Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or any of its characters…

Keeping Up Appearances

Arthur had thought it strange… ever since the strange behavior started months ago. It wasn't like the Frenchman to be unusually polite and distant. Without the groping and the attempts to undress the Brit, it just seemed odd.

Arthur hated to admit it, but at first, the changed Frog was a welcomed sight. He no longer found himself cringing at the man's touch, or rolling his eyes at whatever 'words of love' the man whispered into his ear.

He was quiet, respectful, and agreed with what Arthur said.

But months of this passed, and Arthur began to worry… missing the old Frenchman that he grew up with.

In fact, Arthur even approached him several times, trying to get a rise out of his old rival.

"Oh, come on, Frog… don't tell me you've given up your feeble pursuit of me already?" he asked, giving the other a light shove.

Only silence had answered him, and he watched as the taller blond walked passed him… but Arthur wouldn't be ignored.

There was something wrong, and he wanted to know. After all, it was, well, boring without his rival always at his throat… or trying to get in his pants.

"France, I'm serious… what the hell has gotten into you? Don't tell me that you're finally angry over me kicking your ass after all these years?"

"No Angleterre… never."

Arthur swallowed. It wasn't right… none of this was right. He didn't like it.

Something about the direction in which this conversation was going made him sick to his stomach.

"Then what is it then, old chap? Come on, you can tell me, right? We've known each other bloody long enough…" Arthur said, reaching out for the man's arm, "I mean, you can't tell me that you're still upset over that Saint of yours, right? That girl?"

He felt Francis stiffen against him, and the man's blue eyes focused on him for the first time in months.

Arthur noticed the dull, yet sincere tears that welled in the man's eyes, and the Brit shrank back, feeling smaller than ever.

"If you must know…I'm leaving." Francis answered, pulling away from him roughly.

Arthur stood, watching the man… his rival, walk down the hall.

Sure, they quarreled. They fought like rams during mating season, butting heads and exchanging insults… but that was their daily life.

Or at least it had been. He wasn't so sure of that any more.

He had heard Francis mutter those words after he'd beat him up during their childhood conflicts, but something about the way Francis had said it this time made it hurt more than a black eye.

"Wh-what?" Arthur called after him, tripping over the words clumsily, "What do you mean you're leaving, Frog? Where on earth can you go?"

He only watched with silent expectation as Francis didn't turn around, but stopped for a moment. Several croaked words coming from the Frenchman's lips like the frog he was.

"Au Revoir, Angleterre."

Arthur stood, frozen in place for a few moments, watching as the Frenchman disappeared from view.

He just didn't understand… and he never would.

~O~O~O~O~O~

It wasn't until months later that news of his death had spread.

Arthur had sat there, lost in his thoughts as he tried to piece together what had happened.

They had said it was sickness, but Arthur didn't understand.

Sure, France had never been the strongest of the nations… he'd be the first to agree to that, but his rival… gone?

Could he even consider him a rival anymore?

Arthur bit his lip, recalling the last few days that he had with the older man. And the cold realization that they were the worst days he ever had made his eyes flood over.

It was a terrible thing to believe, but it was true.

The Frenchman was no longer the same… no longer that groping, touchy-feely, snarky-ass douchebag that he always was.

He was quiet, dignified, and respectful. That wasn't Francis at all.

Arthur, of anyone knew that.

Sitting in his home, he stared at the newspaper, as the fall of France had spread. Everyone said that they saw it coming… that the economic crisis was inevitable and it was about to collapse the society… but Arthur found that it happened so quickly.

The rumors fell upon deaf ears as he tried to make it up to his best friend; trying his hardest not to lose him.

Though, caught up in everything, he never expected to get a letter from the Frenchman a few weeks later.

Biting his lip, he held the French-perfume-scented envelope in his trembling hands, almost afraid to read it.

They would be the last words the Frenchman would ever say to him, and he could only imagine what they said.

It took all of Arthur's willpower to draw his eyes to the letter and begin reading.

"Mon Angleterre,

I know you must be confused as to why I left so abruptly. I'm not talking about death, Mon chere… I'm talking about our abrupt parting. Honestly, Angleterre, I've given up. Our years of fighting tired me out, and I understand what you think. I'm nothing more than a burden to you, and I know why. If you're even reading this letter, know that I appreciate it. I really do.

Angleterre, I have loved you… but you never needed me, and being the Country of Love, I know a pointless case when I see one. I left, because I hate goodbyes… and I hate being weak in front of you. We're rivals. Rivals don't show weakness with each other. They remain strong and try to become stronger to push each other forward, trying to crush the other underneath the weight. This is a rivalry that has lasted centuries, and we would have always been, but luckily, for you, I yield first.

You've won Arthur, congratulations.

~ Francis"

Arthur's eyes blurred so far with tears, he could barely read the last part of the letter.

"You stupid, wine-bastard…" he muttered, "This isn't winning… this isn't winning at all… I've only lost…"

((A/N: I'm sorry this is so angsty… but I literally wrote it an hour ago, because I was inspired to write something sad. I'm such an angst-monger… anyway, please read and review. It's dedicated to my friend Tori_Akemori… a fellow angst-monger. XD ))