Set BEFORE the events in "May I," but still in the same universe. (I've built it up so much for myself so why not?)

NO need to read that to understand this random fluff, though! (Fluff? Angst? Fluff.)

Also, this is a gift for the lovely livia_1291. You're so sweet, and I know you've been feeling down, so I do hope this little holiday fic will cheer you up, darling~

It's a six-parter, where lots of yummy food and dorky sweater descriptions await! Enjoy!

...xXx...

"This is a terrible idea."

Most of the room seemed to be in agreement. However, the Frenchman stood undeterred at the head of the long oak table.

"It'll be fun!" France egged on, waving his hands in a flourish. "When's the last time we celebrated the holidays together?"

"Now, why on Earth would we want to do such a thing?" England said, closing his binder and standing up. Several other countries followed suit and began to pack up to leave.

"I'd have to agree," Germany added, buttoning his coat. "I'm sure most of us would rather spend Christmas by ourselves." He looked down at Prussia's dozing form beside him, grimacing. He kicked his chair to wake him, and the man groaned quietly in protest. "Or with family."

France stood at a loss for a moment, opening and closing his mouth as if trying to summon the right words to him. "Where's your Christmas spirit?" That earned him a few glares from the more Christian countries around the room, but he held firm, trying to convince everyone to go along with his idea.

Austria eyed him from three seats down, drinking his mug of hot chocolate. It was the 1st of December, and the European nations were at their final meeting of the year before the holidays kicked in to keep them occupied. Most were busy enough already with preparations—the Austrian certainly was. Or, well, he planned to be very soon. The first Advent Sunday was only two days away, and he intended to help set up several Weihnachtsmärkte in his capital over the course of the week, as he always did every year since the tradition started.

So there he sat, sipping the sugary drink in his hands, utterly bored with the Frenchman's attempts to get them all to break from their busy schedules.

"Oh, come on, guys. L'Autriche will be hosting!"

Austria nearly dropped the mug in his lap. All heads turned to him expectantly.

"I beg your pardon?" he voiced, setting down his hot chocolate before he really did drop it. Or throw it at a certain blond man.

"Well, I suppose if Austria is the one having it," England muttered, rubbing his chin. The Austrian's stomach sank.

"Oh, yes, then I guess it would be fine," Belgium added, helping to tie a scarf around Luxembourg's neck. "Vienna is quite beautiful this time of year, isn't it?"

'Naturally!' Austria would have snapped at her if he wasn't preoccupied with willing France to turn to dust at that exact moment. Of course his capital was beautiful this time of year—it was a radiant acropolis all year round, thank you very much. The Jewel of Europe, decked out in lights and fragrant markets, with music and bells ringing out across the city, laughter trailing up every street. Yes, indeed, his beloved Vienna is quite beautiful, and the holiday festivities and snowfall just added to its elegant charm.

But that didn't mean he intended to open his home to cater to some silly little party the Frenchman wanted to have.

The aristocrat opened his mouth to tell him exactly that, but France cut him off. "Then it's decided!"

The cheeky blond flashed him a quick smile, avoiding his gaze as he pulled out a stack of white slips of paper from his coat pocket. He grabbed his dark brown Astrakhan hat from the back of his chair and dropped the slips in, shaking the hat to mix them all up. France rounded the end of the table to stand by the doorway, holding the hat out excitedly. "Remember to only take one name, and to keep it a secret. We don't want any spoilsports, eh?"

Austria didn't know what upset him more: the fact that he was being forced to play conductor for a party he was already too busy to organize, that everyone had seemed reluctant to attend because they didn't want to be the ones hosting and were undoubtedly hesitant about France hosting, or that everybody was now eagerly rushing to pull names from the hat—as if they hadn't been arguing with the Frenchman for the past 15 minutes about his grand Secret Santa idea.

The brunet just frowned into his hot chocolate, the liquid no longer able to sweeten his souring mood. Why would France not at least give him a heads up, or just ask him ahead of time? He enjoyed holding events as much as the next country—perhaps a bit more, to be honest—but being caught off guard by the sudden responsibility of it all grinded on his nerves.

Austria sighed, leaning his head on his hand to watch the stream of countries file out of the room, each astutely grabbing a slip of paper out of the hat. Most were silent, looking thoughtful or confused, but some cheered or groaned. France was informing them all of the date and time, 'December 21st, 8 o'clock, for an added Winter Solstice flare,' and that they should all bring a dish to pass around. England ignored the nervous glances shot at him after that.

"It's just going to be a small, cozy thing," France was saying, "Just a nice evening with food and gifts."

As if. Austria rolled his violet eyes. It was most definitely going to be a night full of drunken fights, with extra snark being thrown back and forth about everyone's cooking. Or, since it was the holidays, perhaps everyone would, indeed, be relatively amiable.

Not that he was going to host the damn party, anyways.

A bright flash of gold caught his eye and Austria glanced over to see Switzerland shrugging on his dark green duffel coat. The blond man was one of the few who didn't say anything during France's little escapade, and just sat in indifferent silence across the table from the Austrian. The brunet noticed the dark circles beneath his emerald eyes, and the slight crease between his brow. His chest felt a little tighter.

I wonder what's bothering him, he couldn't help but think—old habits dying never, in his case. Perhaps the Swiss was pulling all-nighters again, like usual, to make sure he had several weeks off of work for the season. It was just like him to overwork himself so he could have a vacation, when in reality he could probably take one at any time.

Switzerland just ignored the mass of people behind his seat and walked off through the doorway, not sparing anyone a glance. That wasn't so unusual, but the blond normally would at least say a soft 'Frohe Weihnachten' before leaving around this time of year. Yes, definitely tired, then.

Another blonde head snagged his attention away from the retreating form of the Swiss, and Austria looked over to see Liechtenstein standing among the crowd of larger countries. She didn't immediately follow her older brother out, and instead was trying to eagerly look around the taller nations at France's hat.

The Austrian stood then, going to make his way around the table to help the young girl out of sheer politeness, but was impressed to see her small frame squeeze in between the bigger figures of Sweden and Spain to dip her hand into the man's hat.

The aristocrat continued around the table anyways and watched as Liechtenstein reached into the hat, pausing after pulling her choice out to listen to something the Frenchman was telling her. He then handed her another slip, and a wide smile grew on the girl's cheery face before she dashed off, yelling back a sweet, "Thank you, Mr. France!" before disappearing out the door.

Austria came around the table and leaned against the solid oak while he watched the last dozen countries file out. He steeled himself, crossing his arms, preparing to give France the scolding he oh so deserved once everyone had departed. He wasn't meant to catch his train back home to Vienna until morning, so he could wait.

Once everyone had grabbed a name and left, France pulled on his winter attire and made to leave, probably hoping he could outrun the Austrian's wrath. He couldn't.

"Oh, no you don't." The Frenchman tensed up as the aristocrat stepped up beside him, the brunet closing the door and effectively cutting off his escape. Austria turned to the blond man and fixed him with his most stern look. "I won't do it."

France raised his eyebrows, nervously adjusting his pink scarf. His voice pitched itself a tad higher than usual as he said, "You? Refusing to host a party?"

"Francis."

"Are you feeling quite well?"

Austria swatted away the man's prying hands, even more annoyance filling him at the country's feigned ignorance. After a momentary stand off, France finally conceded with a full on pout. Big eyes, shaky lip, hands clasped together—the whole shebang.

"Oh, come on," he pleaded. "Do this, and I promise I'll throw you a gala next spring."

The aristocrat ran a steady hand through his hair, exhaling in barely restrained contempt, "Why do I have to host your little get-together? Why not just host it yourself?"

"Eh, who knows?" The Austrian leveled him with a frigid stare. France scratched his beard, having the decency to look sheepish. "Your banquet hall is larger than mine, and the aesthetic is better for a Christmas gathering," he mumbled the last bit almost enviously.

Austria straightened his shoulders, not willing to let the compliment make him change his mind. All the colors in the France's own estate were lighter and warmer, more for springtime and summer occasions. Whereas the Austrian preferred the darker, richer colors associated with autumn and winter. And obviously his banquet hall was much larger than the Frenchman's, he wasn't a plebeian.

Biting back a sarcastic remark that made his tongue taste bitter, the brunet just sighed. He began walking back around the table to collect his things, trying to verbalize his conviction in a way the blond man would understand, "That still doesn't mean I'm going to do it. If you had asked me a month ago, perhaps I would have accepted, but now I simply won't have the time."

He felt France right on his heels, attempting to nip at his resolve like an unpleasant puppy. "What if I did most of the organizing and you just let me use your hall for the evening?"

Austria picked up his pea coat off the back of his chair, shaking out the navy material for wrinkles before slipping it on. A bit of unease was beginning to slip through his veins at the other's blatant eagerness.

"Why is it so important to use my personal home?" he asked carefully, turning to the man with more confusion than ire now. "Vienna, my beautiful city, has plenty of halls open to reservations, or you could just use your own estate. I'm sure the others won't harp on you too hard for your pastel Baroque color scheme not matching the holiday palette." England would, most definitely.

"Where's your seasonal giving attitude? This can count as my Christmas present."

"I don't usually send you gifts, regardless."

France looked almost desperate before he suddenly blinked, and a slow, wicked grin began to morph his face. The blond lifted his hat up once more, only this time he deposited another piece of paper inside from his sleeve. His voice purred out a little more sultry than before, "I'll make you a deal."

Austria knew he shouldn't take the bait, no matter what it was. There simply wasn't any time that he could spend on such ridiculousness. It was just sheer curiosity that made him reach into that wool Astrakhan, and not any sense of future commitment to whatever promise was printed on that slip of paper. The fact that it was the only piece of parchment inside tipped him off that this was the Frenchman's one play against him, but it didn't give away what it could possibly be.

He looked at the paper in his grip, unfolding it before he could stop himself. A heavy lump caught in his throat.

The Austrian stared at the name printed across the slip of paper, then up to France's wolfish grin, before glaring back down at the name.

Of course.

...xXx...

The Secret Santa banquet was only two days away and France had kept true to his word, arranging nearly everything himself. He'd hired a crew of people to work in the Austrian's main manor, to prepare for the upcoming dinner. Guest rooms were aired out, the palace kitchen was filled to the brim with alcohol and ingredients, and the opulent hall was laid with tables and decorations. Even a Christmas tree was brought in, at France's request, to highlight the back of the room beside the grand fireplace. The blond man helped direct the workers and even, surprisingly, paid for everything. It really did seem like the Frenchman just wanted to utilize his room for the event, nothing more.

Austria had spent the last few weeks assisting with the markets, sorting out the year's final documents, and attending political and seasonal events. His home life had been peaceful, uneventful even in the opposite wing of the palace, aside from his occasional trips to the markets to pick up his favorite holiday treats.

Yet, dread had plagued him nearly the entire month.

It shouldn't have gotten to him so easily, but he wasn't used to being blindsided by France, of all people. Nor was he used to being at the Frenchman's mercy simply because he knew the Austrian's little secret.

Austria didn't initially intend to get him a present. They didn't give gifts to each other anymore, and to start up again now would be nonsensical. Not to mention, there was no chance of his own name being drawn by the other, so they wouldn't even be exchanging gifts. However, the thought of the man going through all the trouble to participate in the Secret Santa, and even coming to stay at the aristocrat's home for the event, then to be the only one stunted, without a present—

Well, how could the Austrian be so cruel? It was just the most sensible thing to do, to follow through on the promise drawing that name gave him.

Now, though, every time he was out at the markets or window shopping, he would see something that would make him think, Oh, he would like that. Then he would have to swallow down the heat in his stomach as he sped away, both from embarrassment and wistful fondness. He couldn't even walk down his own Kärntner Strasse without the usual hollowness in his heart nagging at him ten times more than usual.

It wasn't like he needed reminding, this time of year of all times, of just how lonely he was.

Making his way along the salt covered sidewalks, the brunet slipped through several groups of people crowded around the storefronts. He could hear a small choir of carolers stationed at the end of the way singing various tunes, currently crooning a lovely version of Silver Bells. The waves of pedestrian shoppers had only increased the past few days, from eager tourists to mad dashers looking for last minute gifts.

The bags of spices and wine weighed pleasantly in his arms as he sidestepped a frantic couple sprinting into the confectionery on his right, and he was looking forward to returning home and making his favorite holiday drink.

Austria indulged himself and gazed freely along the line of glowing display fronts as he walked along a particularly empty part of the street. Vibrant white lights illuminated a plethora of toys and clothes and food all along the street, and the brunet allowed himself a small smile. No matter how many years went by, he would never get tired of seeing just how happy a bright market atmosphere could make his people, or the tourists who kindly decided to spend their Christmastime visiting his delightful home.

Strolling like this through the snow swirling in front of his nose, with the gentle voices of passersby and carolers blooming all around him, he could just about forget all of his woes. He slowed in front of a bustling crafts store, eyeing the sparkling ribbons and threads out on display. Blues, silvers, golds . . .

A particularly rich shade of green wool yarn caught his eye, and the wintry air caught in his throat. It was so vividly hued, it was practically glowing despite the coarse texture. A handful of darker and lighter shades of green surrounded it, but the yarn still shone the brightest.

A glimpse of something else to the left helped him to tear his gaze away, spotting a round basket full of a red pile of mohair hanks. The color right on top was an intense cardinal—both dark and bright at the same time, standing out like cherry sauce poured over a slice of cheesecake.

Austria found his fingers twitching as he glanced between the brilliant shades. His eye lingered on the deep emerald wool.

If he were to purchase several skeins of that gem-like color, well, who could really blame him?

...xXx...

All in all, once he finally returned back to his estate, the aristocrat's arms and car were laden with more than just wine. Austria figured he might as well get a few more gifts for some of the others, seeing as how he would now see them sooner than after the New Year. He, Hungary, Italy, Germany, and Prussia had planned to get together in early January to spend a week of holidays together, but since they were going to see one another a bit sooner the brunet figured he might as well stock up on their gifts now.

I wonder if Liz will dress up as Krampus again this year, he briefly thought. The naïve Italian always fell for the trick, even if the woman usually fell out of character quite quickly to coddle the brunet man.

This Christmas, though, he would spend alone. Just like he had for little over a decade now.

The Austrian tried to ignore the sounds of cooking coming from his personal kitchen, and just focused on lugging his bags through the foyer. A blond head swiftly poked out from behind his stained glass wall divider as he was sneaking down the hallway, ruining his hopes for a quiet retreat up to his room. Right. He had a certain Frenchman staying with him for the past week.

"Welcome back," France said, stepping over to him. He perked up as he looked over Austria's haul. "I thought you went out to get wine."

"I did," the brunet huffed, smacking away the man's hand as he tried to look in a bag. "No peeking." Austria paused a moment, then straightened up and held out his left arm that was laden with bags. The least the other could do would be to help him get all his things upstairs.

Blue eyes crinkled in amusement as the Frenchman relieved him of several bags and dutifully followed him through the living room. "Oh? Did you get me a present?"

"Why would I buy you a gift?"

"Since I'm helping you out this season?"

"Think again."

"Because I'm so irresistible?"

"Ha!"

"You're secretly hot and gooey under that icy, sexy exterior?"

Austria snorted, imagining pushing the smug blond down the stairs. He couldn't suffer another moment of the man's incessant giggling, he had actual work to do. Everything was bought and calculated, and now all he had to do was put it all together. He only had two nights, however, and the brunet was mentally kicking himself for procrastinating.

What if I can't finish his gift in time? The Austrian sobered slightly as he set his bags on the bed. An even scarier thought trickled into the forefront of his mind then, unbidden. What if he hates it?

"Do we have to put our name on the gift?" he asked lightly. Austria stared evenly at his companion, unwilling to let the man see just how nervous his little winter escapade was making him.

France glanced up from where he was carefully laying down the paper bags across the comforter, raising an eyebrow. The aristocrat hated that he was giving him a look; like he knew exactly why he was asking such a thing. He probably did, but that didn't matter to the Austrian. He just needed to know.

"You can," the Frenchman said slowly, tightening the ribbon holding back his wavy hair from his face. "If you wish. The others are allowed to let their pick know it was them, but I was going to have everyone wait to pass out their gifts until after dinner."

Austria tugged off his gloves, not paying attention to the sunken feeling in his chest. "I suppose."

The blond looked thoughtful for a moment. "We could have everyone put their gifts under the tree, and then you and I pass them out afterword? That way those who want to stay anonymous can. I also have a special gift lottery for everyone to participate in, and some extra presents in case someone is left without a gift."

"Perhaps that could work." Perhaps it would. There wasn't much else to be done about it, though he was going to make sure France was the one to hand over his gift. Even if the man insisted on teasing him about his crush, he could also count on the Frenchman's discretion. He'd kept his secret for years now, after all, the only one in his life privy to such a revelation.

France was nothing if not honorable when it came to matters of the heart.

For the moment, though, he would make sure that the blond man would make himself useful for a second time that evening—honestly, he was just standing there—and so Austria instructed him to hold out his arms so he could unwind all the hanks of yarn he'd bought.

...xXx...

"He's not going to come."

"He'll come."

"He won't," Austria insisted. He threw down the knitting needles in his lap, rubbing his eyes tiredly from beneath his glasses.

A puff of laughter from the sofa across from him made his teeth grind. "Why are you so sure he won't come?"

"He hates it here."

"You're being too pessimistic, mon souris," France cooed as he added tape to fold the wrapping paper he was working with. "He'll be here."

Austria hated that the Frenchman was coddling him. He hated that he needed coddling. It was already 2 o'clock in the morning, and his nerves were beyond fried after hours of worrying in silence.

"How do you know that he'll show up?" he pressed, unable to just get over it. "How can you be so sure?"

Pacific blue eyes rose to meet restless violet with nothing but compassion.

"It's Christmas."

...xXx...

Weihnachtsmärkte - Christmas markets

L'Autriche - Austria

Frohe Weihnachten - Merry Christmas

Kärntner Strasse - Carinthian Street, the most famous shopping street in central Vienna

Mon souris - My mouse (a cute nickname France calls Austria in my fics)

Behold: A holiday fic that's WAY too late, and that ZERO people asked for! \(owo)/ I hope you all are enjoying so far! More shenanigans to begin soon~