"Bonne anniversaire a moi...Bonne anniversaire a moi..."
A heavy sighed filled the room as the solemn melody paused.
"Bonne anniversaire a Canada...Bonne anniversaire a...moi. Et beaucoup plus..."
Canada traced a circle on his dining room table, trying to retain the pout that tugged at his lower lip. He should have become accustomed to this. Sure, maybe it was on most American calenders, and perhaps even British and French calenders as well, but still...
Still...he had hoped they wouldn't forget his birthday for the hundred forty-second time.
He had celebrated his birthday on his own uneventfully. Kumajiro had asked who's birthday it was at the sight of the cake. Then he asked who the bespectacled blond in front of him was. Canada had watched Degrassi reruns and eaten pancakes in bed for most of the day, as usual, but for some reason the tedious jingle wouldn't stop floating around his head.
"Bonne anniversaire a -"
"Would you stop singing that, whoever you are?" Kumajiro sighed,. He shifted in his seat across the table from his owner.
"Canada..." Canada muttered instinctively. He rested his head on the table. "I'm Canada...the one who feeds you..."
"Then who's that behind you?"
"Quoi?" Canada mumbled, sitting up. Before he could turn around, he felt the familiar scratch of coarse hair on his neck and firm slender hands on his waist.
"Bonne anniversaire a Canada..." A man singsonged, his voice wavering between speech and a soft hum.
The feeling of stubble drifted away from his throat, replaced by cool, soft lips and the gentle brush of feathery hair.
"Mon coeur, je suis très désolé, but I thought I had taught you better than to celebrate by wallowing in self pity -"
"Why are you here?" Canada asked. There was a certain sharpness to his voice that couldn't be willed away. France withdrew, and something cold inside Canada took pleasure from the older man's discomfort.
"I wanted to give you my meilleurs vœux." France murmured. There was a smile in his voice as he spoke, gently, casually sliding his fingers through Canada's hair. Canada jerked away from the caress with pang of reluctance.
"Oh?" Canada returned. His voice was quiet, but edged, accusing. "My birthday was two days ago, France. Are you sure just dropping by before..."
The silence hung between them, an ugly gap in the conversation.
"Before what, mon petit?" France prompted. His hand reached out and brushed a strand of hair from Canada's cheek.
"Before the fourth." Canada muttered. His eyes flickered to the floor, to France, and to the floor again.
"Oh, mon cher..." France sighed. His hand slipped around Canada's jaw, cradling his chin.
"Before his birthday..." Canada continued; his voice was bitter now, and the edge to it was sharper.
"Mon cher, mon cher..." France chided, bending down to bring himself to eye level with the seated nation.
"Before America's -"
France pressed his lips to Canada's. One hand tipped up his chin, the other carded through his hair, half-pulling him forward into the kiss. The familiar sensation of France's beard rubbing against Canada's chin was almost soothing and Canada's argument fell silent at the touch.
France drew back and laughed at the blush creeping up Canada's cheeks. "Mon coeur, I said I was sorry." His tentative smile wasn't able to raise Canada's eyes from the floor, so he continued, his voice softer. "Even when you were young, it was...like this, oui?"
"That doesn't change anything."
That doesn't make it okay for you to forget.
"Canada." France knelt down next to the chair and titled his head slightly, trying to usher Canada's eyes towards his own. "You have always been unique in that way. Sometimes disappearing, or, yes, even being forgotten. And I only wish that I could have been able to help you be more -"
"Visible?"
"Lively." France corrected. He tossed his hair in a manner that was only half joking and gave a fashionable, coy smile. "Comme moi." Canada felt a smile playing at his own lips as France held the mock pose. "Again, I am very sorry."
"I...forgive you." Canada mumbled. He wound the stubborn lock of hair that never quite stayed down around his finger. "Better late than -"
"Hey Canada! Where are you? I brought cake and soda and I think England brought his gross weeds!"
"It's tea you bloody stupid idiot! Must you be so unbearably annoying everywhere you go? This is Canada's -" Their banter was cut short as the two brothers noticed France kneeling next to a heavily blushing Canada. America nodded a greeting to France and walked into the kitchen to set down his fluorescent rainbow cake and bottles of Coca-Cola on the counter, apparently unfazed. England, however, busied himself with boring holes into France with his eyes.
"Hello."
"Bonjour."
"I should have known you'd be here."
"That would have been an accurate assumption, considering I invited you over."
"I was hoping you'd be off feeling up one of your old allies - Prussia, perhaps? Or Spain?"
"Unlike you, cher rosbif, I remembered our darling Canada's anniversaire. A few days late, perhaps, but I am not the one who raised him, oui?"
"Don't act like such a saint, frog. I know your intentions were hardly pure -"
"Guys!" America cried, stepping into the room. "I made the cake redwhiteandblue -" Somehow when America mentioned the colors together, they melded into one inseparable word. "- because those colors are awesome." To Canada, he added, "Your flag's just red and white, right? But I kind of forgot...so I just covered up the blue parts with yellow and orange. So that's why there're fish all over your cake."
France massaged the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "At least you have no inherited your brothers' poor taste, oui?" He murmured to Canada, laughing gently.
"Would you just bring the damn cake out, America? Your ghastly soda will go flat before we can eat, and I don't feel like drinking overpriced sugar water." England frowned, turning sharply away from France to shove America backwards and out of sight.
Canada watched the two of them with a somber smile move about through the slender archway that connected the dining room to the kitchen. France kissed his cheek softly, but it was enough to draw his attention from the scene.
"You cannot blame England for being...preoccupied with America. You were always so good, but America, well, Amérique was an embarrassment, and he showed just how weak England could be. He was un mauvais garçon, whether he set out to be or not, and because of that, he will always be stealing the spotlight." France sighed and shook his head. "C'est n'est pas juste, mais c'est vrai."
"What about you?" Canada asked. His eyes threatened to return to the kitchen doorway where England appeared to be attempting to strangle America.
"...Qu-"
"Why are you always...preoccupied with him?"
There was a crash in the next room and frenzied muttering in broken British slang.
"Je ne sais pas." France muttered after a pause. "Perhaps, because he reminds me of you, when I can't find you...?" He gave another brilliant smile, but it was vapid in Canada's eyes, hollow and meaningless as his words.
"Really?" Canada asked. His voice was flat and hushed. The lights went out, but they continued staring at dark.
"What can I say?"
The room was illuminated by the soft hazy glow of a dozen miniture candles. Off-key notes wafted amongst the smell of spent matches and hot wax from America and England as they entered singing, all the hostility from the kitchen astonishingly missing in one of their rare moments of peace.
"Happy Birthday." Canada murmured. He leaned forward and blew out the candles as he had on the Thursday before, but this time, a loud cheer erupted from America, followed by England's quips and France's gentle scolding.
As they cut the cake, the dining room light again, much to the disappointment of America ("But it would be awesome if it was all dark! Y'know, with only the candles on the cake!"), Canada caught France's eye, and gave him a small, almost apologetic smile. He wasn't as flashy as his brother, and he realized with some reluctance he might never be. But for now, he could ignore the way gazes seemed to pass over him, the way his name was always on the tip of everyone's tongue but never quite there, and he could take some solace in the way France's eyes would always catch, just a little bit, on his seat. Even if he only caught the vague shimmer of his presence, France knew his coeur was still almost there.
Author's Note:
It (was) Canada's 143rd birthday Thursday, July 1st! Hooray Canada! I kind of forgot, even though it is on my calender...Sorry!
I love Franada. It's just so...awesomecutehot. I feel kind of guilty for falling back on the old You don't love me as much as America! plot but I really wanted to do something with the whole North American Colony gang. (Yeah, that's what I call them.) Oh, and the angst pains me. I apologize. I wanted to do something for Canada's birthday, even if it's America's birthday as I write this. (I finished it on the 3rd, I swear!) I hope you enjoyed this silly, silly oneshot.
Translations,
Bonne anniversaire a moi/Canada - Happy birthday to me/Canada
Et beaucoup plus - And many more
Quoi - What
Ma coeur - my heart (basically sweetheart)
je suis très désolé - I am very sorry
meilleurs vœux - best wishes
mon petit - my little one
mon cher- my dear
comme moi - like me
rosbif - dear rosbif ("rosbif" is an ethnic slur for English used by the French)
Amérique - America
un mauvais garçon - a bad boy
C'est n'est pas juste, mais c'est vrai - It isn't fair, but it's true.
Je ne sais pais - I don't know