Restless
He had known this wouldn't last forever.
Whatever this was.
Companionship.
Family.
Happiness.
Love…
It hadn't been the type of love he was used to, not the kind of love that lasted a single night and was never thought of again. He hadn't known that he would grow so attached to this little nation in such a short time. He had been land, more land to add to the ever-growing French Empire, a large northern country that had been completely under his control, and France had never thought that he would come to feel so strongly for the small child sleeping beside him.
He gently brushed Canada's fringe out of his eyes, running one long finger down his colony's pale little face. It was true that he was known for his affections, but somehow, Canada had managed to worm under his skin in the worst way possible. He had endeared himself to France in a way that none of his other colonies could manage. He had made the fearsome and powerful French Empire come to care for him, and in some way, had made himself more than just a little brother.
He pulled back quickly.
He thought he had learned not to repeat his mistakes. He thought he had learned. Why hadn't he remembered that everyone would eventually have to leave him in one way or another? Why had he let himself fall this far again? What was it about Canada – his little brother, the object of his affections, and his loving colony – that had made me let down his guard long enough for the boy to make himself a place in his life? God, the boy had stabbed him in their first meeting, and he had been such a rude, disobedient colony back then. He shouldn't have been able to get to him like that.
But he supposed he shouldn't be dwelling on it as Canada wasn't his colony anymore. Tomorrow, when the sun rose, he would become England's. It figured that England would be the one to take away his love. He had done it before, after all.
France let out a bitter laugh, pulling Canada's worn blanket higher up on his body. The boy shifted in his sleep, a small smile tilting his lips upwards, and France looked away.
He couldn't bear to watch England take away his little boy.
In the morning, Canada would wake up alone. One of the maids would take him to England, and he would be handed off. There would be no explanation. The boy might scream, might cry, might fight against England, but he wouldn't be able to change what was already decided. England wouldn't need to tell him what had taken place. Canada was smart, and would most likely figure it out quite quickly. And inevitably, he would feel betrayed.
Betrayed because France had promised him that they would be together forever.
Betrayed because France had promised him that he would never let anyone take him away.
Betrayed because he had foolishly believed France's promises, and was now paying the price of it.
He wouldn't blame the boy if he came to hate him.
France shifted restlessly, unable to keep himself still. He hadn't been able to get a proper night sleep since England had sent him a letter detailing who exactly he wanted in consequence of winning the war, the question of why, why, why circling endlessly in his head. Why did England have to choose the person who mattered most to him? Why was it always England who took away the ones he treasured most?
Why?
Without a sound, he dipped down and pressed a gentle kiss to Canada's forehead. Just like every night, the boy had come to him, silently asking for France's company. And just like every night, France had hummed lullabies under his breath under Canada's breathing had evened out and he was sure the boy was asleep. He was peaceful, and he hadn't a clue of what was going to happen in only a few short hours.
Slowly standing up, France blew out the single candle lighting the room, and turned to leave.
He wouldn't watch as his treasure was stolen from him.
He couldn't.