"Why?! Why is it that you insist on loving me when all I've ever done is hurt you? You always find it in yourself to forgive me, yet I've never deserved it..." Green eyes flashed with regret, bitterness, as they were cast upon the Frenchman. How could he be so forgiving? So kind? It made Arthur's heart hurt - to think he'd been so blind all these years. His supposed millenium-long enemy had confessed his love, and it left his head reeling. This had come as a surprise. Yes, every now and then the older blonde would send a flirtatious comment his way, or a perverse gesture, but he'd never taken it seriously, not that France had given him reason to. He flirted with just about everyone - there was hardly a nation left untouched, quite literally, by Francis.
"It's because I can forgive you after every mistake, every painful moment, every fight, every battle; that's how I know I love you, and why I can't stop..." He murmered, closing his eyes. "I've known you ever since you were just a small boy, cute and innocent... And, there were times that I hated you with every fiber of my being throughout my life. But, somehow, it always seemed that I couldn't hold spite against you - not for long anyways. Yes, I would bring things up to help us to quarrel, but that never seemed to keep us apart. Whether it was insults, wounds, pain, I forgave it all - and you did too. I know you did, or we wouldn't have been whatever it was we were for all those years. Friends? Enemies? It never seemed to matter, did it? We could somehow, and I don't even fully understand it myself, be laughing with each other moments after we were throwing fists and insults. I don't care if you aren't perfect - neither am I. What kind of hypocrite would I be if I expected so much out of you if I've hurt you just as badly?"
Francis closed his eyes, looking away, long blonde locks falling to hide his beautiful face behind a curtain of hair.
"If you don't feel the same, though... I understand. It's not as if I've done anything to gain your admiration. In fact, what I've likely done is push you away. Sil vous plait, forgive me." Azure eyes met green as he raised them, the Frenchman wearing an uncharacteristically solemn expression.
"F-Francis..." The single word slipped from the Briton's mouth without his consent - as if it would ever ask.
"I..." His mouth was now being stubborn, feelings not wanting to be voiced due to pride and embarassment, frustrating England into a feverish blush.
"I-I... Have to go!" The younger blonde blurted out, running from the room in a miserably confused state. This had not been expected, France's confession nor the centuries-hidden feelings bubbling up inside him like an awakening volcano. It made him feel like everything he knew, everything he'd lived, was a enormous lie.
He hates me, and I hate him. End of story. That had always been his thoughts on the matter. But, Francis had come and ruined all of that with those three words - I love you. Now he'd learned the Frenchman didn't hate him, and along with it, realized he didn't hate the other either.
"Arthur, wait!" France called from the room, eyes widening in alarm. He hadn't expected the other to run. If anything, he'd prepared for a good slap across the face. But, he just hadn't been able to conceal his thoughts any longer - he had to tell the Briton the truth.
It may have cost me everything, but it was necessary... He needed to know... France thought to himself, heart clenching in sorrow as he lowered himself to a nearby couch. Face in his hands, he contemplated perhaps pursuing the Englishman. The younger nation already seemed to hate him, so any more anger wasn't going to make a difference anyhow, right?
Perhaps I shall... Where his concluded thoughts before he moved from the couch and exited the room, off in search of that fleeing Englishman.