One could say that this story was born from a dream. A very strange, Hetalia-related dream. It was one of those moments where I knew I had to get up and write... And write I did!
Hetalia and its characters do not belong to me in any way, shape or form, I only can lay claim to the situation I put them in and some quotes that I use.
That small thing aside, please enjoy!
He really couldn't tell when the night had started to go downhill. At first it was just him answering to a rather innocent question: who had the best wine? That little question led Francis Bonnefoy, personification of France, to the house of the respectfully sunny and stormy Italy brothers. He had brought several of his finest bottles with him, eagerly responding to Lovino's unspoken challenge when his bubbly little brother posed such an innocent little question.
Seventeen bottles of wine later, the night had a not-so-innocent end.
In the morning France found himself tangled up with Feliciano. First there was blank shock, then a strange sense of satisfaction. Only after rolling out of bed did the Frenchman begin to panic. Although drunken sex was always a pleasant surprise for him, that did not change the fact that the man in front of him was already committed. Italy had finally gotten Germany to say yes to him after nearly two years of begging, whining and groveling. They had only been 'dating' for a month.
Said German would be after France's blood come tomorrow.
He began to search for his clothes, a journey that led him downstairs. He eventually found them strewn around a couch, where a very bare Lovino now lay.
By the hand of every divine being in this universe... Spain was going to murder that Frenchman.
After haphazardly pulling on his garments Francis all but sprinted out the door and into his car. He fumbled with the keys for a few moments but then slammed his foot on the gas pedal and sped off. He looked at the clock on the dashboard, Seven twenty-three. He had time to make a few necessary stops before heading home. 'Please let Mathieu still be asleep, dear God please...'
xxxxx
A few hours later, bleary Canadian eyes blinked open as the pleasant smell of breakfast filled the room. A tray was set up next to the bed, filled with an array of sausage, bacon, eggs, and a hearty stack of pancakes. Next to it his Frenchman stood with a large bouquet of roses in his hands.
"...Francis...? What's all this...?" Matthew suddenly sat up, "M-Maple! Is it the fifteenth already? Did I oversleep?!" He grabbed the calendar on the bedside table; searching for the tiny box he labeled 'Anniversary.' "I-I can't believe I forgot..."
"Relax, mon cher..." France sat on the edge of the bed and placed a kiss on Matthew's forehead. "Today is ze tenth... I just thought I'd be a bit... Spontaneous!" Mattie did his best to try and ignore the flash of guilt he saw within his boyfriend's blue eyes.
With a flourish Francis served breakfast in bed. "So I was wondering... What are you planning for our special night?" In a few days it would be a year since they went out for the second time. Their first fling had ended on a rather sour note (and details that Canada would never dare to repeat) but somehow the perverted Frenchman convinced the young blonde to take him back. They had been on and off before that, yes, but that day France had sworn that he would belong to Matthew alone. And since the country of love took care of their first anniversary, the Canadian insisted that he handled things this time around.
"O-Oh... Well..." Mattie let out a nervous chuckle, "...It's still a surprise!"
"Can't you give me a 'int?"
"...No!"
After breakfast was done with France gathered the plates and tray and headed downstairs. As he deposited said items in the sink, the phone rang.
"Bonjour! Bonnefoy residence, Francis speaking!"
A rather stained voice answered him, and... Did he hear sobbing in the background? "France-san? This is Japan..."
"Oh? And 'ow may I 'elp you zis fine morning?" Sure it was already quarter past twelve, but who was keeping track?
"Werl... I... Um... You sir, have, um..." The Asian nation fumbled with his words. There was a crash, then the sound of someone struggling.
"BASTARDO!" Feliciano Vargas screeched into the receiver. "YOU'VE RUINED EVERYTHING!" Insane, frenzied sobbing was heard. He began screaming wildly in his native language. France flinched, Italy was never angry. Rather intently he listened to the Italian barrage, trying to gather what info he could.
"...I hate you... You're a sick man... Ludwig... left... Won't even speak to me... Not answering his phone... All your fault... You sick bastard...!"
After another minute the Frenchman hung up.
"Who was that...?"
"Nothing important, mon cheri!" France waved it off with a seemingly nonchalant smile. A knot of unease began to form in his stomach, and he felt like that would not be the only call he would be receiving today. Surely enough, his prediction came true two hours later. The answering machine buzzed, and Francis insisted that he check it. His Canadian frowned, trying to figure out if something was wrong, but merely shrugged and went back to the book he was reading.
"Bonjour! You 'ave reached Francis Bonnefoy!"
"...And Matthew Williams... Umm... We can't get to the phone right now... And we're really sorry about that—"
"Leave a message and we'll get back to you soon! Au revoir!"
After the beep sounded a dark voice growled into France's ear, "You, señor, are in deep shit. Pray that you do not cross my path anytime soon, because I'll be sending you straight to hell otherwise."
The message clicked off, and the Frenchman was unable to suppress a shiver of pure terror. In his mind's eye he saw Antonio with his famous battle axe, sharpened and ready to kill. Francis had forgotten how possessive the Spaniard could get when it came to his Lovi.
France fucked up.
So, so badly.
Words would not even dare begin to describe how badly he had fucked up. The reality of the whole situation came crashing down on him. He hung up the phone and glanced towards the couch, where Mattie was still engrossed in his book. How on earth was he going to explain this one?
Francis walked over to a large vase situated on the kitchen counter, which was filled with the roses he bought earlier. Each bloom was beautiful, bright, and full. Matthew was not an idiot; he knew that France only brought him home lavish bouquets when something was wrong. The more roses, the worse the crime. The meek blonde looked up from his novel to see his boyfriend elegantly pick a single rose from the arrangement and bring it over to him, a smile on his face. With its stem firmly gripped within the Frenchman's teeth he draped himself across the back of the couch, giving the Canadian the most seductive look he could muster.
A small sigh was heard, "...No..."
Undaunted, the older nation reached out to caress Canada's face, but the boy drew away.
"...I said no." The last word was forceful, angry even. France spat out the rose and pouted.
"Why not?! You never denied me before!"
"I'm just... Not in the mood..." Mattie picked up his book once more, "And there's that meeting in Berlin tomorrow, remember?"
Yes, now that it was mentioned, France did. They were to take a late night flight to the German capitol. That meant Germany would be in charge of the meeting and France would be dead within five minutes of it. He let out a groan of frustration and stormed away. He remembered sitting down with the Canadian and packing bags, and how those bags were already in Matthew's car. Rather childishly he stomped into the master bedroom and slammed the door.
Canada flinched when he heard the resounding noise echo throughout the Frenchman's elaborate chateau. The young nation's eyebrows knitted together in concern, why was France acting like this? The boy flipped to the back of his book, where two sets of airplane tickets were hidden. One set was for the meeting tomorrow, and the other was the anniversary surprise: two tickets to Old Quebec City. Mattie wanted a chance to visit his home country, and at the same time show how much his French roots meant to him. France mentioned once that he thought the place was 'rather interesting,' leading the Canadian to believe that this was the perfect gift. With another heavy sigh he tucked his book safely away and lay down on the couch. He'd simply take a nap and wait for France to calm down, which shouldn't take too long. He relaxed himself and willed the seconds to pass.
xxxxx
"Mathieu..." A voice called softly to him, "Wake up!"
"Hmm...?" The Canadian sat up, it was dark. "H-How long was I asleep?" He asked while fighting the urge to yawn.
"Quite some time, mon beau. We need to start 'eading to the airport."
At those words Mattie jumped up and hurried to get ready almost forgetting to grab his book where the tickets were hidden; after five minutes he was in the car and they were off to their destination.
"Sorry for oversleeping..."
"Non, I am sorry for not waking you sooner, but I did not 'ave the 'eart to disturb you when you looked so peaceful." France paused, "Also... I am sorry for seeming so upset earlier... I was in a bad mood and thought a little amour would help..."
Canada did not response immediately, he suddenly asked, "What time did you get home last night?"
The older nation froze. He focused his eyes on the road as he carefully formulated an answer, "Around three in the morning... If I worried you I am sorry..."
His love let out a small sigh before asking, "...Please don't stay out that late again without letting me know, okay?"
"Of course, mon Mathieu."
A significant amount of time passed, "Francis... Did anything happen last night that I should know about?"
The car screeched to a halt, "We're 'ere," Ignoring the question entirely; he got out of the car and gathered their luggage. It was only two day trip, so other than their briefcases (which constituted as their carry-ons) they only had one suitcase each. Slowly Mattie climbed out of the car, more confused than ever.
"Come now, I want to be early."
They passed through security with very little trouble and were waiting to board their plane.
"...Did I do something wrong...?" The quiet Canadian whimpered as he tightly clutched the handle of his briefcase.
"Huh?"
"...You've been so angry today... Is it because I didn't let you...?" Matthew blushed, "W-Well, you know..."
An announcement rang throughout the airport, "Flight three-fifteen to Berlin, now boarding."
Again France ignored the statement, "Let's go," He muttered as he proceeded to the boarding gate.
They took their seats in silence and waited for the plane to take off. Francis allowed the northern nation to take the window seat, and situated himself next to the young blonde. Once their plane finally did leave, about half of its passengers had fallen asleep, France included. His head gradually fell to the side and landed on Canada's shoulder, much to the boy's chagrin. He was still wide awake from the long nap he had taken earlier, and contented himself with staring out the window, watching the City of Lights disappear from view. He looked back to his seemingly peaceful lover and frowned. The Frenchman was so close, but Mattie felt like he was a thousand miles away. He glanced back out the window, Paris was gone.
A strange feeling of loneliness settled within the Canadian's chest. He felt like France was going to disappear at any moment, and leave him alone on the plane. "...Francis...?"
In response to his name the man let out a soft grunt and resumed sleeping. He had ignored Matthew yet again. Canada leaned his head on top of the Frenchman's and closed his eyes, trying to convince himself that everything was okay.
Damn that frog! But other the other had I actually like Francis... To be honest I like all of the characters, I just enjoy pitting them against one another a little too much.
I've actually been working on this for a while and I have up to Ch. 7 written, yay! So if you like this, review and I'll post the second chapter in a day or two! (Or when I get five reviews, whichever comes sooner)