Rose Wine

England stared around the house. It was way too polished, too bright, too much flamboyant for his tastes. He should've expected it though; wasn't like he'd leave France's house without some eye-bleeding. Paintings of landscapes, France's own portrait, some of random men and women alike and a heavy percent of it being nude.

England wasn't interested very much at the sight seeing, but for now he followed his host's back through the hallway, where an obvious show of wealth was being displayed. They had already roamed the same hallway twice.

Finally, when France decided enough was shown, he led England to the main living room with a huge, high ceiling, enough drapery to choke a woman and brilliant models of more nude statues. He sighed and sat down on a rather comfy sofa.

And his war stiffened bones loosened at the touch.

"My, my, look at how time flies. England already softened to the point of accepting an invitation from an old enemy? Unexpected, really," France drawled as he called for a servant. England only sighed again. "Tea or coffee?"

"Is that even a question?" England replied back with the quirk of an eyebrow. France laughed heartily and ordered tea and snacks for two. The servant bowed and left as England watched his back. His mind was dwindling, spinning at a perpetual tumult in itself. Why so suddenly? Why now? England did not know he was sure he did not want to know the plot behind it as well. With France, none could tell a thing. He sighed again.

"Thinking too hard again, England?" He snapped at the mention of his name, his eyebrows raised in question.

"Hm?"

"Ah, now you've even gone confused. England wasn't so careless before, back in his pirate days. You'd be paying attention even if the flies were buzzing," France tsked and sighed as the butler came back with a tray of a teapot, tarts, scones and the mini sandwiches he liked so much. He folded his legs and leaned back, draping his arms on the sofa's back as France poured out the tea for him.

Now he was complimenting? Something fishy indeed.

England shook away the thoughts and sniffed the air. He exhaled in satisfaction that France at least had the courtesy to remember his favorite tea.

"Earl Gray? You remember as it would seem, old friend,"

"Oh I'm flattered," France flapped his hand as he smiled. "Can't help but remember since you drank so much of it before," England slowly closed his eyes. Why must everything be connected to the past? Why does it keep going back into the dark pit? Hadn't they climbed out of it, despite the usual bickering they do every now and then?

He opened his eyes and took the tea France was offering.

A blow and a sip later, he felt his worries fly away, his mind and body reacting immediately to the tea. He exhaled in relief as he kept the tea on the table and ate on of the scones. The buttery flavor overtook his senses as he chewed it slowly.

"You seem to be enjoying it thoroughly," France spoke as he held the tea, yet to take a sip.

"You know me, tea first, old lady gossip later," A chuckle escaped France's lips as he finally sipped his cold tea.

"I fail to understand how you enjoy this bland taste. Wine is so much more better,"

"Just like how roses make better cake flavors," England was being sarcastic; unaltered rose flavors made slightly bitter tastes even when extra sugar was added. And England always had a headache whenever he ate sugary food.

He sighed as he took another sip.

Delicate in taste. Delicate in smell. A small whisper of flavor that tempts for more as it flows away.

"Some poetry you seem to be doing there, England," France quietly said, his face entirely serious now. England sighed and kept the tea back on its saucer and on the table. The small chink seemed thunderous.

"Well then, what's the matter?" England said, grabbing another scone while averting his eyes. France looked particularly in the mood. England didn't like his moods much. He would start his sulking, spout things of despair and if things continued, he'd stay in his room for undefined periods of time.

"Well, I thought we'd just turn from old enemies to old friends you know? Like old times. Like when we were just kids and young with the world. Like we used to be,"

England looked outside at the scenery the open patio provided.

Twittering birds bathed in the marble fountain as water sparkled in the bright sunlight. An apple tree stood beside it, lush with ripe fruit as the leaves sang in the slight wind.

He closed his eyes. And listened.