They were in a smooth expanse of lush green hills, water lapped down at the edge of a golden beach and squawking seagulls circled overhead. Only a faint breeze was present in the air and the gentle warmth of a summer just beginning. Arthur Kirkland, the personification of England, at that time just a mere infant appearance wise, scowled up at the Frenchman, his scruffy blonde hair and already thick black eyebrows giving him an aura of grumpiness. France chuckled softly before pressing his fingers to his lips and then to the small boy's forehead. "Mon petit lapin..do you think.." Arthur twitched at the contact and raised his eyebrows in annoyance. "What?" "Maybe" England spat out, his lips sucked in as he thought of how to explain. "Depends how annoying you get" the little boy tugged once more at his cloak before looking out at the oceans that stretched out before them. His eyes held a longing to be sailing across them, to be free. "Frog?"
"Mon chérie?" Francis Bonnefoy asked, the personification of France, just into his early adolescent years by appearance. His hair was cut longer than the other countries and his bright blue eyes sparkled with promise. Even at that age he knew he was irresistable.
"What now, frog?" he asked, tugging at his green cape for to be protected if the French boy decided to make any more passes at him.
"Do you think you'll ever adore moi?" England blinked for a seconds before screwing his face up in distaste. Francis exhaled in defeat even before a single word had left the English boy's lips. He knew it was a long shot. Oh well..it wasn't like he – the great Francis Bonnefoy- couldn't have another lov-
"Oui, mon petit?"
"Do you think you'll ever love me?"
Francis fell silent before he too lifted his eyes to gaze out at the waves rising and crashing into white foam in the cove.
"Maybe mon chérie..maybe"
OoOo
It was morning. Or so Francis supposed. Light shone through his curtains and he could hear birds chirping in time with the beep of his alarm clock. Oui, it must be morning. Stretching his arms out across his head he yawned largely, feeling the stubble on his chin brush against his neck as he did so. "Time for a trim, I think, non?" France mumbled to himself, feeling the skin with his finger tips. He'd been rather glad that he'd awoken from his slumber before that particular dream went it's full course. That was a conversation that had taken place just before the Englishman's pure hatred for him had begun.
"l'Angleterre was so cute back then.." Francis reminded himself, swinging his legs round out of the crisp white covers so they landed on the wooden floorboards. It was already 11:34AM according to the clock on his dresser. Merde..that meant he was late for the UN meeting. Shrugging ever so slightly to himself he continued heaving himself up before heading towards the shower room. The other countries could start later, it would be good for them. They were all so up tight with their schedules and "We must discuss this now or else" policies. Why couldn't they all relax? He did.
"Mon dieu.." prodding his face as he stood in front of the bathroom mirror Francis lifted a strand of his hair before letting it fall down next to his cheek where it would've normally curled in slightly to frame it. Limp. His hair was limp. That definitely wouldn't do. Grabbing several brushes, combs and volumnising mouses he took to work pruning himself. A comb to get out the knots, a brush to smooth over the outer layers and mouse to make it shiny and soft to the touch. Once he was content with his light blonde locks the Frenchman picked up a dark blue ribbon and casually tied his hair up in a loose ponytail to the side. Parfait.
His morning routine usually took around two hours, especially after the weekend. Francis Bonnefoy's weekends were usually spent in the company of lovers, not giving him much time to sprooce himself up to his normal level of perfection. It turned out his small beard didn't need as much grooming as he'd first thought so his routine fell short half an hour. Dressing in front of the grand mirror in his bedroom, one of the ones that you could see yourself from every angle, the Frenchman dressed in light grey pinstripe dress trousers and a rose petal pink shaded button down shirt. He left the top three buttons undone to show off his chest. Fighting with the inner decision of whether to wear a neck scarf or not he suddenly heard his phone ringing, the droning sound of "God save the Queen", a personalized ring tone, just for..
"L'Angleterre?" he asked incredulously into the speaker, balancing the mobile device between his ear and shoulder so he could continue dressing.
"Francis where the bloody hell are you, you dolt? You're three hours late!" Arthur spat on the other line, his fury evident. France wondered in mild amusement who was going to be the first one to have to deal with the angry Briton.
"So? I 'av been six hours late before and nobody complained, non? What is th-"
"You were meant to pick me up from the Euro tunnel you insufferable oaf!"
Ah..now that made things complicated. Vague snippets of conversation now drifted back into the Frenchman's mind, the meeting around a month back now held in England's capital, the two had been having tea together in the lunch break.
"So you'll pick me up from the Eurotunnel and then show me where the meeting is, correct?"
"D'accord, d'accord" Francis waved a hand boredly, trying to catch the eye of the waitress a couple of tables over.
"You won't forget will you?" Arthur asked, taking another sip out of his china tea cup before placing it back down on the saucer with a slight 'tinkle' noise.
"Non, non, of course not. C'est bon.." Francis winked at the waitress and she giggled, a blush spreading across her adorably rounded cheeks.
Arthur sighed.
"Lucy.." Francis breathed, remembering the night he'd spent with the girl and how he'd completely overlooked the 'date' he'd made with Arthur.
"You're SO incompetent" England spat, breathing huffily into the phone out of anger. "Look-" he continued "Just tell me the address and I can drive there on my own. If I know you well enough you're probably still getting dressed"
Francis childishly tried to stuff the neck scarf in his back pocket, even though nobody was there to see him and prove the Briton right.
"'Ang on, mon petit. I can still drive you. Zere is no reason why not, non?"
"We're going to be five bloody hours late" Arthur said, obviously through his teeth.
"Oui – a record pour moi. Et don't worry, it shall be us arriving 'fashionably late'"
A noise that was halfway between amusement and innermost hatred came through the phone before England exhaled loudly and said resignedly "Fine. I'll see you in an hour. My car is the uni-"
"Union Jack top Mini VW. I know, mon petit" Francis smirked at the Brit's sudden silence before speaking into the empty air
"Au revoir mon chérie, try not to miss me too much until I arrive!"
Hanging up the phone and placing it back in his trouser pocket Francis tapped his chin. Hmm..actually..the neck scarf looked quite good just jauntily sticking out his back pocket like that. "It shall direct the eye to my parfait behind, non?" he chuckled, winking at himself in the mirror before doing a full turn on the spot. Grabbing his black jacket off the door handle and walking off towards the kitchen he wondered whether he should pack a couple of croissants for the enraged Englishman.
In bitterness he concluded that his joke earlier had backfired in his face. HE was going to be the one to have to deal with the angry 'l'Angleterre first. After eating quickly and brushing his teeth the Frenchman locked up his house and proceeded to walk to his car. It was a small navy blue Peugeot with cream leather seats inside. Not very stylish on the outside but it served it's purpose on the inside. His decision for getting cream leather seats was due to the interesting hobbies he liked to carry out in the backseats of his vehicle on various occasions.. If you get my drift. It would be bad to have stains.
OoOo
When France finally arrived at the Eurotunnel terminal it was teeming with people of all all ages, nationalities and genders. So many likely candidates for l'amour.. shaking the thought out of his head he squinted his eyes to look through his windshield for the Englishman. Unfortunately for the Briton his most recognizable feature were his eyebrows, and that's what the Frenchman caught sight of first.
Swerving into a parking space he pressed the button on the manual pad in his car and the windows all rolled down. "Mon petitttt~" he called, sticking his head out the window and waving with a smirk on his face until the Briton finally caught sight of him.
"You absolute bloody wanker!" Arthur thundered, wrenching the passenger door open of the Peugeot and chucking his briefcase harshly into the foot-hole before throwing himself into the seat.
"Nice to see you too, l'Angleterre~" Francis mused, changing the gear into reverse before turning his head to see if he could turn.
"Five fuckin' hours, France. Five FUCKIN' hours. Good god-" Arthur ran his hands through his hair, messing it up without even trying. France just shrugged, nonchalant about the whole situation for the time being. England was wearing his usual brown suit, tie and green sweater vest over his white shirt. Sometimes Francis wondered how England could cope with the humiliation of being seen in such hideous clothing yet he supposed now wouldn't exactly be the right time to bring that point up..perhaps in a couple of hours.
"Germany's been calling me on repeat for the last three hours, yelling his lungs up down the phone, swearing like no tomorrow. I mean, who the fuck does that? Swears ALL the time? Bloody hell..some people.." Arthur rambled on, making snide comments along the way and commenting on how he thought France's car stank of pee and garlic.
"Tu swear all the time mon petit" Francis pointed out after a while, his head aching from the string of curses that had been spilling out of Arthur's mouth for around fifteen minutes now.
"I bloody well do not!" England retorted "It's ungentlemanly to swear!"
France sighed, feeling his energy from the morning being zapped out of him by this child like tea drinker.
"Oui, oui..of course not. Mon apologies.."
Turning off onto a side road France could have shouted out in joy when he finally saw the sign for the meeting block. England must have noticed the Frenchman's sudden change in attitude for he turned his head in the same direction.
"The..arena board?" Arthur loosely translated, squinting his eyes to better see the French words.
"Très bien, mon cher ~" Francis smiled, reaching over to pat the Englishman on the head, who in return whacked his hand away and greeted him with a dozen more curses.
'The Arena Board' was one of the most modern meeting blocks in France. It's technology was up to date, the meeting rooms had lovely furnishings, the workers were all friendly, the food at lunch times was spectacular..yet..this was a UN meeting. None of this would matter.
They'd use a chalk board, not a touch screen board, they'd all sit on the stiff chairs around the largest and ugliest table, they'd ignore all the workers and most probably slag them off and the worst part of all..they'd all go to the local coffee shop for lunch. Some things would never change.
Francis pulled into his usual parking space with a disappointed grimace on his face, the thought of how much his hospitality would be down trodden upsetting his usually perky mood.
"Are we going to go in or are we just going to sit here like lemons?" Arthur asked dryly, watching France's blank expression and obvious unwillingness to move.
"Hmm?" Francis looked round slowly, blinking as he gradually came back to reality.
"Go, now, yes?"
"Oh..oui...d'accord"
OoOo
The two men clambered out of their seats without passing any more comments and after France had made sure his precious car was locked and he'd checked his appearance in every reflective surface they passed they made there way to the meeting room. To say Germany was angry about their lateness would be an understatement..he was absolutely furious.
"Where have you two been?" he yelled as soon as they walked through the door, causing Arthur to start in shock and crash backwards into France, who'd been all too happy to catch him.
"Oh, désolée, l'Allemagne – l'Angleterre et moi were..otherwise engaged if you know what I mean"
Francis winked at England's mortified face but before Arthur could protest Germany yelled again
"I don't care what you have been doing..together!-" Ludwig cringed "Just get to your seats!"
Both men nodded in mutual agreement before heading their different ways around the table to find their seats. Francis smirked as Arthur did his best to ignore him and concentrate on the now meaningless points Ludwig was writing up on the -he had guessed right- chalk board.
'Ow mignon..France thought, resting his face in his hand and tilting his head so he could see both England and the rest of the table in his sight.
After a while Francis noticed America looking rather shifty, unusually agitated. The American's eyes were darting in between the Frenchman and Arthur rather quickly and he was tapping his pen hurriedly against his folder. Finally Alfred turned his head towards France to get a better look, he seemed startled to find the Frenchman already staring perplexed at him and his pupils dilated. "Quoi?" Francis mouthed, his eyebrows twitching up as he took in a look he knew all too well appearing on Alfred's face.
"You and Iggy..together?" came the badly lip synched reply.
France leant back in his chair, obscuring his face from the view of the American. Non..was his first thought. They were friends..well..he liked to think they were. What was he to respond? If he said Oui then Arthur would surely have his head on a silver platter by the end of the day. Even worse if he had to drive the Englishman home. Since when had he ever wanted to be together with England anyway? What a silly thing to be fussing over. Non, they weren't. They had never been, they never would b-
"Frog?"
"Oui, mon petit?"
"Do you think you'll ever love me?"
Grimacing as his dream resurfaced in his mind Francis leant forwards again to be faced with a twitchy looking America.
He shrugged. The ultimate act of indecision. Alfred's lip curled slightly but he nodded and leant back in his chair. A couple of seconds letter his feet appeared, resting on the table.
'Zat l'Amérique..he knew how much scuff marks annoyed the Frenchman. Crossing his arms tightly across his chest and leaning back again France decided to for once possibly listen to what they had all been called here to witness.
OoOo
It wasn't every day that Francis saw Arthur now, especially after England had to run around to avoid having his hair cut short again. It was rather hilarious how the Briton looked with long hair, it stuck out at such strange angles and curled furiously like an untamed beast. Hair reflected personality though, non? "Mon petit..what on earth have tu done?" Francis chuckled, touching one of the huge curls that sprung out from the English child's scalp. France sighed in a resigned manor before lifting the small child up under the arms, dodging the kicking legs and the flying fists he managed to sit Arthur down on a small chair. England had sat in muted agony for around an hour whilst France snipped at his hair, making vague comments about how much there was to cut off and that he was a master barber. Pouting slightly at his work being criticized France shrugged before taking back the mirror and picking up the scissors once again. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? IT LOOKS EXACTLY THE SAME AS BEFORE!" Arthur screeched an hour or so later, holding the mirror in an iron grip as he stared into it in absolute horror. "What does 'Mignon' mean?" England asked grumpily, his reflection in the mirror pouting as he looked in distaste at his old haircut.
"It wasn't meant to look like this.." Arthur whined, pushing Francis's hand away and trying to flatten his mop with his own small hands. "It was only meant to grow long"
"Sit still, l'Angleterre" he hummed, covering the Briton with a large sheet to catch any falling snippets of hair.
Arthur looked around him in horror as he saw France reappear with a huge pair of scissors.
"W-what? Keep away from me you dolt!"
"I'm only giving you a trim, mon cher, tu look ridiculous"
"Voila! How about zis one, non?" He handed a small circular hand mirror to the Briton, keeping his hand on the handle so Arthur's small one got placed over his.
"...It looks too much like someone I know.." came England's strained reply, obviously displeased.
"D'accord, no problem. Round deux, non?"
"But this is what looks best on tu! Très mignon!" France smiled at his handiwork, stroking down the once again short spikes of the little England's hair.
"Cute, mon petit, it means cute"
"..Am I 'Mignon'?" Arthur asked quietly, his large green eyes averting from seeing France's face in the reflection.
Francis chuckled, bending down so to kiss the child's head softly.
"Hmm..maybe"
"WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?"
France's laughs erupted uncontrollably, echoing around the empty valley, drowning out the sounds of England's frustrated yelling.
"Why is France laughing, aru?"
"Maybe I should hit him with my pipe to see if it would stop..kolkol"
"Nii-chan? What's so funny, ve?"
"Dude, it's kinda creepy..cut it out"
"Perhaps he is amused by your wonderful speech, Germany?"
"Is he even awake? Somebody hit him."
"The bloody frog is probably just drunk"
Francis's eyes fluttered open at the last comment, he was sitting as he had been before, in his chair around the UN meeting table, yet all the other countries were gathered around him.
"Quoi?" France asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand as he yawned.
"You fell asleep Nii-chan" Italy filled in, stepping forwards as all the other countries realised he was fine and went about their own business.
"Vraiment? Oh..I see."
"Ve ~" Feliciano nodded, his innocent expression screaming childishness "Nii-chan?"
"Oui?"
"Why were you laughing?"
Over Italy's shoulder France caught sight of England, he was leaning against the door to the storage room, a small smile on his face, whilst America stood next to him, gesturing wildly with his hands. Francis's face fell slightly. "I.."
The Frenchman watched as both men disappeared into the storage cupboard, one after the other. As the door started closing France caught sight of America's face. A malicious smile he'd never seen before on the man's usually care free features disappeared into the darkness.
The door clicked shut.
"I..do not know..mon petit..I really do not know"
TO BE CONTINUED..