"WHAT?!"
The exclamation, which had followed an unusually long period of silence, almost burst England's eardrums.
The nation groaned as his former colony jumped to his feet, an angry flush turning the man's face bright red. "H-he's dating WHO?!"
Germany sighed, rubbing his forehead and muttering a 'Mein Gott' under his breath (England himself probably wouldn't have heard it, but he was sitting right next to the guy). "He's dating Canada, America. Prussia is vith Canada."
The New World nation's eyes narrowed in anger. "W-wha- No! I won't let them! Surely you guys agree with me, right? Prussia can't date Canada!" He glared around the table, challenging anyone who would meet his gaze.
"Honestly, I don't see the problem." England stated primly, folding his arms. "Prussia can't cause much trouble since he's not a nation, and I don't think Canada would let him anyways. Besides, their personalities are so different I can't imagine their relationship lasting very long."
"For once I agree, Angleterre. Besides, they make quite a cute couple, onhonhonhon~" France leaned back in the chair and rested his feet on the table, his fancy designer shoes clicking against the fancy wood and making England flinch.
"And if it is them both being mare that is causing you probrems, you have never had issues with Sweden and Finrand." Japan pointed out.
"No! It's not that!" America slammed his fist down at the table, making Italy jump. "It's just wrong, y'know? Like England's cooking!"
"WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT MY COOKING, YOU BLOODY COLONY?!" England jumped to his own feet, fully prepared to strangle the other nation.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever." America waved England off, instead turning to the others. "But you agree with me, don't you, Russia?"
"Personally, I think it would be better if you all just became one with Russia, da?" The pale haired man smiled cheerfully, and Italy began rapidly scooting away from the nation, moving closer to Germany.
That was usually enough to deter most people, but as England watched America shook off the fear and turned to Ludwig. "You've gotta agree with me- you live with Prussia! It's not right for them to be together!"
There was silence around the table as they waited for Germany's response. The blonde nation looked uncomfortable for several moments, glancing at all those present and undoubtedly thinking through his response.
Finally, Ludwig dropped his head, closed his eyes, and sighed. "All I can say is that during the past several months vhile they have been together in secret, mein älterer Bruder vas the happiest I had ever seen him. He has not had a fit of depression since last Christmas. I... do not vish him to be unhappy again."
England had to hold back a chortle as America's face turned an even brighter red. "F-fine!" He stammered. "I'll take care of it myself!"
The other nations watched Alfred as he shoved back his chair and marched furiously out the door.
Canada, forgotten in his spot next to Russia, looked around sadly. "Don't I get a say in this?"
But, just as ever, he was ignored.
Japan cleared his throat, breaking the uncomfortable silence spreading throughout the room. "So... what erse do we have to tark about, Germany?"
Ludwig jerked his head up as though he'd been daydreaming (Daydreaming? Hah, not likely with a guy that uptight, England thought.). "Oh! Ah, yes. Indeed. Vell, first there are the issues vith terrorism..."
The German man continued on as ever, but England found himself drifting off- he'd stupidly gone out drinking the night before and had woken up with a hangover that had hardly worn off by the time he'd gotten to the building where the meeting was taking place. He struggled to keep himself awake, but by the time Russia brought up China for the first time his head had hit the table and he was out.
A gentle hand tapped his shoulder, the feeling just barely making it through the shroud of unconsciousness. He grumbled slightly and shifted away from the touch, desperate to remain as he was, but the fingers came back- this time resting on his shoulder.
"Little Angleterre..."
The Frenchman's voice drifted into his dream, and his form materialized in a meadow full of wildflowers. England blinked, furrowed his brow- and then relaxed. Ah, this dream again.
He walked forward and took Dream-France's waiting hand, just like he always did. The nation smiled at him just like he always did, and then they walked through the long grass just like they always did. He had this dream most every night, or something like it, and sometimes it was the only thing that kept him sane.
"Ah, you're smiling." Dream-France said, which didn't usually happen. They stopped and they sat in the meadow, still holding hands, still beautifully together- something England knew he would never experience with the real Francis Bonnefoy.
Dream-France sat a little farther back than him and leaned in with a smile. "You're so cute when you're sleeping, mon ami... non, mon amour." Arthur felt the nation's lips touch his ear and he shivered.
Dream-France leaned back with a sigh. "I suppose it would be wrong for me to leave you here, Angleterre. Let me take you home... it is a good thing the conference was in London, non?"
Just before the dream faded and left him to blackness, England found himself being carried away- bridal-style- by the nation who only really existed in his mind.
And yet he didn't seem to care.
When Arthur Kirkland woke up the next morning, he felt far more refreshed than he had in years.
Well, at least that was the first thing he thought.
A moment later, he realized he'd actually fallen asleep at the meeting... but here he was, lying curled up on his own couch in his own house, and he couldn't remember how the heck he'd gotten there.
England blinked, rubbed his head, sat up. A brief flash of Dream-France's smile flickered through his head, but he pushed it away- that was something to be thought about at night, and he avoided the memory of it altogether in his wakefulness.
Flying Mint Bunny and his other friends greeted him as he headed for the kitchen. The small area, clearly built for utility instead of appearance, was a mess, covered in scorch marks and spilt ingredients he'd stopped bothering to clean after it became clear they would just reappear in a few days, but it was his kitchen and he took pride in it anyways. What else could he do? Admit he was a terrible cook? Hah, never.
The scones came out only a little burnt, and tea was easy after so many years of practice. England was able to sit down to a pleasant breakfast with little trouble, and that paved the way for the rest of his day- relaxation and peace at long last.
But somewhere in the back of his mind, Dream-France's actions still nagged at his curiosity.
The restful day was followed by a similar week- the frog didn't come by, America was probably still simmering off somewhere by himself, and the world conference he'd have to attend had already been planned for on his part. His friends kept him company so he wasn't lonely, and they, at least, had no qualms with his cooking.
But all good things have to end, and this one ended with a flight to Germany for the previously stated conference.
It felt like England's mood sunk lower and lower the closer he got to the country. It was improved by the presence of Flying Mint Bunny, who had agreed to tag along for moral support, but he really couldn't help sinking into his normal bad mood once more. Sometimes he really hated being a nation.
Upon arrival, he talked with Norway for a bit about magic and the like before heading inside. The room was already buzzing with activity (particularly arguments), and Flying Mint Bunny had to gain some altitude so she wouldn't get hit by all of the oblivious nations.
They were all oblivious idiots, excluding himself and Norway, and even Norway preferred the company of trolls- so England was clearly superior.
Eventually, their host country called the meeting to order, and all of the nations took their seats. Flying Mint Bunny landed on his shoulder, and he patted her head in a silent thank you, feeling some of the awful stress leave him before Germany began with his first point.
England listened, remembering the first two or three from their G8 meeting just the week prior. After that, he supposed, was when he had drifted off and fallen asleep and somehow ended up at his own house afterwards. He frowned at the memory, casting a glance at America (who looked even prissier than usual and was glaring around the room, particularly at Germany) and then at France (who didn't appear to be paying much attention to the meeting, instead focusing all of his attention at... at...)
Dear God, was that pervert looking at him?!
England met France's gaze with an indignant glare, and the blue-eyed nation turned away quickly.
Was he blushing?
Arthur, now paying absolutely no attention to the meeting whatsoever, began to wonder if he was going insane. France, bashful? What kind of a messed up parallel universe was this?! Had Netherlands spiked his punch again? Was he drunk? Heck, had Switzerland shot him or something?
And then, of course, being the master of espionage he was, England formulated a plan. He whispered it in detail to Flying Mint Bunny, who shared her opinion of it and gave him some tips (That he didn't need since he was the perfect spy). They agreed to execute the plan within the next five minutes or so.
His friend took off, ready to be his lookout. She circled above the heads of the nations, attracting a raised eyebrow from Norway. England glanced around furtively, confirming that nobody else looked suspicious, and somehow his gaze met France's once again.
Well, actually, the Frenchman was looking up in the air in confusion (and... was that... fear?). His eyes seemed to be following something, something in motion, but then he looked down and saw England's look and not-so-smoothly went back to paying attention to the meeting.
England glanced up. The only thing in the air at the moment was Flying Mint Bunny, but he knew Frenchy couldn't see magical creatures... right?
He shook it off, noticing one of the lights flickering faintly. He must have been staring at that. Yes, that must be it. The frog was afraid of lights. That made perfect sense.
England turned his gaze back to the meeting. It was time to implement the plan.
Slowly, deliberately, he yawned. Japan- sitting just to his right- shot him a confused look which he didn't bother returning. The meeting didn't even pause in continuity, Germany prattling on about whatever in the vague hope they'd actually get something done before someone did something stupid.
Arthur blinked slowly, trying to dull his gaze so he gave off the impression of tiredness. Germany made another point and he interrupted, arguing its contrary, and that was enough.
The room exploded in a sudden burst of brawling nations, but for once England didn't join in. He let his head slip towards the table as convincingly as he could, feigning tiredness. Eventually, with one last yawn, he let his forehead rest on the table.
For the next thirty minutes until the meeting adjourned, he laid there, not moving and desperately trying to even his breathing- even when a certain Chinese man made a jab at his cooking (and his opium issues), he wasn't swayed from his quest. Finally Germany called it quits, leaving the room in a fit of anger that England had no trouble hearing over the crowd. The other nations made a mad dash for the exit, leaving him alone in the room.
A minute passed, then two. He shifted slightly, wondering if he should just up and leave like everyone else- no use in wasting a perfectly good day pretending to be asleep in a stuffy conference room- when heard someone sigh.
Not so alone after all.
It was all England could do to not jump up at France's voice.
"You fell asleep again, Angleterre. Is your economy all right...? I can't help but worry at times like these." England followed the sharp slap of designer shoes against cold floor, nervously tracking the nation's progress around the table. He felt a hand ruffle his hair, and mentally struggled to keep himself still.
"Ah, mon amour, mon amour." The nation sighed again. "Why must you look even cuter when you're unconscious?" He paused for a moment. "It makes it hard to hate you out loud."
England couldn't help it- he twitched a little when the Frenchman planted a kiss on his head. The man jumped back in surprise before chuckling softly, proceeding to scoot his fellow nation off of the chair and into his arms. "Come on, Angleterre, I'll take you home. These chairs are horribly uncomfortable, non?"
And that was how the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland found himself carried out of the conference room, bridal-style, by France- his arch-nemesis-turned-admirer. It would have been horribly degrading, but he was sure none of the other nations were in the building (meaning it was only humiliating to him in his own mind, which was almost as bad). And yet, he kept still, convincing himself it was for espionage purposes and in no way because it felt as nice being carried by real France as it had being carried by Dream-France. No. Way. Never. Not that it felt nice being carried by Dream-France. It didn't feel nice...
The door swung open, admitting them to the world outside, and England involuntarily shivered at the sudden blast of cold air. France chuckled, shifting him closer so his head was almost resting on the other nation's shoulder. "It's cold, mon amour- just like you are when you are awake. I wish you would be warm, Angleterre."
Well, crap- why did France have to be so bloody sappy towards him? It was disturbing (and yet, somehow, it wasn't so bad), and it made him feel kind of guilty for being so rude to the nation all the time. Not that he'd ever be nice to the frog. No bloody way.
France shifted him around, and England heard the click of an opening car door. He felt himself gently placed down in a sitting position, another click as the frog used the seatbelt, and a third as the door closed (gently, he noticed, as though the Frenchman was really making an effort not to wake him). The car door on the opposite side opened a few minutes later, and then the car was in motion.
England cracked an eyelid to peer at his driver. France was looking straight ahead, a faint smile on his lips, a sad gleam in his eyes. He looked towards the back of the car and noticed Flying Mint Bunny in the backseat- good, she'd made it.
"You know, Angleterre," France began, and England shut his eye again, "When I heard about Prussia and Canada, I began to wonder- non, hope- that we could have a chance too." He sighed. "I guess it can't be so, mon amour, but it was a lovely dream."
Arthur desperately tried to avoid turning red, but his cheeks flushed without warning- bloody romantic frog. With any luck, he hadn't noticed anything.
"Ah, what's this? I suppose mon lapin must be dreaming, onhonhonhon... If only you would dream of me."
So much for keeping my dignity, he thought idly. But... why does that feel so flattering?
Bloody frog, I have dreamt of you. England thought, but he couldn't bring himself to actually give up on his espionage and speak it out loud. Then his brain jarred to a halt, and... Wait, did he just call me his rabbit?
That was unforgivable.
But before he could actually go so far as to blow his cover, the car pulled to a stop. "Here we are, mon amour. It's a good thing I know where you are staying, hmm?"
Creep. Stalker.
So why did he find that as oddly flattering as the quip about his blush?
Car doors opened and shut, seatbelts came undone, and England once more found himself in the arms of the Frenchman. He shifted, trying to get himself into a more comfortable position, and his carrier chuckled.
Under any normal conditions, he would have gone berserk at the injustice of being carried like a girl, but he was enjo- nonono THIS WAS ESPIONAGE and he was doing it for espionage-ey reasons. He did not have a thing for the frog. No way.
They entered the hotel, and France somehow convinced the receptionist to lend him a room key (England could just imagine France's cheesy pervert-smile and had to convince himself he was disgusted rather than jealous). They went all the way to the top floor- England knew because he made it a point to do so in case he had to be picked up by a helicopter in a traditional espionage escape- and to what must have been his room, because the frog had to shift him around and slide the electronic key into the lock so the door swung open.
England felt himself being set down on the bed, and he relaxed. Finally... it's over. I can go home and relax and pretend none of this ever happened...
France's lips met his cheek, and he stiffened. Crap.
"I love you, mon amour."
The Frenchman turned to leave, but before he could England muttered, "I love you too, you bloody frog."
Now it was the other country's turn to stiffen in shock. "...Angleterre?" He whispered.
...Why did I just...? England frowned in confusion.
Because it's true, he realized a moment later.
Craaaap.
No choice, then. England sighed and pulled himself up, facing away from the Frenchman. "I-I lo..." He worked his jaw, trying to say the words again. Finally he gave up, feeling like his face was on fire. "I was awake the entire time. I heard everything."
"...Angleterre..."
"A-and... I think..." He shuddered. "I think..."
France stepped around the bed, placed an arm around his shoulder. England froze at the touch, turning his head away. "Do you feel the same, mon lapin?"
"...D-don't call me that."
"What, mon lapin? But you call me frog..."
"I-it's different, all right?! Just don't!"
France sighed. "All right, but only because it's you."
Bloody frog.
"I have dreams about you sometimes." England forced the words out of his mouth. "Where we talk civilly and drink tea and laugh. I never put any belief in them, because I never thought they'd become true."
"Will they?"
England hesitated. "I... don't know."
France sighed, pulling the other nation into a full blown hug. "Angleterre, do you love me?" He asked seriously.
England opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Unable to speak, he responded with a jerky nod, trying to stop his eyes from watering.
France pulled back from the embrace and looked at him, and he saw the other nation's eyes were filled with happy tears just like his own. The two sat there for a while, looking at one another, enjoying each other's company.
"...Would you like to share some dinner with me, mon amour?" One Francis Bonnefoy asked quietly.
"Yes." One Arthur Kirkland replied.
England got to his feet shakily, wiping at his eyes and feeling like an idiot. "Do you know any decent restaurants around here?"
France smiled. "Of course, Angleterre- I am the best of friends with Prussia. There is a wonderful diner just down the street that sells cuisines from every corner of the world."
"...Well, shall we?" England asked, helping the Frenchman off of the bed.
"Oui, mon lapin."
"I thought I told you not to call me that, you bloody frog!"
France laughed at his angry face, then turned and motioned for the shorter country to follow. "This will be interesting, mon amour."
Indeed it shall, England thought, running after the frog (suddenly, the name sounded a lot more affectionate) as they made their way to the elevator and then onto the streets. Indeed it shall.
...Well, this turned out completely different than I expected it to.
No, really! I was going to make some point about France being able to see Flying Mint Bunny in there, but it didn't happen. Maybe later. And I was thinking of maybe having England trying to carry France home, but that didn't work out either sooo... Anyhow, yeah. That was almost cheesier than the last one. I hope nobody's been too OOC so far. If so, please tell me so I can fix that grievous mistake.
In case you're wondering, this is also a heckuva lot shorter. The first one was about 8.5K. This one's around 3.2. It all depends on the style and the plot, I guess XD I think maybe in some later chapter or another I might go back to this and write about the cafe and stuff, because in my mind they meet Prussia and Canada there and there's a lot of potential awesomeness that could go on with that.
I really need to make my motifs clearer. The first one's supposed to be about the flags and how everyone's sorta connected; this one's clearer because it's about dreams and stuff. Well, I guess it's all about getting to be a better writer, so...
America's mostly angry because he's worried about Canada and he thinks Prussia could be a bad influence. Since nobody else seems to be taking his side, he's not getting over it as quickly as you might expect.
Just so you know:
Mon ami- my friend
Mon amour- my love
Mon lapin- my rabbit
Angleterre- England
Oui- Yes
That's all French~ If any of it's wrong, please tell me.
As always, none of this belongs to me~
Thanks to all the reviewers~ I'm glad to know none of you think it totally sucked, especially TJ Knight because she created an account just so she could comment with it... or something. Which is awesome like Prussia. And Batlion because he didn't get completely weirded out by the fact that I, of all people, am writing romance. And NOMNOMBUNNYWILLEATYOURSOUL for the compliment (you have an awesome name, BTW~), and spiritualnekohime4 for the awesome emoticon-face-thing :D And this Taylor-guest-person who was awesome enough to go through the additional measures of being a guest who actually hands out compliments.
If anything's unclear, just ask and I'll do my best to clarify~
Feel free to review, comment, yell at me, I don't even know. This is probably written a lot worse than the first one, but I assure you I am the same person~ AF-DS, out once again~