Not escapable 2/2

The air was fresh after rain and cool wind was blowing lightly. It was the beginning of September and night was dark already.

Francis was walking through a park, listening to the sound of trees as wind made their leaves dance. He felt anxious and confused and like million feelings was running through him.

Francis shook his head in frustration. Why was he confused? He shouldn't be. It had been a year, a year, for heaven's sake!

"It'sh thiz house here…" Arthur staggered to the door of his house and proudly hit his fist to his chest. "I live here."

Francis sighed. "I know, Arthur. I hope you haven't lost your key."

"Ahahaha~! Of courshe I haven't! Now where'ish it dammit…?"

Finally, when the drunken Brit had found his key and Francis had let them inside and helped Arthur into his bed where he was safely sleeping at the moment, the Frenchman saw Arthur's keys on the table in kitchen. Some day for sure the Englishman would lose them. So… Francis grinned. Better safe than sorry, right?

The wind played with Francis' hair and he chuckled. Arthur hadn't had lost his keys yet, unlike the Frenchman had thought.

"Francis, have I ever told you that your military history sucks? The United Kingdom would beat France up in a second."

"Would it? My dear Arthur, we both know that you can't stand up to me for a second. Isn't it a shame to lose to somebody whose military history sucks, as you say?"

"Shut up, frog."

Francis smirked. "Make me."

"Bastard!" Arthur hissed. Francis chuckled triumphantly. "See?"

Arthur sat on his lap and pulled him into a kiss. "I said shut up…" he murmured.

Francis wrapped his arms around his waist and smirked. "See?" he said again.

Arthur buried his face in the Frenchman's neck. "Stupid smug frog", he whispered.

Francis kissed him.

Francis smiled gently at the memory.

"How did you get in, frog?" Arthur demanded when Francis walked into his bedroom. "How do you every bloody time manage to get in?"

Francis grinned. "It's a secret, mon amour", he said and enjoyed how Arthur's cheeks turned pink.

"W-what are you doing here?"

"Hmm, I didn't want you to get lonely in this huge bed~"

Francis sat down on a bench and closed his eyes. Yes, it had been a year. A year without Arthur.

***

Arthur squeezed his eyes closed and changed his position in bed for fucking millionth time but it was no use. With closed eyes he could just see Francis even more clearly.

Why, why did the reunion with the Frenchman make him feel this…empty? Everything between them was over, over for heaven's sake, so why couldn't he just let it be like Francis seemed to have done?

Groaning, Arthur wrapped his arms around his head as if that would keep the painful thoughts out of his mind. It didn't work, of course, and his groan turned to a lonely sob. It was foolish of him to even hope that Francis still loved him, not after everything he had said and done.

…And since when Arthur did hope that the Frenchman was still in love with him? He had got over him, right? He had moved on, hadn't he? Then why…?

The hotel room felt suddenly too hot and too stale, so Arthur slid from the sweaty sheets and opened the door to the balcony, stepping outside. He leaned against the railing, watching down at the sleeping city of Berlin. The air fresh and cold and the cool wind mixed his messy hair even more.

Arthur's heart wrenched painfully. Just who was he trying to fool? He was still in love with Francis. He loved that bloody Frenchman more that he had courage to admit to himself. While being in India he hadn't forgot about Francis and all they had shared. No, vice versa. There had not been a single day that something wouldn't have reminded him of what he had lost.

Arthur leaned his back against the cold wall. The worst thing was that he knew perfectly well who the one to be blamed was.

The wind got stronger and Arthur was shivering but he didn't go back inside.

It had started like million times before.

"Go away, frog!"

"I'll, mon Cher, after I'm done here…"

But then something had gone wrong.

"I hate you! I'm seriously sick of your actions!"

"Is that so? Well, it can't be helped."

And suddenly it had come to an end.

"Now fuck off already! I mean it, I don't want to see you anymore."

"That will be no problem since we both feel the same."

And then Francis was gone and Arthur was left alone. First he felt just angry as he watched the Frenchman walking away, but Francis wasn't hesitating one bit and when he had disappeared behind the corner without looking back even once, Arthur couldn't help but sob despite his anger. It was really over now.

Naturally they had fought countless of times before. That wasn't the first time when they broke up. But their break ups never lasted long; in a day or maximum two Francis had always appeared in Arthur's house (the Brit still couldn't figure out how the Frenchman managed to get in) or Arthur had found himself in front of the Frenchman's door again, and they had always made up.

But that last fight… Francis hadn't come to his place and Arthur hadn't been able to force himself to go to Francis'. It hadn't been because of his pride. Well, it had, it bloody always had, but that time something else was stopping him: the look in the Frenchman's eyes when they had fought. There had been anger in his eyes, of course, but also…tiredness. He had looked tired of going through all those fights with Arthur, tired of being with Arthur. And when Francis had left, he didn't hesitate at all. His steps had been firm, he hadn't looked back. And that was different to all previous times. Francis had looked relieved, relieved to be finally free from Arthur, like their relationship was something that was fun as long as it lasted but then just something to be thrown away.

For Arthur it wasn't like that. Eventually his anger had vanished, leaving only longing and sorrow in his heart. But all those things he had said… He knew he had hurt Francis, more than the Frenchman had hurt him.

Arthur slid down, sitting on the wet floor of the balcony. Francis had always been able to move forward, no matter what happened. A year, during which they hadn't been in touch at all, had passed. Obviously Francis hadn't got stuck in the past, that wasn't something he would do. He had continued his life, just like Arthur should have done, just like he had pretended he had done.

Something warm ran down Arthur's cheeks but he didn't bother to wipe the tears away. Instead he buried his face in his knees, arms around his head. Sobs broke free from deep inside of him, violently shaking his body.

It began to rain.

***

Francis was not one of those people who got stuck in the past unable to move forward, but now he realised that there was one thing he could not leave behind, no matter what he had insisted himself during the past year. He was still in love with Arthur.

Francis took a quick glance at the Brit, who was sitting on the opposite side of the table and listening with a dull expression to nations' ideas how to save the world. He had dark circles under his eyes.

They were at the meeting again, attempting to find the way to slow down the global worming.

North-Italy suggested that all cars should be forbidden. His idea was rejected.

Denmark suggested that all people should live like at prehistorical period again. His idea was rejected.

Someone suggested that they should put a limit to how much pollution was allowed to be let in the nature. His idea was approved.

Russia suggested that all who broke the limit should be sent to Siberia. His idea was mostly rejected.

No one bothered to listen what was America's suggestion.

The conference ended. Francis rose hesitatingly from his seat. His flight back to France would leave on the following day. Should he talk with Arthur before that? His eyes wandered around the room, attempting to find the Brit and he caught a sign of him exactly when the younger nation ran out of the room. Literally ran.

Francis sighed. Maybe he really should just give up.

***

Arthur was walking in the park, just wandering around without any destination and trying to free himself from the vague pain eating him inside. As usually, it was already evening when the meeting ended and dark had fallen. There was hardly anybody in the park besides the Englishman.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! He clenched his fists in frustration. He loved Francis and he fucking needed him to go on, to be complete again, but there was no bloody fucking way he could just go and tell the Frenchman that. And even if he could, what would Francis say? Sorry, you had your chance, too bad everything is over now. Or maybe, I love you too but you hurt me too much back then to bee forgiven? That kind of answers didn't suit Arthur, but shit, what could he do? Waves of anger rushed through the small body of the Brit. They had shared something unique, something very special with Francis, so why the hell did he ruin it all? With the help of Francis, of course, but it was mostly Arthur's and his hot temper's fault that everything went wrong.

Arthur stopped walking. He had exited the park and now he saw a four-floor building across the street. A hotel. The one where Francis was living.

Anger left Arthur leaving him feel only desperate. The Frenchman would return to France next morning and the Brit himself would leave in the following evening. This was the last chance to try to make everything better. He could go and explain Francis how he was feeling and apologise, because if they left everything open between them and left to their own countries, they would never able to fix things again. They just could not go and visit each other like before and probably next time they would meet would be another world conference. They would never be able to achieve what they had had.

Arthur didn't move. He could cross the road, step into hotel and meet Francis, or he could turn around and leave, knowing that everything was forever gone.

The wind was blowing into his face. He closed his eyes, took a deep breathe and took a step forward. Then he turned on his heels and rushed away.

Tears were forming in the corners of his eyes as he walked away. He couldn't. He just couldn't gather his courage to face the Frenchman and be rejected.

Knees feeling weak he laid his hand on a building to keep his balance as he turned around the corner. His heart was beating painfully hard –and empty. So terribly empty.

Arthur bumped into somebody and raised his eyes to see surprised and extremely handsome face of Francis. In shock he took one step back, heart beating either in his throat or stomach or possibly both, mouth completely dry and unable to think of anything.

When the Frenchman was so close, looking at him with his deep blue eyes and Arthur wasn't prepared to meet him, he couldn't help but almost panic. And he could control his feelings even less than before. His lovely frog was there, right in front of him, staring at him with his wonderfully blue eyes and Arthur wanted nothing but throw himself into the embrace of the Frenchman. All the love and longing crushed on the Brit with full power making his head turn around and suddenly he realized how long time a year really was. "Francis…" he whispered mouth too dry to speak in a normal voice.

"Oh Arthur", the Frenchman said harshly and Arthur felt familiar, strong hands grabbing his shoulders and pulling him close into a deep, powerful kiss. His fingers clinched around Francis' shirt pulling even closer the taller blonde, who tightened his arms around the Brit's waist. Arthur parted his lips, inviting the Frenchman to feel him, memorize him again after being apart for so long. Francis slid his tongue in the Englishman's mouth exploring him, fully remembering what made him feel the best. Only the need to breathe made them finally pull back, but Arthur didn't loose his grip of the Frenchman's shirt and Francis' arms remained around the Englishman's waist, like they feared the other one to disappear once they let go.

They were panting heavily and gazing at each other. "Arthur…" Francis muttered, rubbing his waist like confirming that he was still there, in his arms. The way Francis said his name made Arthur blush and he recognised in the Frenchman's voice the same longing that he was feeling himself. For a while he couldn't think of anything else but Francis' arms around him, but when Arthur breathe slowed down a little, his mind filled with things that he wanted to tell the Frenchman.

"Francis", he stammered closing his eyes. "I am terribly sorry, I-" A finger touched his lips and he opened his eyes. Francis was smiling gently at him, that smile of his had left Arthur speechless more than once. "Shh", he leaned forward and whispered lovingly in the ear of the Brit, who rested his head against Francis' shoulder. "I missed you so, mon amour."

The Frenchman's warm breathe tickled Arthur ear and he enjoyed the feeling of having him this close again. He wrapped his arms around Francis, eyes suddenly feeling hot and he tried to blink the forming tears away. "I missed you too, Francis. I need you." He buried his face in Francis' neck. "I am really sorry, I said so many nasty things back then but you need to know that I didn't mean any of them!"

"You were not the only one", Francis answered, stroking gently Arthur's hair. "Forgive me, Arthur, I acted very stupidly."

The Englishman sobbed and soft lips found his owns again, but this time the kiss was slow and gentle, the kind of kiss that made everything around disappear as if time itself didn't exist.

"I love you so much."

***

As usually, Francis came from behind.

"W-what the-" Arthur squeaked in surprise and shoved the Frenchman's hand away from his butt. "Bloody frog, what do you think you are doing?"

Francis smirked. "Let's see how long it'll take you to guess right", he said throwing Arthur on his sofa. His cheeks burning bright red the Brit tried to ignore the warmth in his stomach. "Bloody git", he said trying not to look like wanting to be kissed.

Francis raised his elegant eyebrow. "What? You want me to leave?" he asked playfully. Arthur smiled, reached with his arms and hugged the Frenchman tightly.

"Never."

*

A/N: Thanks for reading; I know this story is a one big cliché. ^^

I heard a song that appeared to be perfect for this fic, listen to 'Hello' by Northern Kings (originally by Lionel Richie). =D