My Last Words

by Fictionalities

If you disappear, people will only remember you for what you did, not who you were. France, after destroying the one thing he thought would last forever, disappears. His last words were to someone he loved dearly, but they broke a bond that may never be repaired, not if France stays gone. (Teen for England's... colourful vocabulary)

1. Chapter 1

One

WOOT! First fic! Let's freaking do this!

(Oh, hey if you come here expecting only one ship, you're gonna be disappointed)

With a resounding crash, a bottle fell off the table onto the floor. Its contents poured out onto the shattered remains of a long night of drinking. The amber liquid trickled toward the feet of a bushy-eyebrowed young man sitting slumped against the wall, below an open window.

England's hair was rumpled, and he looked as if he had been there a while. He stirred, pushing bottles off him. The noises of a nighttime London poured in through the window, making his head ache. He put a hand on his head as his phone began ringing. He pulled it out from his pocket and saw the caller was "Francis Bonnefoy". He stared at his phone as memories surged through his head

A party. England and France sit on a large couch. Someone hands England a drink. He tries to refuse it, but France pressures him to drink. He does. France leans over to whisper in England's ear. England blushes.

London. England and France walk hand in hand. France says something, causing England to stop walking, and glare at him. England says something back and France shakes his head. He keeps walking silently, causing England to chase after him, frowning.

England's flat. England and France are yelling, arguing, screaming. A bottle flies at England's head. He stops, and stares at the seething Frenchman. France yells something neither is likely to forget for a while.

"YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED IN WORLD WAR TWO, YOU USELESS BRIT!"

The phone stopped ringing, and England stared at it. It came up with a message that he has a voicemail. England pushed the button, hands shaking.

"Hi… England. Um… I'm…I'm really sorry… P-Please, I love you, a-and…" France's voice was shaking."I-I'm so, so sorry for what I said….Please… call me back… I…love you…. Bye." With a sob, he hung up.

England stood, and walked out of his flat, slamming the door behind him. He walked down the street, staring up at the stars. He wondered how it ever got so bad, how something so perfect and beautiful was destroyed so easily. The stars twinkled back at him, making him think of France. He wondered if France felt the same as him.

HOLY GAEA THAT WAS SHORT! I don't know what alcohol England would drink... Like, not beer, or wine, or vodka... UGH. Stupid me. I mean, what WOULD he drink? Thanks for reading. Bye! Love you guys!