Title: Name

Author: Inunobaka

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, or any of Shakespeare's work.

Author note: Sorry if there's any mistake or if the sentences might be weird sometime, English isn't my first language. I would actually appreciate it if you pointed it out in a review.

That meeting had been long and tiring for England, who was especially glad he escaped those annoying France and America, and was now heading for the main door,walking slowly as his limbs were sore after the long time staying in a sitting position without much breaks. As he opened the door to his freedom-at least for the end of the day, he knew he had obligations-, he enjoyed the fresh spring wind caressing his face, inhaling deeply the scent of nature he could grasp in it, scent that was especially welcomed after staying a few hours in a room trying to debate about important things. A small smile crept its way to his face as he walked down an alley to reach his car, parked not far.

At the same time, France had filled a glass with good, expensive wine and leaned against a window, leading to a little balcony. He made sure nobody was around to start reading a bit the book he took interest in lately, when, glancing outside, he saw the Britishman getting closer. He smirked and opened the windows, clearing his throat to grab the other's attention.

England groaned as he recognized who made that noise that troubled his quiet walk.

"What do you want?"

He said it in a pretty rough voice, not willing to deal with him at the moment. He had seen him enough today, he only wanted to leave, but knew the Frenchman would never let him simply walk away. He settled for just letting him babble about whatever he thought was interesting, politely-or not-excuse himself and win that peace he worked so hard today to earn. He was just really far from imagining what was to come.

France put his usual rose behind his ear, attempting to look more girly, and coughed in his fist, before extending a hand toward England. At the same time, America and China, who were talking about something-apparently America's debt to China- came in sight, stopping at the curious gesture, falling silent, interested, wanting to know what was going on. France smiled sadly at England, who frowned at that, and, in his deep voice tainted by that accent some found charming-while it just unnerved the Briton-, he started.

"O Arthur, Arthur! Wherefore art thou Arthur?

Deny thy country and refuse thy nationality;

Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,

And I'll no longer be a Frog."

England stared at him dumbfounded. The sneaky bastard dared to call him by his name. Without allowing him the time to register what exactly was going on, his lips parted and he heard his voice answering.

"Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?"

And then he knew. France was using one of his weaknesses. Where had he learnt that anyway? Why was he using Shakespeare out of all author he could quote? The victorious grin the frog quickly wore went unnoticed by his victim, who still saw how the gaze directed at him softened.

"'Tis but thy name that is my enemy.

Thou art thyself, though not a Rosbiff.

What's Rosbiff? It is nor hand, nor foot,

Nor arm, nor face. O, be some other name

Belonging to a man.

What's in a name? That which we call a rose"

With That, Francis took the rose he had put earlier in his hair gently in his finger, and threw it at his Arthur, who caught it and kept it, busy staring at him as he continued.
"By any other word would smell as sweet.
So Arthur would, were he not England called,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. England, doff thy name;
And for thy name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself. "

Arthur, even though he would deny it after, enjoyed the attention. He smiled softly back, ignoring his former colony's snickers and the face China made, simply answering;

"I take thee at thy word.
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized;
Henceforth I never will be Angleterre. Or not in private, at least."

France smirked at that.

"J'arrive."

Two minutes later, he was standing in front of the Englishman, smiling happily.

"So... since when do you like Shakespeare?"

"You should know that when it comes to l'Amour, I have no limits~"

"You bloody frog."

"I love you too, Rosbiff."

And with that, even if Alfred made a disgusted face and Yao was hiding his own in his sleeves, as red as said sleeves, Francis leaned in and kissed Arthur's lips softly, before leading him back to his place. Arthur decided that in the end, he could put up with him a little longer that day.