Well, I felt like writing some more, so naturally, here it is!

I don't own Hetalia! end /AN/

It was a sentence France had never really expected to hear from Canada.

"I have a fat belly," the tot had announced, while looking in France's full-length mirror with his shirt drawn up to his chest. France blinked, caught off guard, before finally thinking of something to say.

"What? Why would you ever think that?" Canada didn't respond for a moment, instead staring philosophically down at his navel. Then he sighed. "Papa, I just have an ugly fat belly."

France was stunned. He could not believe he was hearing this from his adorable child, who had only just finished learning not to go in his diapers. Sure, he had some baby fat, but that was to be expected! Did Canada already have self-esteem issues?

"That's just baby fat, mon petit. It will go away before you know it," he promised, ruffling Canada's silky locks, which were so similiar to his own. Canada, however, shook his head. "No, I'll have such a fat belly forever and ever."

This pronouncement further puzzled France, but he shook his head gently. "Non, where would you even get such an idea?"

Canada's face wrinkled into a deep frown, and tears started to gather in his eyes. "America said I had a fat belly, and I do! I have such a fat belly, it's big!" And he started to cry, finally dropping his shirt so that the belly in question was covered again.

France pursed his lips. He had not really counted on having to deal with body insecurities... Truth be told, he had had them himself, when he was much younger. He'd thought he was too skinny and gangly when he saw himself in a mirror, and had tried to hide it by wearing poofy clothes.

Now, it seemed that Canada had the opposite problem. And he would have to convince him otherwise, or else he feared Canada's body image would be ruined forever.

"Mon petit, come here." France sat down on the bed and patted his lap, a soft look in his eyes. Canada, having quieted down to sniffles, came over slowly, climbing into France's lap with a look of abject sadness on his little face.

France waited for him to settle comfortably, before wrapping his arms around him. "Canada, have you got nice toes?"

Canada blinked, twisting his head around to look France in the eyes. France nodded, repeating, "Have you got nice toes?" Canada stared ahead for a little bit, before finally replying in a small voice, "Yeah..."

"And have you got nice feet?" France continued, one hand playing with the fringe of Canada's hair. Canada squirmed uncomfortably, before finally whispering, "Yeah..."

"How about your legs? And your hands?" France's questions got Canada squirming even more, and he slumped against him. "I guess they're nice..."

"And you've got a nice face too, don't you?" France's tone was soft yet serious, and he gently brushed the side of Canada's cheek. Canada leaned into the touch, smiling. "Yeah... yeah, I have a nice face," he agreed, fingers reaching up and holding France's hand against his cheek.

"You've got a nice belly too. It's not fat, and there's nothing about you that could ever be wrong," France concluded. Canada frowned. "But America said-"

"America's wrong, mon petit. Understand?" And Canada did understand, after a few more minutes of reasoning it out, the troubled expression finally melting off his face. For a moment, Canada and France just sat in comfortable silence, France softly rubbing Canada's cheek. Then the troubled expression returned.

"Does that mean that a goblin didn't really eat my cake?"

/AN/ Well, I've been pretty dissatisfied with my writing lately, so this might be the last for a little while. I just can't seem to get it quite right, and it's frustrating me to no end.