~Paris's POV~

"…France, I don't like this." A sharply-dressed Englishman fiddled uneasily with his tie, unhappy with the decision of the taller man to his right.

"Ah, but mon darling Angleterre, it iz only for ze day! Everyzing will work out just fine," insisted the Frenchman, a smile as bright as his outfit on his face. He reassuringly wrapped his arm around the Englishman's shoulders, planting a kiss atop his shaggy blonde hair. He received a poisonous glare in return.

These two men- Arthur Kirkland and Francis Bonnefoy, or England and France- had quite a history behind them. They'd been at odds their whole lives, despite occasional moments where they could almost be considered friendly. France was a playful flirt; England was, well… England was England: a self-proclaimed gentleman with a stubborn personality. He bitterly admired the older man, even going so far as to attempt to copy France's looks. It was hard for him to determine which was worse: being jealous of that French pervert, or looking up to him. There was something about their conflicting personas that caused getting in scraps- both physical and verbal- was as common for them as walking.

Yet somewhere along the line, a change occurred. While England realized how deep his admiration for France truly was, France acknowledged that his flirting with England felt more realistic than with anyone else. Amidst one of their usual pointless arguments, they shared a heated kiss out of the blue. Their eyes bore into each other for a second afterwards before they resumed spitting insults at one another, this time much more fiercely. But the next day, when they confronted each other about the kiss… Well, let's just say a certain Englishman lost his virginity at the time.

Naturally, they still fought, though much more mildly and it always ended in a kiss. After dating (secretly- England refused to let news of his affection for "the frog" go public) for a little over a year, some sort of magic or science or God-only-knows-what allowed for England to come up with a positive pregnancy test. Once he got all the hysterical laughter out of his system, France immediately jumped to ask for England's hand in marriage.

A beautiful baby girl was born to the couple, wisps of curly blonde hair already on her little head. Her parents were wed about two months after her birth. England had demanded that the wedding be private, and that neither of the grooms wore a dress; France accepted, but on one condition: they would announce their relationship at the next world meeting. After all, everyone was surely curious as to why England had been missing for over 5 months.

Their love story isn't currently the main point, though. What matters is that they were dropping their daughter, currently 5 years old, off at a Hungarian day care so they could spend their anniversary together. And this is where I come in.

"Alright, mon ange… Be good for Ms. Hungary, oui? Try to get along wiz everyone, and remember zat Daddy and I will be back to take you 'ome at 6:00," Papa- that's what I call France- crooned, scooping me into his arms. Giggling, I pressed a kiss against Papa's chin stubble as he ran a gloved hand affectionately over the top of my wavy hair. See, my curls reduced to waves thanks to Papa's excessive brushing. I'm not complaining, though.

I flashed my sweetest, cutest face at Daddy; a smile immediately cracked the partial scowl on his face. "Just as Papa said. Be a good girl… I love you, Paris." My shorter father gingerly planted a lengthy kiss on my forehead.

"I know, I'll be'ave my very bestest! Je t'aime aussi, Daddy." I think my inheritance of Papa's accent and passion for using his language used to get on Daddy's nerves, but if it did, he's over it now. Mostly.

With Papa holding my left hand and Daddy holding my right, we entered the day care- a cute little one story schoolhouse type building. We were immediately greeted by a smiling woman in an old style dress. "You're Paris, I presume?" she confirmed in an affectionate tone, bending over to get a better look at me. I nodded and slipped my hand away from Papa's so I could wave at Ms. Hungary with my fingers.

"We'll miss you, love," Daddy reminded me before telling Ms. Hungary when they'd be back to retrieve me. Papa occupied himself by whistling over his shoulder; apparently he and Ms. Hungary weren't exactly friendly.

After exchanging more good-bye hugs and kisses, Papa and Daddy finally left to go do whatever couples do on their anniversary. "You're allowed to play with anything here, as long as you share," Ms. Hungary told me, the gentle smile still on her face. I nodded, and walked a little further into the carpeted room.

My eyes drifted around, taking in everything I saw: the shelves lined with thin books; tables covered in paper, materials for coloring, and remnants of snacks that hadn't yet been thrown away; baskets upon baskets of toys; colorful decorations of cutesy animals, rainbows, flowers, and butterflies all over the walls… But my deep blue eyes rested on a boy playing with something in one corner of the room. His slightly-shaggy brown hair was cut just below his ears, a little longer in the front so as to perfectly frame his face. He was wearing a t-shirt that had to belong to his dad or an older brother, because it was much too big for him and almost completely covered his cargo shorts. Even if I could only see him from a side angle, I knew he was super cute. Heart hammering excitedly, I drew up courage, fluffed my hair a bit just as Papa showed me to, and strode over in his direction.

"Bonjour! Je m'appelle, um, I mean, my name is Paris," I told him with my best smile, smoothing out the front of my velvety dress and sitting on my knees behind the boy. He glanced over his shoulder and flashed a toothy smile; wow his teeth were white.

I always hear Papa complimenting Daddy on how beautiful his eyes are, so I decided to steal a brief gaze into this boy's eyes. Maybe if I thought they were beautiful, we could fall in love! So, I looked into his eyes… and my smile immediately dropped off of my face. I admit, they were a gorgeous shade of emerald green, but something was off. Something was wrong. Red flags shot up in my head.

"Labas, Paris! I'm Varsaw." The high pitch of the boy's voice confirmed my sudden suspicion: this boy was a girl. I glanced down toward her knees. She wasn't playing with toy cars or trucks as I had thought she would be when I came over there… In both hands, she held a plastic pony with a colored body and multicolored mane and tail. She offered me a blue one with a picture of a rainbow on its flank. "Wanna play My Little Ponies?"

And that's how I met my best friend.