Happy Birthday, France!

Happy July 14th to all you FrUk fans as well~

I do not own APH. God help us all if I did.

It was a late Saturday when he had finally drifted out of the fog of sleep, groaning and turning over lazily when France suddenly realized his bed mate was not present. It surprised him at first, but the Frenchman just smiled to himself almost disappointedly, brushing his knuckles over where his self proclaimed lover had once been, still smelling as sweetly of cinnamon apple tea. England must have woken up before him and quickly dressed himself, leaving before France can even say good morning. It was in the Englishman's nature though, Francis reminded himself, because someone like Arthur would never admit their true feelings, especially if being in love was amongst them. He was just too cute sometimes, and Francis found it simply adorable whenever he flirted with the stuck-up Brit, who would sputter and scowl in embarrassment before turning a lovely shade of pink.

Even still, it was a little crushing that he left, but France knew better than to be upset. Their relationship was..different from all the other previous ones Francis had been in. The Frenchman smiled faintly to himself once again, ruffling his shoulder length blonde hair before yawning. All was fair in love and war, as they say. Whoever "they" was.

Francis quickly sat up lest he catch the urge to sleep in anymore; groaning faintly as his somewhat stiff back did the same, popping rather noisily. He scoffed at this, stretching his joints and limbs before attempting to stand up. Honestly, he certainly didn't feel old (most of the time), but his body protested his age. As he was finally on his two feet, Francis looked over himself right down to his agile toes. He was, of course, stark naked because he was too exhausted from last night's actives to remember to put on a pair of pants. Arthur rarely complained about it either, so he never bothered. His form was rather sticky from where he had sweated last night also, but not enough to the point where he absolutely needed an immediate shower. That, he thought, could wait until after breakfast.

Hah. A breakfast for one, he reminded himself.

The blonde Frenchman sighed unenthusiastically as he searched for a spare pair of pants and the motivation to drag himself down the hallway and staircase to his kitchen.

He had, however, barely gotten a leg through a loose pair of sweatpants when he heard a loud crash from downstairs. Alarmed, Francis hurriedly began the journey to his kitchen when he heard the faint, yet very familiar cursing of a certain Brit. Peeking around the corner the view of Arthur crouched in the floor in a frilly pink apron with his thick eyebrows drawn downward in frustration, obviously ignorant of Francis as he busied himself with picking up bottles of various spices that Francis' used for cooking.

"Bloody hell, you wine bastard, how many spices do you need?" England mumbled to himself, picking up the last bottle and shoving them all clumsily back into the cabinet above the shove, which was smoking much to France's horror. Arthur seemed to notice it pretty quickly too, as he placed his hand too close to one of the eyes, and jumped with a gasp as he was burned.

England hissed painfully as he quickly jerked his hand back with a hurried "fucking shit!". He looked almost close to tears as he popped the burnt digits into his mouth to nurse the searing pain of the wound. France was torn between helping him and laughing at him as the Englishman childishly stomped a foot and whimpered a hurried mantra of "ow, ow, ow, fucking OW!" with his face scrunched up comically, which was funnier than it should have been considering the way his monstrous eyebrows were. England finally composed himself enough to turn off the shove and set the frying pan aside along with the charred reminds of something that France wished to remain anonymous. There was a pause as Arthur looked over the mess he had made in his fellow nation's kitchen, embarrassed as well as ashamed.

All he wanted to do was just make a special birthday breakfast for France, but he couldn't even do that right. Tears of frustration gathered in his moist eyelashes as he squeezed them shut, wondering just how the hell he was going to explain the mess to Francis when he woke up.

The Frenchman quickly noticed when England dipped his head, hands scrubbed at his eyes as he gritted his teeth.

"Arthur?"

England's head jerked up when he heard France step lightly into the kitchen. "O-Oh, um, France."

Unsure what to do with his hands, he clenched them into his apron, fondling the material. The sandy blonde Brit snapped to attention as he turned to face the other hesitantly. There was a rather long silence before England finally decided to speak.

"I made you breakfast."

Arthur's heart clenched unexplainably as at first France said nothing, his face still blank, but he breathed a relieved sigh when suddenly France grinned widely.

"I can see that, mon cheri." The Frenchman said with a slight chuckle, glancing over his once clean stove top. Really, how much devastation could one Brit cause? Francis was delighted to see Arthur turn pink all the way to his ears, as he urged (though it was more of shoving) France to sit. He obeyed wordlessly, watching the other amusingly as he hurriedly opened the fridge and closed it. A few moments later and France was served his special birthday breakfast. That of a burnt slice of toast slathered with strawberry jam, and a glass of milk.

For a while, Francis merely stared at it, and that made Arthur uncharacteristically nervous.

"W-well, frog, just don't stare at it! It's your breakfast! I-I mean, since well, it's your birthday and I just thought I'd make you breakfast so you wouldn't hound me endlessly for a present later and-"

England was suddenly cut off as a soft, warm lips descended upon his own in a slow, gently kiss when the frog known as Francis lunged forward across the table. It was sweet and grateful, and it didn't seem to care all that much that England had destroyed a once clean kitchen.

Because this was simply the best birthday present Francis could've received.

Who wouldn't want a tsundere Brit to serve them breakfast in a frilly apron, AMIRIGHT?

ugh.

Review for advice/suggestions