"Que c'est beau…" the tall blonde remarked, stopping to admire a small vase of red roses. He ran his fingers delicately over the petals, taking in their flushed pallor. He leaned forward, sampling their freshly cut fragrance, flashing the flowers a smile of appreciation. His elaborate, golden locks fell to his shoulders, grazing the delicate majesty of the vase itself.

He couldn't really help himself, throughout his life he'd naturally worshipped these plants. Roses were the chief romantic symbol of love and everything romantic in his country after all. When he'd spot a fresh batch of them, he just had to stop to admire them.

"Francis, once you're finished snorting my plants, join the rest of us in the Summit, you bloody frog!" the short, irritable Arthur Kirkland shouted from the end of the hallway, slamming the large door behind him.

The tall blonde stood up, bowing lightly to the roses, walking towards the Summit room. He'd lost his train of thought for the moment; he forgot he had a meeting to attend to. Not like he really wanted to attend, political matters were unromantic and so unnecessary.

"Quelle tristesse…England cannot ever appreciate the aesthetic pleasure of roses…" the blonde chuckled to himself, opening the wooden door to the loud Summit room. The room was chaos as usual, his fellow Allied brethren seated around a table, shouting at the top of their lungs needlessly.

"How nice of you to join us, git." England growled, scooting his chair an extra few inches from him. "Honestly, you're such a useless country, if we needed a helpless dolt to molest everyone in the room, we could've asked Prussia to be here."

America, seated across from England, laughed aloud, his glasses slightly askew. He stood up, silencing the group. His attention momentarily diverted to China, who was loudly complaining and waving a large wok in the air.

"China, you needed something?" Alfred asked, confused at the chaos despite his calling the meeting to order.

"Get Russia the hell away from me!" China whined, raising the wok threateningly over his head. "He's asking me to be one with him, he's crazy!" he cried, swinging blindly at the large Ruski.

"What do you expect from such a barbarian, such a homme impulsif?" France spoke aloud, chuckling to himself. "Ivan's head over heels for you, yet he scares you with his brutish figure…"

France gulped, immediately regretting his comment. He could feel an ominous presence, a dark shadow loom from where he sat. A cold, stout pole pressed against his silky, well-tailored shirt, moving to tilt his stubbly chin upwards. "France-kun, you want me to beat that nice face of yours to a pulp with my pipe, da?" a childish voice inquired, giggling.

"N-not at all, Ivan-k-kun…" Francis stammered, trembling as the Russian nodded, walking back to his seat. England laughed aloud from his seat, he loved to see his rival in fear and knee deep in humiliation.

France always harbored a deep fear for the stronger countries among him, but the scariest by far was without a doubt Ivan Braginski. He seemed cute, alluring with his broad shoulders and childish smile, but underneath was a dark, twisted psyche shattered by the bitterness of wars past.

Alfred cleared his throat loudly, growing quickly frustrated with the lack of discipline among the group. "If you'll kindly shut up and take your seats, I have some news. There will be a new member joining our group."

The entire room rose to protest, it seemed they were determined to drag on the meeting as long as possible. Francis reclined in his chair, arms crossed. He smiled, shaking his head at the ignorance of his peers.

If these fools learned to relax, they wouldn't be so argumentative…

Alfred slammed his fist on the table, sending papers flying in his wake. The entire group hushed once more, awaiting his statement.

"We'll be having a familiar delegate among us for a little while, he desires to learn of our diverse cultures and in turn transform his country into a medley of them." America grinned, gesturing towards the oak doors. "Kiku, why don't you step in and say hello, it's been awhile since you've seen us all at once."

Francis looked up from his seat, extremely uninterested.

Probably some idiot redneck that America picked up from no-man's-land…

What a waste of time…

A rather elegantly dressed man made his way inside the room, waving meekly at the countries before him. His neat black hair draped over his onyx eyes, a light flush on his cheeks as he bowed repeatedly to the group. "I apologize for my tardiness, America-san!"

"Nevermind that. Kiku, say hello to everyone, we've missed you!" Alfred smiled, lying through his teeth. Half the people sitting at the table wanted to wring his neck, history had an ugly way of burning bridges over time.

Kiku turned to everyone, clasping his hands together. "Kon'nichiwa, watashi no namae wa, Nippon ga ari masu." He bowed repeatedly to all the countries in the room. "Good afternoon, my name is Japan."

Everyone in the room smiled thinly, Japan's shy stature quickly made the aura in the room turn sour, an awkward feeling spreading.

Francis blinked, focusing on the man in front of him. He had no idea that the visitor would be so shy, so little, so attractive…

He quickly found his eyes studying the Japanese man, observing his hasty, yet smooth movements with an intense stare. His skin was a milky white, smooth to the touch and his voice a dainty tenor that was a luscious dessert for the ears. Kiku preferred to speak in a quiet tone, but Francis couldn't help but imagine the Japanese man tucked away into his room with him, all alone together.

Surely then, I'll make him use that voice of his…

"Um….France…?" a voice roused the blonde from his thoughts.

Francis looked up quickly to see America staring at him, eyebrows raised in confusion. Japan had apparently walked around to shake hands with everyone at the Allied summit, and stopping at his seat, caught him daydreaming.

Japan stuck out his hand meekly. "Good day, um…France-kun, was it?"

Francis stood up dramatically, giving him his most devious, lustful smile. "A pleasure to meet you, Kiku." He purred, grasping the man's hand, kissing it lightly. "I look forward to our next encounter."

The pale man backed away, trembling slightly. America led him to the next Allied member at the table, murmuring "Yeah…he's always like that.." in a hushed whisper.

France chuckled to himself, watching Japan seat himself at the table next to Russia and China.

You'll be screaming for me soon enough, Kiku.

C'est une promesse, mon amant.