Hello everyone! So, i'm new to and I really wanna improve my writing skills so I have great writing skills to achive my dream of becoming an Author. I have a Quotev account where I will be doing my updates on and tranferring it over on here. I have my good friend Beta reading for me Rosemary1234. I hope you will enjoy this story as much as I do, and I promise i'll try to update often, since I love writing this story and really want my readers to enjoy this little world of Hetalia in a way you may not have seen before. Thank you all, and lets begin the story!

The Frenchman scanned the house before him, his sapphire eyes seeming to examine it as if he were a surgeon and the house was his patient. The Victorian style mansion; it was elegant yet unique. Old, especially compared to the modern ages they were living in. Charming... it was a marvel, he had to admit. Although aged much older than the typical human lifespan, it was still standing. Proud and tall. This house was a matching pair for the man who resided inside it in more ways than one. He already memorized the never changing house; dropping by for visits often enough to know it like the back of his own smooth and pillow-soft hands. Once again he found himself visiting the beautiful home. This time for a purpose he wasn't willing to let escape his lips.

His fist knocked on the door elegantly, the noise of the old oak-wood door being disturbed and banged upon filling his ears. Inside of the residence, a British man was busy leaving his graceful handwritten script on his documents. Not just any documents- those that were of a nation's work to upkeep their country and stay up to date with current events around the world. For that was what they were; beings that didn't age physically no matter how long they remained on this earth. Stuck living an eternal life until the countries they represented fell apart and no longer existed. Then and only then would they be released from earth.

Upon hearing the door being beaten on, the British man let out a loud curse, being known to be terribly irritable... even more so when his work was disturbed. He continued to grumble under his breath, sounding as if he had thunderstorms living in his throat. He propped himself out of the dark leather office chair and hurried to the door.

He unlocked it, opening it quickly to reveal his lifelong friend, enemy, and everything else between (what with the escapades, schemes, and fights they had been through). His emerald eyes narrowed, making them barely visible as a result. His mind played with the idea of closing the door in his face. He knew that he would give up eventually and head back home. But he knew he had went through quite some traveling to get there, despite the close proximity France and England were from each other geographically. It was still a moderate plane ride.

He kept his glare, the lion inside of him truly unleashed. Short tempered; known to be dangerous, vicious. Both misunderstood but elegant and beautiful creatures. His sophisticated, yet rough accent cut through the air, making his powerful voice even more intimidating; "What do you want, Francis?"

Francis's lips curled into a candy sweet smile, barely showing the pearly whites that resided in his lips. His eyes lit up like a brand new lightbulb once he saw the door open, taking in the sight of the British man before him.

"I came to visit you Arthur. Is that such a crime?"

Arthur immediately shut out that possibility, just like what he was about to do to the door. He figured the reason was to pester him, borrow money that he probably wouldn't pay back, or something else that would waste his precious work time. He let a scoff emit from his lips.

"Yeah right."

Quick to the draw, Francis stopped Arthur from closing the door anymore on him. It would have done him no good if Arthur just left him out there. It would have made him travel here in vain. A small sigh escaped him before he said, "Alfred said you hadn't been talking to anyone for quite some time and I came to see you."

The statement wasn't untrue, but he used it to cover up the true reason he was at his doorstep.

"So how are you doing, mon cher?"

The British man let a low growl escape his throat, like a lion ready to defend his pride. He made himself a reminder to scold the childish American for not keeping to himself. Alfred tended to exaggerate the truth. That was something he knew for a fact. He had indeed been sequestered in his study for a while, but not more than a day at most. His boss had been laying on the work thick, too thick even for someone like Arthur who enjoyed doing his country duties. It was nothing to worry about however; it wasn't as if he were shielding himself from the world or something completely pointless like that.

"I was doing well until your ugly mug showed up."

Ah, the typical insults. How Francis had gotten used to them and tolerated them was a mystery. Anyone else might have sent a little bark of a small puppy in return of his lion-like roar. Francis was completely different; he was experienced in the matter. 'Humor him', that's what he had always done. Pretend to be offended and watch him bask in his British tsundere glory. So he mimicked hurt, for that emotion was something he didn't feel at times like these.

"You wound me Angleterre! You can be so cold sometimes..."

Small victory, that was all he gained from it. More might've been present if he was actually in the mood to deal with the pestering Frenchman. He found himself drifting away from the door and letting him inside, in slow reluctant strides. He turned away from him to make his way to his ancient redwood desktop once more, where there were neat stacks of paper sorted by what was done and what was not.

"As 'fun' as this visit may turn out, I am quite busy at the moment." He rested his pointed finger to the large stack of unfinished papers, swiftly taking a seat in the leather chair once more before busying himself with the documents again.

Francis wouldn't give in so easily. That was just not who he was. He strode over to the desk and watched the way Arthur wrote. The penmanship was absolutely marvelous. Neat and graceful cursive script filled the stacks of papers. Most just required signatures, some needed a bit more. Either way Arthur had the handwriting of what seemed like an angel. Half of the page had been filled before his nerves had snapped. His emerald eyes hit Francis's own sapphire ones and he grumbled, "I can't work with your breathing over my shoulder. It's distracting."

Immediately, a seemingly mile wide smirk slipped onto his face. His ego had always appeared to be bigger than the eyebrows of the British man that was sitting across from him.

"Is it because my charms are distracting you~?"

He rolled his eyes, expecting that kind of response from him as soon as he had finished speaking. He shook his head disapprovingly.

"No, it's just rude to stare, you twat."

His airy laugh had once again filled the air, and his smirk curled up even wider. If that were even possible.

"You were being rude to me earlier. I was just making it even."

His irritated growl filled the room, his eyes not showing even a slight trace of amusement. Francis always seemed to know how to piss him off in one way or another.

"You were rude to me first when you came to my house uninvited! Therefore, I was the one who made it even."

Francis didn't want to admit it, but he knew he was right. He chuckled a little to fill the dead air. "Well, maybe I'm just purposely being a pest then."

Arthur let out a loud scoff at that. "A pest that should be exterminated quickly."

With that, he turned his emeralds back to the page, continuing to write so flawlessly elegant.

Francis was a bit mesmerized by it, and at the same time just a tad bit jealous. How was it that handwriting could be so perfect? It was a wonder to the Frenchmen. Every moment that Francis watched, Arthur in turn only got more annoyed. His gaze went back to him, his voice holding a clearly annoyed tone.

"What do I have to do to get you to leave me be?"

His bright gaze snapped away from the pen and rested on his face. He ruffled Arthur's already messy blonde hair, making it even messier. "I could never leave Angleterre, I am staying!"

Arthur batted his hand away like a cat at a laser pointer. He had a small flicker of sadness as he spoke quietly. "Says the bloke who helped the Americans gain independence..."

Francis could feel the tension in the air upon that being mentioned. His gaze instantly went from cheerful to nostalgic and sympathetic.

"Are you still upset about that Angleterre? The boy wanted to be free. I saw it, and I had to help him. You were just being possessive over him, mon cher."

Arthur narrowed his emerald eyes and avoided his gaze. "No...I have learned my lesson." Francis nodded slowly, resting a hand on his shoulder and patting it lightly.

"Good. That's good."

Arthur had been upset at the topic, feeling dumb for bringing it up. He started to do his written magic once more as he spoke.

"I've learned that there's no room for personal attachments between us Nations because personal attachments only make things more complicated..." His words were tipped with an iceberg cold tone. He was extremely serious about the topic. It had explained why he always shut people out.

Everyone whose lives he'd touched had been ripped away from him in a cruel way. Alfred's independence just showed him there was no room for love in the hidden, castle-sized heart he had. It didn't matter if it were love as family or as a partner. He couldn't let it in, whether he wanted to or not.

Francis had been taken aback by the way Arthur had spoken. He hoped it was out of spite rather than it being true.

"So you'd never consider... having feelings for another nation?"

The chair had moved at least an inch away from Francis, if not more. His gaze kept away from him, showing the severity of how much discomfort he had discussing this.

"I've given up on it... as well as a few other things over the years."

Francis soon got curious, so much it was bound to hurt him. Curiosity killed the cat, as they say. "Given up on it? Does that mean you like someone? Honhonhon~ Tell me who, Angleterre! Tell me, tell me~!"

The emeralds met the sapphires, but the emeralds seemed almost weak and pained at the subject. Not at all normal- that was the part that was for certain.

"I 'fancied' someone once, but that doesn't matter now..." His rare moment of vulnerability left as his emeralds became defensive and cold.

"And hush up! You're being too loud and I can barely hear myself think!"

He had hoped that Francis would drop the subject. His complaint had been a distraction, to make the Frenchman leave and just mind his own business for once. It was a hard subject for Arthur to talk about. He was still trying to pick up the pieces of the love puzzle and put them together. As to be expected, Francis did not drop the subject. He lowered his voice, just one level and said; "May I ask whom you 'fancied', Angleterre?"

But by this point, Arthur was like a teapot on the stove. Boiling and filled with steam. All he wanted was to forget about it and write everything down that was needed to complete his work for the day. He didn't need this. Especially now. He had a literal brick wall inside of his eyes.

"No, and why would I tell you of all people about it?"

Francis felt a sting of hurt ripple through him at finding that Arthur didn't trust him. He wanted Arthur to be open and tell him anything! He masked the still present stinging sensation with a light and friendly smile.

"Because, I would never use your feelings about a person you love against you. I love, love too much to do that! I am the country of amour after all!"

Arthur's eyes twitched in annoyance. Francis was like a fly buzzing by his ear; loud, annoying and persistent. Emeralds flashed angrily at the sapphires, wishing the matter would drop. Far too well, he knew Francis. The matter would never be dropped as long as he stood there. He kept his heart locked with a padlock and chains surrounded by protective glass. It was always hard to tell if he ever had a positive thought or feeling about someone. He was that good. He opened his heart to no one, it seemed... and he didn't want Francis to pick the lock and force himself in.

"I can't exactly trust you, now can I? So no. And what would it matter if I foolishly fell in love with someone? It was a mistake and I'd rather not relive it."

Francis found it a bit ridiculous that Arthur was being so difficult. Why did it matter he asked? The answer was so simple. Francis was a curious soul, especially when it came to matters of the heart. It mattered because if the one he loved had loved him back, Angleterre could live a happy life by their side. More importantly, if it were he that he loved, they could live a happy life together.

Of course, he had his doubts. Arthur was a complicated person. His heart wanted to believe that it was possible the grouchy Englishman had indeed loved him back. But the rational part of his brain told him it was almost impossible for that to be so. "Because who knows... maybe that person foolishly fell in love with you too?"

The blazing emerald eyes only burned brighter, making his temper scorch and shrivel away to nothing but ashes. He really wanted to throw him out, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. Lovesick puppy style, he'd come back and scratch and whine at the door, making Arthur feel guilty before he let him in again.'Why bother?'

He did, however, strongly consider covering his ears and yelling at him to shut up until he grew tired of it. "Does it matter if he did? No it doesn't. The past is the past. Like I said, I learned my lesson."

Hope was starting to be lost for the Frenchman. He knew Arthur was a very tough egg to crack. But his face lit up like a light bulb once an idea came to him. Arthur was always one that liked to have the upper hand, so if he made it seem that way without it being so, he would have him in his grasp. Mischief consumed his features as he laid his sapphires directly on Arthur's emeralds with no sign of moving them elsewhere.

"Would you tell me if I told you a secret of mine?"

And just like that, his interest had been caught. 'A secret about the frog?' It almost seemed too good to be true. Arthur wasn't a fool however; he knew very well that Francis might ensnare him in a trap. Shooting him a falsely reluctant gaze, he replied; "That would depend on what kind of secret you tell me."

He pretended to make it look like he was thinking about what he should tell, but really he knew already. He hoped to reel him in like a fisherman did a large catch. Arthur may try to pull the line back, but he was hopeful he would catch the prize he was after in the end. He let a small smirk slide onto his face as he said; "How about one of who I used to have a thing for when I was a petite boy?"

A bushy brow had risen on the British man's face. 'An interesting choice.' By that point, he had been split in half. One side feeling curiosity prick angrily at the other, who was disinterested. The curiosity soon overwhelmed the other half and he found his lips making out the words of, "Oh? Continue on then..."

Francis suddenly had a nostalgic look in his eyes. His mind played like a film reel did an old movie. Suddenly, the mind movie played a scene of a young boy, looking strikingly similar to a certain messy blonde haired and emerald eyed someone he knew. He let out a content sigh and started softly.

"When I was small, there was a boy I met. I could never remember his name well at the time. He had quite a bad temper, but was very good looking..."