Hetalia and its characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya, not me, nope.
Non-profit Writing ~ ~
Arthur Kirkland was ready.
He was convinced, he had the right words, this wouldn't be painful at all and after tonight, he'd be a free man. Yes, and that was what he wanted, totally.
Because that damn flirtatious Frenchman didn't appreciate him enough. Arthur knew he was a flirt when they met yet still agreed to have a relationship with him because he naively thought that Francis would change; but no, he didn't stop flirting with other people when he started dating Arthur, something about "being in his nature" and crap like that.
On the other hand, Arthur couldn't really say that Francis had actually cheated on him, not once; because the frog had shown - in the eight months they had been together - that he could be a faithful frog.
However, it was true that they fought constantly, and although make-up sex was bloody marvelous and half of their arguments were about the most absurd and trivial topics « In other people's eyes, it seemed as if they fought on purpose, as an excuse to have something on which reconciled », Arthur knew he deserved better.
Or maybe he was just scared, because this was his longest relationship in who knows how long, and because he felt that at any moment Francis could leave him for someone else, someone better; because Francis was everything that Arthur wasn't, and he often questioned himself of how come the Frenchman had noticed him in the first place.
But no, it definitely was not because of that.
The Englishman took a deep breath and knocked on the door, repeating himself those perfectly memorized words; expecting it to be easy; hoping that didn't hurt; for Francis, of course, as for him, well, this wasn't his first heartbreak.
He will be just fine…
The door opened and Arthur was greeted by a handsome face and blue eyes and a perfect smile.
"Oh! Arthur! I wasn't expecting you today." the frog said with a smile and that slight french accent of his that Arthur finds so - secretly - endearing.
"What, am I interrupting something?" he replied in annoyance - poorly feigned -, but this went unnoticed by Francis, whose smile only widened.
"Don't be silly, you never interrupt me, mon amour" he said, giving him a peck on the lips. "Come in."
( It was one of those brief and subtle kisses that always left Arthur with a tingling in his stomach and playing unconsciously with his fingers. It was ridiculous how something as simple as that could make him nervous. But that funny feeling was always there; in their first date, in their first kiss, in their first morning waking up in each other's arms. And it was happening right now, the day Arthur was going to put an end to all this. )
Once they get to the living room, Francis offered him something to drink and Arthur asked for a cup of coffee « He would have preferred a cup of tea, but he needed something a little stronger than that. He could've asked for a glass of wine, but at his 23, alcohol not even once had proved to be an ally but quite the contrary », and now he was sitting on the couch thinking about his "break up speech" over and over again, while the other man was busy in the kitchen, oblivious to the bad news.
When Francis returned to the room, he put the tray on the coffee table and sat next to Arthur, bending his right knee and resting his right arm on the back of the couch, facing him.
"So, why are you here?" he said, tossing his hair back.
And was it normal for that scent of roses to arise every time he did that?
"Why, you don't want me here?" Arthur replied with the same feigned annoyance that once again, passed unnoticed to the Frenchman.
He laughed.
( It was that laugh that always brings a smile to Arthur's lips, because that sound is so nice and so genuine that he's sure it can be heard only in the most beautiful corners of the planet. And because he liked to think that he was the cause of it. )
"Oh no, I wouldn't say that" he said, reaching his hand to caress Arthur's nape, who instinctively closed his eyes, giving in to the soft touch of those long, delicate fingers "Why are you so defensive? A bad day perhaps?"
Almost trembling - due to the nervousness, not because that touch made him feel weak - Arthur mumbled "Something… something like that."
"Oh, mon pauvre Anglais" Francis leaned closer and started kissing his neck gently, trying to take all the stress away.
Still with his eyes closed, Arthur did his best to not let out a sigh - or a moan, or something equally or more embarrassing than that - and, regaining his thoughts, he stood.
"Stop, I need to talk to you." he said firmly.
Francis looked at him a little confused, but smiled nonetheless "I'm listening."
The time had come, but Francis shouldn't be smiling. Arthur thought that it might be easier if he spoke giving his back to the frog; but no, he was a man, a gentleman. How should he start? He had memorized each word of what he was going to say but now his mind was completely blank. He blamed that smile and those eyes that really shouldn't be looking at him like that and god, they were so blue…
"Well? Francis said, and Arthur noticed that the blond was now standing right in front of him.
Looking at the man he loved « Yes, he loved him, there » he lost his words, lost the courage…and ironically, lost his fears. Because what made those beautiful blue eyes so mesmerizing was the fact that Arthur could see pure love in them, he was sure it was true love dressed in blue.
And suddenly he couldn't imagine living without looking at them, without feeling every inch of that perfect skin with his fingertips, without hearing his name escape from those lips in the form of whispers in their most intimate times, breathing his scent and feeling his warmth. He couldn't imagine living without tangling his fingers in those unbearably soft strands of blonde hair.
He couldn't imagine a life without him.
"Francis…"
"Yes?"
"…Don't ever leave me" he said weakly.
That was not what he had planned to say, at all, but the words had already left his mouth.
Francis took him by the waist, smiling tenderly at him.
"Jamais, you are mine, and I love you."
"…am I?" he asked foolishly.
The Frenchman answered giving him another one of those brief kisses, and then took his hand, laced his fingers together and pulled both hands to his heart.
"And I, Francis Bonnefoy, am…"
"Mine" - Arthur interrupted, whispering - "Absolutely mine" and kissed his boyfriend fully on the lips.
( It was one of those kisses that always made Francis lost track of time and space but didn't care, he could stay there for hours... but soon he would remembered to breath and he would break the kiss to look into those bright green eyes that seemed to smile at him every time. )
Arthur knows that walking through this life together will be a complete and utter madness.
But maybe it's worth the risk.