as it's with the right person. And, believe me, it is. Also, may I return these? I found them, sitting there all alone in an abandoned parking lot. I believe they belong to you." He pulled out the sad bunch of flowers. The other stared at them in disbelief. "How did you- Why did you keep them?" "Well, I thought no flowers should go to waste! And, I could tell that someone must have cared to bring them." The Brit reached out, about to take the roses, when he stopped himself, "There is more where they come from if you would like to see." "More? Why of course! Where, may I ask?" Francis asked interested. The Englishman replied, "Let me show you."
He stood up from the floor and motioned for the taller to follow. They walked out to the back porch, where from you could see a small rose garden. "C'est merveilleux! I didn't know you were into gardening." the Frenchman exclaimed happily. The shorter was honored, "You like it? I started growing these a while back, since I knew you loved roses. It isn't much."
"You started this because of moi? Oh Angleterre, merci! Roses are my favorite. And look, they're even in different colors! Red, pink, and white!" Francis exclaimed, pulling the other in for a hug. The Brit let him and smiled, "I'm glad you like them. I was wanting to show this to you for a while now. You see, I never really hated you. Sure, sometimes you would get on my last nerve, but you always made up for it in the end." At that moment, Arthur lifted his chin so that his mouth brushed his lover's. The other accepted, and pulled the gentleman in for a kiss. But not just any kiss, the one that would be the first of many to come.