It's 11:00 pm and another world meeting has finished finally. I sit at home in my comfy chair drinking a nice cup of hot tea. "Ahhh nothing like a good cup of hot tea after a long day with the other countries." I say to myself. I grimace as I remember the previous events of the day. Russia had sat on Canada again, Sealand had tried sneaking in again, and America had insulted Francis's taste in fashion. But the odd part was, he stormed out of the room after slapping America in the face with a fish. I mean, Francis usually got insulted and he'd just respond by throwing back another insult, but today, when he stormed out, he had looked upset. Strange for Francis, but maybe he was on his man period. Male Menstruating maybe?

I try to push the thought out of my head, trying not to think about Francis too much, and then the doorbell rings, followed by pounding at the door. I set my tea on the coffee table and go to the door, I unhook the latch and open the door to see a very drunk looking man stumbling around on my front doorstep. "Francis? Is that you?" I ask as I open the door wider to get a better look at the mumbling figure. This results in the man stumbling through and falling onto me. I catch him just in time and manage to hold up both our weight. I get a good look at his face and I know. "Bloody hell Francis it is you."

He has a bottle in his hands, it's empty, and I can smell the alcohol radiating off of him in strong waves. He smells terrible! "What the hell happened to you Francis?" I ask with no reply, only a barely audible groan. "Come on, get up." I say as I haul him over to the couch and plop him down not so delicately. Another groan falls out of his mouth followed by doubling over and clutching his stomach. My eyes widen and I run to get a bucket, a bowl, anything that he can empty his stomach contents into. I finally settle with a bin and rush it over to him just in time as he wretches and throws up into the bin.

"Oh chap what have you been drinking?" I say but not expecting a response. I let him rest for a while, just laying on my couch, hopefully gaining enough strength to get cleaned up. "You need a shower." I tell him as I loop an arm around his back and put his arm around my shoulders. I pull him to his feet and shuffle him over to the bathroom. "The towels are on the rack, call if you need anything else. I'll be outside." With that, I close the bathroom door and wait outside.

I check my watch every now and then, it's now been 15 minutes and I still haven't heard the shower turn off. Maybe he's just having a really long shower I think to myself. Should I check if he's ok? The internal argument keeps going for maybe a few minutes more until I decide that I'm going to go check on him.

I turn the handle and walk into the room warily. My eyes scan the room, looking for the drunk man who suddenly turned up at my house. The shower is still running, and the curtain is open, but no Francis standing there under the jet of water, no droplets running down his smooth arms, no fingers running through his sandy blonde- snap out of it Arthur, you're meant to be looking for Francis, not daydreaming about him!

I scan the room again and don't see anything, where did he go? I walk further into the room and close the door slightly. That's when I see a soaking wet Francis slumped against the wall behind the door. Luckily, he's wearing a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. It almost gives me a bloody heart attack! He looks to be sleeping, and I don't want to wake him up, but that position just looks downright uncomfortable.

I crouch down next to him. Hesitantly, I bring my fingers up to his shoulder and tap lightly at first. When he doesn't respond I repeat the action a little harder. Eventually, I end up shaking him violently awake. His eyes snap open and they are bloodshot and red. I let out a low sigh of relief, god that would be embarrassing wouldn't it. Letting someone use your shower, then turns out, they're dead in your bathroom…

I loop my arm around his back and he places his soft arm on my shoulders. I didn't know Francis had such soft arms. I begin to wonder what else might be soft before I stop myself mid-thought, realising just what I was about to think. "Francis, you can have my bed, and I'll sleep on the couch." I tell him, he replies by nodding his head slightly. I never thought this would happen, me carrying an half naked man to my bedroom. Some day this turned out to be.

We walk to my room, and I push the door open with my foot. I help him sit down softly, and start to get up when he pulls me back down and presses his lips hard onto mine. I am so surprised. What the hell is he doing? And why the hell am I not objecting and pushing him away? He pulls away finally but is still holding my shirt in his hand, holding me in place. He leans into me, his warm breath tickles the side of my head. He whispers in my ear, "Thank you Angleterre." I swear my heart stops right then and there, my breathing does too. I don't even move while he still has me in his grasp. He lets go and falls back onto the bed, probably going out like a rock as soon as his blonde head reaches the pillows.

I just sit and stare, not quite believing the events that had just passed only moments ago. I reach up to feel my lips, then quickly pull my hands away and push myself off the bed with all my strength and force myself to leave the room. I close the door quietly and just stand outside running everything that just happened through my head over and over until I believe it. It takes a while, but I finally force myself to get a spare blanket from the cupboard. I pull a clean one out and walk back over to the couch. I slump down on it feeling utterly confused.

After nearly an hour of thinking everything over and over in my head, my eyelids eventually get heavy and my eyelids flutter closed. I drift off into a heavy sleep and dream unwanted, (but secretly very wanted,) dreams of Francis.

I am suddenly startled awake by a loud clatter in the kitchen. I snap awake, eyes wide and mind racing. "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WAS THAT?!" I yell, completely forgetting that I have a guest in my house. I swing my legs around the side of the couch and start sprinting towards the kitchen. I then stop running abruptly, realising the fact that it could well be a burglar. I quietly move over to the coffee table and pick up one of the remotes sitting there. I raise it above my shoulder, in a striking position, and warily make my way over to where the sound came from.

I round the corner and what I see sends a rush of memories through my head, and I drop the remote on the floor with a clatter. I suddenly remember him coming to my house drunk last night, and him throwing up last night, and- and… Bloody hell! The kiss! "What the hell Francis! I mean- Francis?! What, what are you doing?" I manage to stammer out. Is he wearing my clothes?

He groans and rubs his head gingerly. "Ohhh mon ami, do not make such a loud noise…" All I do, is stare at him for a while before putting it together in my head. Ahh, he has a hangover… I wonder if he remembers last night at all. Only one way to find out. "Francis? Do you remember last night at all?" I ask, anxious for the answer. "Non mon ami, all I remember is going to the club, dancing with some pretty girls, maybe having a few drinks. Then the next thing I know, I wake up in someone else's bed. I was really worried I might've done something stupid you know? Tell me, did I bring someone back here?" France asks with a worried, confused expression on his face.

I feel my cheeks heating up against my own will, bloody git, why'd he have to ask me that! "Oh-um, no you didn't…. I ahhh let you sleep in my bed…" I say, swallowing hard. Urghh, damn Francis! His expression fades into something more along the lines of guilt, thankfulness perhaps. "Oh merci, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have invaded your personal space last night." He says and my mind can't help wonder if he did remember kissing me last night. My thoughts are interrupted by Francis waving his hand in front of my face.

I snap back to reality and look back at him. "Ahh yes?" I say. "I said I'm going to go back home now alright?" he replies. "Oh-oh of course." I stutter as I step aside for him to get past me. He opens the front door and walks out, me trailing behind him. I unlock the car for both of us and we climb in. I start the car and drive off down the road, all sorts of things running through my mind.

He gives me directions, and I miss more than a couple turnoffs. Since I have all these things I'm thinking about, I'm not really focussing on what Francis is telling me. We finally get there, after many trials and tribulations. He opens the door and is about to get out when he looks back at me and says, "Angleterre, you seem a bit out of sorts this morning, is there anything troubling you?"

I freeze when he says the word 'Angleterre'. That's what he said to me last night, I remember it clearly. The memory of what he did last night sparks back to me, all I can do is stare at a random spot on the dash board, not daring to look into his eyes. His ocean blue eyes, like the seas themselves. Those eyes envelop anything that looks into them, much like the ocean's tides, and waves pulling a seashell into the sea bed, resting there for eternity before becoming part of it, part of the big blue ocean.

No, stop it Arthur, stop thinking about his eyes, and sandy blonde hair, like the beaches shores- No! Stop! Don't think about that, you don't think his eyes are a beautiful blue like the ocean, or his hair is as bright and blonde as the sand on the beach. Answer him before he gets suspicious! "Oh, oh, no, nothing is bothering me at all!" I finally reply not so convincingly, much to my dismay. He just looks at me unsure, "If you say so mon ami." He replies with a shrug before closing the door and walking up to his front door and disappearing into the large house.

What the hell Arthur! Why the bloody hell are you still parked outside his house, and why the bloody hell are you stressing over this so much?! I run my fingers through my hair, and sigh before resting my hands on the steering wheel for a while. I eventually drive off back home, even more thoughts running through my head as there were driving here.

I pull up outside my house and drift lethargically inside, feeling extremely sluggish and just wanting to sleep the rest of the day off. So that's what I do. As soon as I reach my room, I collapse on the unmade bed. I easily drift off into a sleep full of dreams, mainly about Francis, god damnit! Why does he have to be so perfect! Although, I would never admit this to myself when I am awake.

I wake up to the sound of a rumbling stomach. How long had I been asleep for? I check the clock on my bedside table, 4:00 pm. Shoot! I'm late for the world countries Christmas party! Although I'm only going because Russia would threaten me if I didn't, he might think that I'm not coming and he might have a sniper assassin outside my window! I quickly rush around, flinging clothes all around looking for my sleeveless Christmas sweater. I pull it out of a long forgotten heap finally, and slip it over my head. I pull on my shoes and run out the door.

The drive takes a little while because no doubt people are going to or coming back from their Christmas holiday. Honking and beeping surround me as a headache starts to arrive. Bloody hell can't they move any faster?

After what seems like hours of waiting in the traffic jam, I manage to arrive only two hours late. They've only just started to eat, so it's not too bad that I arrive when I do. "Oh hey, Britain dude! You're late, that's okay though, we already did the secret santa. So here's your present, you remembered right dude?" America asks. "Oh ummm… No I didn't." I say, inwardly cursing myself. "Oh, well you can give your person their gift later when you have it." He says, then starts turning around to walk off. "Oh, America! Who was my person again?" I ask, rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly, feeling like a fool for not having remembered. "Hmm, oh, it was Russia I think dude. Good luck!" He calls out before turning around and walking off to talk to China.

"Blast!" I mutter under my breath, "What the hell am I supposed to get him?!" Before I can think any more on the subject, I feel a presence by my side, standing closer than I would've liked. I look up, ready to let all hell loose on anyone who thought they could invade my personal space so freely. But then, I am taken aback by the ocean blue eyes, staring directly into mine. My eyes wide, my mouth agape with incredulity. "Mon ami, why don't you open your present instead of just holding it, looking as though you are contemplating whether or not it is a flower, or a bomb." He says beside me. I just stare at him for a while longer, being drawn in by his deep blue eyes.

I finally force myself to snap out of it, and look anywhere but those captivating eyes of his. "Oh right" is all I can slip past my lips. I sit down on the closest chair and place the neatly wrapped parcel on my lap, looking at it curiously before ripping at the colourfully designed paper. I look at the present now resting firmly in my hands, it seems to be a state of the art princess Diana tea set, but it can't be, because they were sold out years ago. I look at it again, and unbelievably, it appears to be exactly what I thought was impossible. It was a state of the art princess Diana tea set! I couldn't believe it, I blinked a few times before looking back up and turning my head slowly towards Francis and looking at him. "Do you know who got me this?" I ask, genuinely curious.

He has this knowing smile, creeping onto his lips, looking as though it was wanting to tell a deep dark secret, threatening to let it slip out. Then he finally cracks, his pink lips turn into a wide toothy grin. "It was me Angleterre! I got you that gift!" He says, throwing his arms up into the air. I just look stunned at him for a while before replying. "But… How did you… I don't understand... These were sold out, well, years ago! How…. How did you even get them?" His wide smile never falters as I continue looking at him incredulously. "Ahhh that is for me to know, and you to never know." He says with a smirk plastered from ear to ear. I look between him and my present, still not quite believing these impossible events.

I finally give up on trying to understand the situation, and put the boxed set beside my sweater on the seat next to mine. "Thank you, Francis." I tell him before settling back into my chair. "I must say, I had doubts about if you were going to show or not Angleterre." Francis says. "Well, I had my doubts too if I was going to show, but then, well, here we are." I reply.

We just sit in slightly uncomfortable silence until I hear Alfred yell something like: "Woooo dudes! It's party time!" The lights dim, and music starts blaring through the multiple stereos scattered around the place. The first song is of course Jingle bells, and everyone starts singing along loudly and slightly out of tune to the well known lyrics. Apart from me of course. I mean, I didn't really even want to come in the first place, so no way are they forcing me to sing along as well!

But of course, at least one person would always try to make me join in, but why did it have to be HIM to try to persuade me?! He nudges me in the ribs with his elbow, catching me by surprise, causing a distressed noise to escape my lips. "Oh come on Angleterre, sing along! It's Christmas!" He says, nudging me again, continuing to sing along to the words while looking at me expectantly.

I try as hard as I can to not look into his eyes, but they're so enticing, it's impossible not to be drawn in by the enchantment of those deep blue eyes of his. I tear myself away from his gaze, and walk as fast as my wobbly legs will carry me, to the closest door, which just so happens to be the kitchen.

I'm finally away from that hot room after what feels like an eternity of running away. I rest my elbows angrily on the counter, throwing my head down into my hands desperately, as though if I hide well enough, all these unwanted feelings will go away. No such bloody luck.

God damn it Arthur! Why the bloody hell are you acting like this! What's gotten into you?! You used to be able to have snarky arguments with that frog, but now you can't even look into his eyes without feeling bloody warm and fuzzy! I am suddenly torn away from my thoughts by a soft hand resting gently on my back. I freeze, as still as a statue, maybe if I ignore it, it will go away. But how can I ignore it when that hand and the owner is all I can think about!

The room goes deathly quiet, nothing to be heard apart from the soft hum of the music from the other room, and the rugged, low breathing of whoever is behind me. "Angleterre?" comes a slight whisper from over my shoulder, that voice I know too well, followed by the quiet ragged breathing I heard earlier. What do I do? Do I just keep ignoring him? Or do I turn around and face the deep eyes of who I know to be Francis. Who else could it be, if it were someone else, I wouldn't have this pulsing sensation in my chest, I wouldn't be able to feel my heart pounding in my throat, I wouldn't feel the sweat dripping from my palms. What the hell do I do? I've never experienced such a terror like this before, I don't know what to do.

I shut my eyes tight, wishing for everything to just disappear and never come back. I slowly, reluctantly open them back up, nothing changed, I'm still in the exact same position with the exact same warmth on my back, coursing through my entire body, sending chilled ripples down my spine. The hand on my back moves, traveling slowly to wrap around my right shoulder. I draw in a sharp breath at the movement. He pauses only a couple of seconds before continuing onto my shoulder and repeating that one word that could flip my entire world upside down and inside out. "Angleterre?" He repeats, only this time with more urgency.

His hand reaches my shoulder and grips it firmly but somehow softly and comforting. "Angleterre, what's wrong? Was it something I said?" He asks, but I just slowly shake my head, not yet trusting my mouth to say anything without throwing my heart out on the plate. I never used to feel like this, why all of a sudden did he make me feel this way, evoking all the emotions in me I didn't even know I was capable of. Damn frog, damn gorgeous frog.

My face scrunches up just at my thoughts, thinking of Francis as gorgeous involuntarily. I slam my closed fist down on the table with great force, my anger leaking out at the seams, making my knuckles bleed badly. Then the grip on my shoulder tightens and spins me around quickly, placing both hands firmly on my shoulders, before I have time to realise that I am so close to him now, that I can feel his hot breath on my face. "Angleterre!" He says, now more forcefully than gentle. "You are going to tell me what's wrong, I don't care if you don't want to, you are going to tell me!" Our eyes meet with an intensity, and it feels as though we are the only two things left. There is no party going on in the next room, there is no earth, no universe, just, us. Right here, right now.

Our gazes hold, green meets blue, the earth meets the ocean. Colliding together, merging into one perfect scene, earth and ocean combined. My heart now beating in my ears, chest rising and falling rapidly, big confused eyes, spilling all the secrets I didn't even know I had. Surely he must've picked up on something by now. Just that thought terrifies the shit out of me.

A look close to realisation flashes across his face, and the tight grip on my shoulders loosens ever so slightly. This is why I didn't want to face him so that he could see my heart and soul, reflecting through my eyes, telling him all my problems and worries without consent. I force my eyes shut and turn my head, so he can't see anymore of me. A soft voice echos in my ears. "Angleterre." There he goes again, using that word as though it's the most usual thing in the universe. "Look at me." I feel my legs go limp, being weakened just by the sound of his voice. I grip the edge of the counter behind me in an attempt to steady myself.

My body begs me to get lost in his eyes forever, but my mind is conflicted about everything right this moment. Somewhere, deep inside, I've always just wanted to envelope him in a hug and kiss him silly, but another part of me fears the rejection I know will happen. But still, even knowing that he will object to me, I still have an urge to hold him tight, as though if I let go, I will just keep falling into a deep, dark abyss and never stop.

Internal battles, raging in my head, confusing me to the brink of explosion. Not willing to face that face, full of concern, full of pity, most likely. I feel warm hands slide from my shoulders, and up my neck before resting on my cheeks, rubbing small circles there with his thumbs. It sends even more shivers down my back and through my legs, weakening them even further, forcing me to grip tighter to the counter as to not fall and never be able to get back up again. The action of his soft thumbs rubbing my rough cheeks elicits an involuntary, soft sigh from my lips.

I feel my cheeks heat up just at the knowledge of Francis being able to elicit such a depravity from my throat. "Oh Angleterre,-" he starts, but is cut off halfway through by me. "No! Don't, don't call me that.." I say uncertainly, my voice cracking at the end of the sentence. I move my hands up to my face, intending on removing his hands, but not succeeding at all, instead just hesitantly stroking his long, slender fingers softly.

I can't see his face luckily, as my eyes are sealed tightly shut, but I can imagine a look of slight confusion, twisted into his usual soft expression. After a few moments of more deathly

silence, his beautiful voice rings through the dark. "But why not?" Is all he says, hands still resting softly on my face, not moving, apart from the soft thumb movements. I just shake my head, a silent refusal to the question that could bring my whole world crashing down. "Arthur, why?!" He says harder.

This is the point where my legs finally give out and I collapse into a helpless bundle, heading straight for the floor. But just centimetres away from the ground, a strong hand clasps my waist and another hand supports my back. "Arthur!" He half yells. He shifts his body around to sit on the floor, back against the counter, legs spread out in front of him. He manoeuvres me around so that I lie diagonally across his lap, my head resting heavily in his left arm, arms loosely sitting either side of my body. He cradles me like a small child, comforting me, rocking me gently, whispering incoherent things into my ear.

After possibly ten minutes of doing this, although time surpassed all my senses, so it could well have been half an hour, and after I had calmed down slightly, he asked again. "Why can't I call you that Arthur? What's wrong? Please tell me." My head can't take anymore, and I finally give in, relaxing more in his arms, opening my eyes hesitantly, slowly looking up at his gorgeous face perched above me, like an angel. I could get lost in those eyes for an eternity, not needing anything, the only necessities being his big, blue, captivating eyes.

His perfect ocean blue eyes bore into my own, as I melt under his gaze. "That, was what what you called me, that, that night, and, and it always reminds me, what you did." I say, struggling to breathe evenly. "What night? What did I do?" He asks pressingly, starting to sound slightly impatient. Although, rightly so. "When, when you came to me drunk that one night." I continue. He just looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to continue.

I move in his arms, silently asking for him to let me sit up. I hate feeling vulnerable like this. Although I know I am vulnerable in this situation no matter what position I assume. He seems to pick up on my request and helps me sit up, leaning me against the back of the counter right beside him. I look ahead at nothing in particular, not being able to bear looking into his eyes while saying what I'm about to say.

It comes out as a whisper, barely audible. "That night when you..." I say, inhaling a deep breath and rubbing my hands over my face. "... When you, kissed me." I say so quietly, expecting him to ask me to repeat it. But it never comes, just uncomfortable silence. I risk a quick glance over at him, his face looking as though he's putting pieces together.

Our eyes then meet, drawn together as though fate intended it. His eyes flicker down to my lips, before gazing at them with dark eyes. My heart speeds up and my breathing becomes more and more irregular by each passing second. He looks back into my eyes, and then, nothing. I force myself to look away, or I shall surely seize his soft pink lips into a fierce kiss, and he would surely reject and hate me for that, So I must look away.

I can't take it anymore, I can't take this damned silence. Say something. I think to myself. But the silence lingers for far too long, and I've had enough. I get angry with myself for some reason, and I start to push myself off the counter, when I am hauled back down onto something soft. It feels like a lap, but that's impossible because there are only two people in the room, me and-

My thoughts are cut short as I feel soft lips, kissing my own, hard, desperately. A slight stubble, brushing against my chin. I swear that my heart stops that very second. I try to pull away, but my body doesn't seem to want to. I give in, knowing that I do want this, that I do like Francis.

Something in my mind clicks, and I can't help closing my eyes, and kissing back. I feel a hand slither up my chest, and stop to rest lightly against my cheek, making my skin feel as though it's on fire wherever he touches me. I lean into the touch, revelling in the burning sensation. I feel his other hand snake around my waist and sit on the small of my back. His hands pull me closer, and I willingly oblige.

Our lips slowly start to move against one another, getting lost in the moment. What we don't realise, is that the door has opened, and an intrigued Japan has gotten his camera out and pointed it at us. *click!* But we don't realise anything is happening around us apart from the feel of our lips moulded together, hands all over each other's body, exploring.

The need for air becomes too much, and we reluctantly release each other's lips, but still holding each other. Sometime during the kiss, my arms draped around Francis's neck. We sigh in contentment, leaning our foreheads together, and Francis gives me another quick peck on the lips, for which I am again reluctant to let go of.

*click* Our heads snap up, and I feel my face heat up impossibly quickly, most definitely turning my entire face a bright shade of red. Standing there, waiting in the door frame, is Japan, holding his camera pointed straight towards us. "JAPAN!" I hear France yell, and Japan scuttles out with a wide grin on his face, no doubt going to tell everyone else and show the picture, or pictures, if I know Japan as well as I think I do.

My racing mind is brought back by a soft voice, and soft fingers trailing through my hair.

"Arthur?" Comes the soft coo. "It's alright, so long as I'm with you, everything will be alright." Some how, those small words, lifted all my worries away and I leant in to rest my head on his shoulder, sighing a sigh of content happiness of finally being in his arms at last. I clutch tightly at his shirt, worried that if I let go, this will all turn out to be a dream.

I have a question I want to ask him, but I dont want to say it, and then find out that Francis was just toying with me, perhaps it was a dare. I get myself worried, and Francis notices. "What's on your mind Angleterre?" He asks me with the sweetest voice imaginable. I hesitate to answer, but finally give in to my curiousity. "Francis? Why did you kiss me?" His body

relaxes, and he lets out a sigh. "Oh Angleterre, you scared me, I thought you were going to go away. What a silly question mon cher, I kissed you because I like you." He replies while stroking my hair to calm me down, it works. "Oh." I say, not able force the increasingly wide smile gracing my lips. He likes me. He actually likes me. I repeat over and over in my head.

I look up into his blue eyes again, but not for the last time, allowing myself this time to live an eternity in them. "I like you too Francis." comes my soft reply. I lean back out to face him fully again. I smile, and kiss him softly, putting all of my appreciation and dare I say it, love into that one, heartfelt kiss we share. Those three words circle around in my head, I love you. And I mean them. I do truly love Francis Bonnefoy.