Hardest Truth
England was always inclined to turn his book pages by the top corners. It was one of his quirks which he had yet to discover was because the larger amount of his population did the same thing, or because it represented something about his government, or transportation systems, or literature meetings. As of yet, it was something that was purely him.
Doubtful. Everything they were, everything they did, was either the caused of something or caused by something. Growing older it was harder to ignore some of these things. How easily they could try and pretend to be something else other than a Nation and then blame their people for an action they had not really wanted to take.
Being a Nation came with Universal truths. Such as the fact they would experience so much more than Humans. Experience so much more, but there would be certain experiences (Humans took them so much for granted) that would be forever lost to them.
But they were Nations. Ergo, they had somehow experienced these things before, because their people had. They experienced it every day. A constant state of living and dying, contentment and suffering, gaining and loosing.
Loosing.
"What brings you to La Ville-Lumière, mon cher?" France asked, swirling the champagne around in his glass before extending it to him.
"I felt like insulting my eyes," England said outright, taking the glass and taking a swallow. "Eh. And my tongue, apparently."
"Tasteless." France clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Then again, this is coming from the Nation who has not realized his eyes are constantly insulted by eyebrows hanging so heavily upon them."
England pulled a face. "Let's not start this again, France."
"You said you came here to be insulted," France reminded him warmly as he took his glass back.
England was most likely to be here because at this moment there just happened to be a lot of British tourists in France's capital. He could say that. Then again, France probably knew. He probably knew and had been waiting for him. England could even say that. Haven't you been waiting for me?
"You git."
It did not matter. Were they in charge of their actions? England agonized over this the best he could, but it was impossible. It was not something that bothered his people. Therefore it should not bother him either.
They were better off not thinking about it.
"Oh, and here I thought you would call me... what was it now? Ah! A wanker."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" England smirked. "Actually, no you wouldn't. But I'll call you one all the same. I'm going home."
"Angleterre! You just got here!"
"No. You've just seen me here, there is a difference."
He could stay, or he could go. He chose to go. A Nation was a Nation. Alone, indivisible, forced to deal with every other Nation in one way or another. But it was to all be the same between them. Especially now.
For the hardest truth was that England could never really have him even if he wanted to. So he chose not to want to.
It was harder than it seemed.
I have a very dim view on what it means to be a Nation.
