England was almost always scowling. Really, it was a wonder the man didn't get wrinkles from all his frowning! But, on rare sunny days in Britain, that frown would disappear along with the rain.
This was one of those days.
England has slept in for once, but it was a Saturday and he had time to waste. He went to the computer to answer the e-mails that would no doubt be there from his boss and from the other idiots of nations. There was another, more plush, chair next to the glaring screen of the electronic, a chair with a most tempting patch of sunlight on it…
And France walked in later to see England laying horizontal to reach the other chair, his head in the square of sunlight streaming through the window, and a peaceful smile on his face. So of course he could not resist leaning in and planting a little kiss on his chere's forehead.
"Frog..." England mumbled, lazily brushing a hand across his forehead. "Just let me laze for a little longer before you get all perverted."
"Well, as the sun shines so rarely in this country, I shall allow you your 'little longer.' But after that, I get to choose what we do with the rest of the afternoon."
"Fair enough. Now, let me soak up my Vitamin D for the day."
"Oui, oui, ma chere." And England was too at peace to even take issue at being addressed in the feminine. But that was fine with France, for he knew that later he would see that smile again, when his Angleterre was curled up next to him sleeping, a small smile of warmth and the sense that everything was all right in the world. Because, really, that man needed to smile more.