A/N: After two and a half weeks of writer's block due to a bad headspace; a song from Tangled has finally made me want to write soppy, romantic fluff. Could just be the fact that I now have an amazing boyfriend as well, but this song is just too perfect.
And at last I see the light
And it's like the fog has lifted
And at last I see the light
And it's like the sky is new
And it's warm and real and bright
And the world has somehow shifted
All at once everything looks different
Now that I see you
...
France looked up from his plate; a smile lighting up his face as he stared at Scotland, who was sitting opposite him head propped up in his hands, wearing the most silly grin on his face that France had seen yet. He chuckled a little,
"Is there something the matter L'Ecosse?" he enquired playfully. Scotland just shrugged,
"Nowt the matter." He replied easily, "Jus' watching." France sighed, but continued to smile as he pinched the end of the other nation's nose, causing Scotland to squawk in protest and lean back, "Oi, cut it out." He whined. France outright laughed this time,
"Not until you stop staring, mon cher." He said. Scotland pouted,
"Canna help that you're too beautiful tae look awa' from." He retorted, causing France to flush. Had the Scot been at his Burns collection again? Scotland grinned when France didn't reply and kissed the blonde nation's nose, "Heh, should compliment ye mair often if it leaves ye that speechless." He chuckled. France snorted in amusement, but continued smiling all the same,
"I certainly would not mind." He replied, pushing the plate to the side so he could take Scotland's hand over the table. Scotland looked down at their hands and placed his free one on top, a softer smile gracing his freckled face. Both nations looked up as several people around them gasped in amazement; not just one, but 2 brilliant shooting stars swept across the sky over Paris. France stared at the trails they had left behind, while Scotland returned his stare to France's face. The lights in the side street the two nations were dining in went out so that everyone could see the other, fainter shooting stars streak across the sky. It also allowed the starlight to become perfectly reflected in the French nation's eyes. France grabbed Scotland's arm and pointed excitedly to another shooting star that, while dimmer than the first two, was much brighter than the others,
"Est-ce que, il regardent regardent ne sont pas beau?" he asked in such rapid French that Scotland nearly didn't catch it at all. He chuckled,
"Aye, it's gorgeous." He admitted as he watched the star briefly before returning his attention to France's face. All at once Scotland's heart swelled as he watched France's expression change from excitement to wonderment right back to excitement again. This was the France that Scotland knew; not the seemingly self-centred, arrogant, flirtatious French man that the blonde continuously projected to the rest of the world, but the passionate, excitable and tender man that he truly was. He gently took France's hand again, causing France to turn his head to look right back at him. France was startled only for a moment, but he then looked down at their hands and then at Scotland's face. The Scottish man's expression was the softest France had seen it in centuries; the years and decades had weighed down on him too much to be fair, but now it seemed like they never even mattered. The blonde nation smiled gently and squeezed Scotland's hand, causing Scotland to look at him again. There truly was no need for words; both had known each other for more than two thousand years and had been friends, lovers and everything in between. Tonight, however, it seemed like they had finally come to realise the true depths to their relationship; the tiny little flame that was their love for one another was never going to fade, no matter what happened in the world around them. They could be mortal enemies as far as politics went, but they would never stop loving each other despite it. The two nations stayed like that seemingly forever; the two of them standing opposite each other, hands clasped firmly together, and each staring at the other as if seeing him for the first time. Finally the two nations leaned into each other and kissed, France wrapping his arms around Scotland's neck, while Scotland pulled France close by the waist. When they broke the kiss off, Scotland leaned his forehead on France's and closed his eyes in contentment,
"Love ye." He whispered. France didn't bother replying. There wasn't any point. Instead he leaned his head on Scotland's shoulder and sighed happily, content that, for tonight at least, everything was perfect.