France smiled drunkenly as his third... Or was it fifth? Yeah that must be it. Fifth wine bottle slipped from his fingers to shatter against the hard wood flooring in his London flat. He glanced up startled when he heard the front door open. Only one person (other than himself) had a key to this place. England walked in and immedeatly his gaze was drawn to the green glass littering the floor. Following the glass he stepped carelessly, trusting that his heavy duty boots would protect his feet. When he found the end of the glass trail what he found was a drunk Francis in the kitchen struggeling to open another bottle of red wine. With a steak knife. Arthur quickly grabbed the knife by the handle and gently extracted it from the drunk mans grip. "What the bloody hell are you doing you git?" Arthur all but screamed at him.
Francis looked at him with glazed over eyes the same colour as the ocean. "I want some more -hic- wine Arthur, sil te plait?"

"No." he said flatly as he crouched infront of the Frenchman, taking the wine bottle from him aswell. France slumped foreward causing the Brit to hold him up in an akward hug-like fashion.

"Bloody frog. Get off me" but his words were in vain seeing as Francis had passed out the second Arthurs arms had wound around him. "Well this is just perfect isn't it?" He grumbled quietly. France curled into him slightly at the sound of his voice. Sighing heavily England lifted Francis without much trouble and manuvered him to the bedroom where he gently laid the Frenchman down. He tried to walk away but was shocked when he realised that - somehow - Francis had gotten a hold on his hand and refused to let go. Arthur looked at his hand as if it personally offended him "Hnn." he sighed and sat on the edge of the bed hoping that Francis would eventually release him. It was not to be (Cause I the author say so). After about ten minutes of sitting there England decided he wasnt going anywhere that night. He smiled slightly when the Frenchmans nose twitched as a few strands of his golden hair fell into his face. Arthur hesitantly stretched his free hand out and brushed that beautiful hair away from his face, stroking it behind his ear. Francis seemed to turn his face into Arthurs palm. The small smile on Englands face grew slowly as he whispered "You're much better when you're asleep". As soon as Arthur finished his sentance France rolled over, dragging the Brit with him. Arthur blushed and grumbled unintelligably, making no move to untangle his legs from the Frenchmans. Suddenly Francis pulled Arthur closer and began using his arm as a pillow, their faces centimeters apart. Arthurs blush intensified and he stiffened up akwardly but he still managed to feel more... content with Francis in his arms, almost like he could breathe easier knowing where the Frenchman was. Arthur sighed, suddenly feeling rather drowsy. He cautiously rested his arm over Francis' waist and his head nearer to the Frenchmans and closed his eyes. He was asleep within seconds