A/N: Hi guys! Sorry about the wait! Here's chapter three, which is basically what happens when Francis gets back. I'm not entirely sure about this, and I just hope its not terrible. Reviews would make my day n_n
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia nor 'Payphone'
You can't expect me to be fine, I don't expect you to care
Arthur stared at the wall behind Francis, conflicted. He was still furious with Francis, and didn't want to even look at the man, but at the same time, he loved him more than anything. He hated seeing him this hurt, even if it was his own fault. He slowly moved his hand to cup the back of Francis' head, his fingers threading through the choppy locks. He must have cut it last night... Or this morning. Probably this morning, due to him being drunk out of his mind last night.
"... Don't say that. I've been equally horrible to you." Arthur's voice was quiet and unsure. In all honesty, he didn't know what he was supposed to say. He was never good at comforting; that was Francis' job. He had realised how much he relied on the Frenchman, despite their arguments and differences. He patted Francis hair softly, his eyes still fixed on the cream coloured wall behind them. Cream. Francis' choice; it went with the colour scheme of the room, apparently. Arthur didn't quite understand, but he thought it looked nice. He looked down when he heard a muffled sniff, and felt Francis' shoulders tremble. He bit his lip. When Francis cried like this, something really hurt him, enough for the outgoing man to retreat into a quiet shell.
"... Francis?" He was met with silence, and a small shake of the Frenchman's head. Arthur pulled away, holding Francis at arm's length. He looked into his piercing blue eyes, red rimmed from his crying. His face was slightly blotchy, and there were dents on his skin where his fingernails had dug in. Francis dropped his gaze, biting the inside of his lip. Arthur moved his head, catching his eye again. "Hey." He said, softly. "Don't cry... Please..."
Francis slumped back against the arm of the sofa, turning away from Arthur slightly. He shot a final glance at the mark on Arthur's face, before burying his face in his elbow. He clenched his eyes shut, his eyebrows knotting together tightly. His other hand reached up, pulling his blond hair. "I can't believe you're being nice." He spoke into the sofa, more to himself than Arthur.
Arthur leaned back, throwing a hand to his face and sighing. "Francis. Yes, you were out of order and I'm still a bit mad at you, but you were drunk and you obviously didn't mean it. So, coupled with the fact that I care about you quite a lot, I'm being nice, because I can't stand to see you like this. I've made mistakes too, you know." He patted Francis' leg, before pulling away. Francis peeked over his arm, wiping his eyes.
"Really?"
"Yes."
Francis crawled across the sofa, slowly and carefully draping himself across Arthur. He half expected to get hit, shouted at or shoved off. None of these happened, so he hugged Arthur's waist gently. He sniffed a final time, his tears subsiding. He glanced up when he felt Arthur stroke his hair tenderly. He sighed, his shoulders falling.
"You're so perfect, Arthur. I love you, and I'm really sorry." He lay his head on Arthur's upper arm, closing his eyes tiredly. "Is... Do you need me to do anything to make it up to you? Just tell me, and I'll do it. I promise; whatever it is." He rambled a bit, only stopping when he heard Arthur chuckle.
"The only thing I ask is that you don't get drunk like that again."
Francis nodded. "I can do that."
"Thank you."