You are the only one for me


Before he could even open his eyes, France felt the urge to rush back to his feet, hoping to be able to find a bathroom nearby. Luckily, from what he could make out of his surroundings -despite the fog of the hungover and the headache- he was in his bedroom, something that allowed him to stumble awkwardly to his en suite and throw up whatever his stomach contained... Something that wasn't much, he could only notice.

The nausea was still there, though, and his head spun wildly, something that lead him to the decision to crawl inside his shower and open the water over his scrunched frame, hoping that its warmth would comfort him a bit and heat up his freezing bones.

The water didn't do much about either of them, but it slowly helped him to focus a little better on his surroundings and on himself… He stunk like a dead man - something that he deemed only proper considering how dead he was feeling inside - so he did his best to find enough strength in him to at least attempt cleaning himself up a little.

He stretched enough to get some soap and sat back down on the shower floor, finding it difficult to coordinate his limbs to do even the easiest gestures. It wasn't only the warmth of the water what he couldn't feel, he could barely be aware of his own touch on himself as well, the smell of the soap, the taste of whatever thing he put in his mouth…

As he moved to wash his privates, however, he could feel a light sting in his back and, as he prodded inside with a dubious digit, the semen still there could only confirm that he had been thoroughly fucked the day before. Well, his plan had succeeded then... he could only hope that the himself of yesterday had gotten the chance to properly enjoy it for as long as it lasted and without making a too pitiful show of himself. It didn't feel like an orgy, so probably someone had snatched him out of the party to fool around with him in private.

How quaint.

France snorted at the thought and, despite his previous thoughts, felt a strong wave of nausea rising up, one that had nothing to do with the hungover.

He attempted to turn the water warmer to wash the nausea away with the grim, but he only felt colder and the water running did nothing to quell the shame he was feeling and erase the distinct sensation of having stepped even lower. At least now, if England avoided him, it would have been for a true reason... And with no turning back.

All of sudden, he felt the need of another bottle of wine and maybe some more of the drug he had used the day before. If there was something for which he was deeply indebted to them, it was the he didn't remember a single thing. They hadn't erase his feelings for his friend, though, so probably repeating yesterday's stunt wasn't the solution to his problem.

It was the only workable option left to him, though.

He finished cleaning himself up and tapped closed the water, then, trying to finally stand up on his wobbly legs to go back to his room, hoping that letting himself fall on the soft cushions of his bed would do him the favour to suffocate him and give him the relief water had not. Death was never nice, but it would have surely felt less disgusting than the thought of some random nation using him the way they wanted before throwing him aside. Nothing new to him, but disgusting nonetheless.

There was only one person he wouldn't have minded to be used by, but his luck wasn't so great lately that he could hope that it had been England the one who had taken care of him. Moreover, what it would have made it a truly good experience -despite the hungover, the nausea and the weird loss of memory- would have been having said nation waking up at his side, offering him something to relieve the sickness of his body and some kind words to relieve the one in his heart... Something that would never happen.

France dried himself up the best he could, then, and redirected towards his bedroom... Only to bump into someone.

"Here, take some paracetamol." A calm voice ordered.

England.

France's heart jumped in his chest and started to beat faster, only to hurt as it was about to break as soon as his eyes met with his friend's ones and he saw the slightest hint of worry there.

He knew that he was supposed to greet him or at least to take the pills, but his body felt simply planted on the ground, unable to move as he took in England's features as if he was admiring a beautiful painting. He could only see his cute face, the wild fringe over his bushy eyebrows, his beautiful green eyes that filled him with all the emotions known to the world-

"France, I'm not a ghost and you need to take these." England pointed out once more, showing the blister of pills and a glass of water in front of France. "It's a first seeing you so worse of, but I know these helps."

England's words made France chuckle and he forced himself to take the pill England had taken out the blister together with the glass of water, swallowing them down like an automaton.

A first he had said, but how much of a first was it?

Certainly, it was the first time England had stayed the morning after if they had -hopefully- fucked and also the first time France had attempted to knock himself out willingly. Usually that was England – with alcohol, to be fair, not with a mix of drugs and wine that didn't just intoxicate him but that it also made him completely oblivious of his surroundings. Not to mention with a serious risk of overdose and death, considering that he had never used drugs in his life and that he was already wasted on wine before taking it.

How he could have not tried to escape reality, though?

France didn't really understand why, but it always happened that they went out together, they got drunk, he brought England to the nearest bedroom -one of theirs or an hotel's-, they got into a fight while he attempted to get him out of his clothes to put him to sleep... England then would yell at him for some reason and tell him that he loved him. France would point out that he was drunk, England that he wasn't so drunk that he couldn't speak for himself. Then France would tell him that he loved him too and they had sex made love.

The next day, however, France would wake up alone, if they were in a hotel or at his place. If they were at England's, his friend would be throwing up in the nearest bathroom or under the shower, and France would then get ready to offer him water and paracetamol.

No matter how soon they would meet, England would confess that he did not remember a thing of what had happened the previous evening and wonder if he had said something he should not. France would smile sadly at him and reassure him that everything was fine as long as he didn't regret having sex with him. Something that wasn't a lie, but was far from the truth. By then it had become a habit: enjoy companionship, caring for England, get his hopes up, have them royally smashed. Erase and repeat.

France was thick skinned, but it was only so much he could endure, and with each and every round he kept losing hope that England even meant what he said while drunk and in the throes of passion. He would have confronted him at a certain point, but considering the rumours going that were going around it didn't sound the smartest thing to do. The more reality and rumours came and mixed up the more he was starting to believe that it was just a tactic, some empty words England would tell everyone to get a good fuck, and that he had just been an idiot letting himself being swept away by them.

Well, at least, France hoped he was a good fuck, but by then he wasn't so sure even about that.

The rumours that ran among the nations said that England had plenty of one night stands and lovers, but France had no way to tell if those were as reliable as the ones regarding him being a slut or if they were true. True or not, those had however made him think a lot.

Why choosing another nation? Why not him?

Everything they had shared, all their past, all the reassurance they brought to one another, the secrets they shared, the ability to understand one another with a single glance... Everything they were, did it matter so little that England could ignore all of that and allow his eye to be caught by another nation?

France would only ever have England, why taking the man he loved away from him? Any of the other nations could find someone else to sleep or being in love with, they didn't need his England. And if England wasn't his, why did they fall so easily into one another's arms and why they fit so perfectly together?

It was a depressing thought that had run in his mind during the whole length of the reception for as long as he could remember it. Seeing England chatting with other people with the same easiness he did with him, hearing his laughing voice directed to someone else, and that same soft voice turning angry and colder as he added a snarky remark against him. He knew that that sharpness was laced with that same companionship that always made them just smirk at one another before planning something together, just the two of them, but as his mood became sombre not even that felt right anymore.

Eventually, the wine wasn't enough anymore to dull the pain he was feeling and, as he toyed with the drug he had brought out of the promise that it would make him feel better, he had just let it slip inside his own glass of wine. Someone, please, get me away from England, he had thought while he had swallowed the spiced wine in one single swig, only to panic not much after, as soon as he had felt that the medicine was having much more effect than what he had bargained for, making him lose focus and sending all his senses in a frenzy.

After that... What had happened?

Green eyes had flashed in front of him and England's cheerful words of reassurance ringed in his ears, he felt his lips on his own even if he was sure that he hadn't move from his seat... And he had realised in that moment that not even the drug could do the miracle of making him forget about his feelings for England.

He wasn't so vain and easy-going on the subject that he could replace the man he loved with someone else nor he could just have sex without meaning it. Unfortunately, he was the nation of love not the nation of sex.

No, please, not a random nation! His mind, heart and body had screamed, but it was already too late, and after that everything had become fuzzy. He only remembered standing up from his chair and knocking over a side table in the attempt to reach for England, using the last of his coherence to get the real English nation among the memories way too vivid and real in front of his eyes.

Looks like his friend had gotten him, eventually, but when had he? If he had reached him after someone else had fucked him, that would explain why he had stayed by his side, but that would also imply that even though his stomach was empty, he would have soon need to go back to the en suite to throw up his whole soul.

Maybe the difference was only that it was France the one being worse of this time... Or had he said something? How much reversed was their situation right now? He had not confessed, hadn't he?

"Thank you for sticking by my side, I don't remember anything about yesterday." France said eventually, ending up meeting England's eyes fleetingly as he got the whole blister of paracetamol from his hands.

"A- anything?" England muttered eventually, looking as scared as he sounded.

Why England was so shocked?

"Have I said something when I was out?" France asked then, now sensibly worried, as he took another pill from the blister and swallowed it down with the last of the water.

"You should stop taking drugs!" England snatched the blister out of his hand as if France had been pointing a gun to his temple, sounding flustered and furious.

"My head is killing me and this is just paracetamol."

"What about yesterday? You drugged yourself to the point that you don't know what happened!" England reprimanded him, even more annoyed by France's plain acceptance of how things were. "What if I didn't get you first?"

"So it was you that fucked me out of pity yesterday?" France attempted not to make too evident his relief at the information with little success. It still was sad, though: if they had fucked, he wanted to remember it. "Thank you."

France, however, mentally slapped himself on the back of his head as soon as he had said those words. Thank you? What the hell had crossed his mind? Worse than thanking someone for a pity fuck there was only answering thank you to someone telling you that he loved you ... Not that said thing would ever happen to him, at least not with a sober England.

His answer had shocked his friend as well, though, who just stared at him with wide eyes for some moments. Why was England shocked, however, France still couldn't understand it.

"I think that you need more than just a night of sleep before we can talk about what happened yesterday." England stated eventually, sighing before crossing his arms on his chest. "I keep feeling guilty, however, so before I secure you back to bed to make you rest, I'll grant you a wish. Ask me anything, and then go back to sleep this out."

"Oh, my darling, are you searching an excuse to get back to the EU? You could just ask me plainly instead of twisting it like you are doing me a favour~" France teased, before turning serious when England just stood there waiting, obviously not taking the proposition as a joke as he did. "England, really, I don't need anything from you. I'm strong enough to deal with myself."

"So strong that you put yourself in danger on purpose." England countered, trying to go for cold but only managing to sound hurt and angry. "And by any means, I took advantage of you. We need to set this square."

France's heart sunk in his chest and he had to swallow down the delusion that was already about to make him scream. England the frigging gentleman: I won one on you, now go ahead and get one on me. Why was love so irrational that someone like him had to fall in love with a nation so rational and calculative? At least on the outside, of course, because he knew how to push England's buttons and get him to open up.

And there was no doubt that this was England's point: showing himself strong so the France knew that he could rely on him if needed, pretending he was doing France a favour not to admit that he was worried for him. It was as unnerving as it was cute, and it was one of the reasons that kept making France fall for him any time more.

Still, if he couldn't hope to became England's lover, he had to stop this before it was too late.

"You need it, but I don't need anything out of mutual courtesy, especially not from you." France replied, and walked over England towards the bed. Despite attempting to sound cold and definitive, his hurt and anger were clear in his voice.

England grabbed his shoulder to force France to look back at him, but whatever he saw in France's eyes simply made him just stare.

"France, honestly, I just want to do something for you." England admitted, this time his voice sounding sincerely worried and full of concern for his friend. If France wasn't sure that England would never show himself honestly concerned about him, he would have almost believed him... He had to admit that the tactic was new, though. "I want to make you feel a little better before you go to sleep. Before we try to talk it out, because we have put it off for too long and now we really need to do it. I'll still be here when you wake up, I swear."

"There's nothing to talk about, so you don't need to stay, if you don't want it. I was feeling low and I did something stupid, but you were there to drag me out the public place and the danger. I should be the one doing you a favour to thank you for what you did for me."

"Then do it." England requested then, earning France's confused gaze back on him. "Do me the favour to tell me one thing that you would like from me at the moment."

Despite his better judgement, France's mind started to produce several scenes that involved the two of them: confessing to one another, making love, dating, kissing, cuddling... How he would have gladly died to have them on daily basis. There was one thing he desired more than anything else right now, though.

"Let me hold you." He asked shyly then, barely having the strength to look at England in the eyes.

England was probably hoping for another answer considering the slight perplexed expression he made, still he took a good glance at France's naked body and just nodded, starting to strip in front of France's confused stare.

"Wait!" France rushed forward to stop England from pulling down his briefs together with his trousers. "I meant it literally. Let me hug you."

England's eyes grew even bigger and he could only mutter a quick Sure, before France proceeded to follow through and hold him tight, enveloping his shoulders in his arms and hiding his nose in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. England was left standing speechless, his whole body stiff like a rock as he was pressed against France's chest. France just held him closer then, hoping that somehow his feelings for England could pass onto the other nation just like that. Hoping that he could feel the racing beats of his heart and the desire he had not to ever let him go, even if he was too scared to say that in words.

Eventually England's shoulders relaxed, and he allowed himself to be hugged, his arms closing behind France's back in a shy attempt at reciprocating.

Reassured that he had gotten over his initial shock, France allowed himself a small smile as he nuzzled his neck.

"You planned a specific length for your present?"

"A little while longer is fine." England's answer felt warmer than France had expected, so he felt confident enough to drag him back with him so that he could make them fall on his bed.

England tightened his hold around France's waist in answer to the sudden movement, and France took the opportunity to keep him as close as he could.

"G'night then." France announced as soon as they were both comfortably cuddling on the bed.

England, who had stiffened feeling himself falling, just relaxed once more, finally allowing France to enjoy the moment he had requested to the fullest. He could smell his scent, feel the crispy softness of his hair tickling his cheek, his warmth, the otherworldly calmness that only England could give him...

He was already about to doze off, when he felt England move in his arms to make himself more comfortable and play with a wild curl of his hair.

"Oi, France?"

"You said that I could keep you for some time, at least wait until I fall asleep before going away." France mumbled, hiding his face even more in England's hair to hide his annoyed pout. Now that he had England where he wanted, it would have felt even worse when he would go away, no matter if he wouldn't have felt as bad as if he had confessed to him and had been rejected.

"I was thinking-" England started, and France could only brace himself for what it was about to come. "How much is this one of our latest meetings but reversed?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't remember yesterday and you never remember the times when we get in bed together after we get drunk, lately." France's voice was sad, but also a bit worried: he was the only one knowing what England said while drunk, so England shouldn't be able to recognize a pattern if there even was one.

France's answer seemed to have satisfied England, though, but the silence just became thicker, as he could literally feel England's brain thinking wildly.

"You said that the rumours about you fucking all the nations without much of a thought were all lies." England revealed after a while, when France almost believed he had dropped the subject. "I- I believed them."

"It's no problem."

"No, it is a problem." England continued. "You have no idea how much those rumours hurt me, and I can just imagine what they did to you… I'm sorry France."

Despite England's best intentions, France had completely lost the meaning of what he was trying to say. It was only obvious that people would believe rumours, so what was the point in saying he was sorry? Besides, it wasn't the fact that England believed he had other people what hurt France, it was not knowing if he did the same. And if he had to be honest about it, England never confirmed or denied those rumours, not sober nor drunk.

"And you said that you love your brothers, no matter how a dick you are sometimes to them."

"How is that related to us?" England asked, staring up at him with a confused expression on his face.

"How was what you said related to us?" France attempted to explain. "It's not those rumours or you believing them what hurt me, I would never hold you responsible for listening to people, especially if I did nothing to prove you otherwise. I- I don't understand what you are trying to say, you have nothing to be sorry about."

"I-" They stared back at one another, both unsure and worried about what the other might be thinking. "I'm not going anywhere. Really." England finished eventually, making France's heart sink together with the hope that he was trying to confess.

England kept staring at him, though, with an expression that France couldn't read but made him feel awkward. He would have said it was love, but after the hell he had put himself through the day before, the last thing he needed was falling back into delusion.

This was why, when England tried to offer him his lips to kiss as he slightly closed his eyes, France just moved brusquely away from temptation.

"Angleterre, I still don't feel well enough to fuck with you, I'm sorry." It wasn't a proper lie, but he hoped that it was enough to stop England to do everything that -as miserable as France felt- would only do them harm.

"I wasn't aiming to that, I just wanted-" England seemed unable to move on with whatever he wanted to say, until his stare just became firmer, as if he had taken a definitive decision. "I was trying to tell you that I love you."

Despite having desired to hear those words since forever, France was surprised to feel absolutely nothing hearing them. Either it was because coming from England they felt inflated or because he simply didn't believe that this could really be happening. Either way, it was his own fault, as it was on him the hurt stare England was currently giving him that made him feel even worse.

"Please, say something France. I know what I did to you while I was sober and I don't know what I said while drunk, but please believe me."

France couldn't help but feeling his heart constricting as he heard England mentioning the things he kept saying while drunk, and –much to his shock- England apparently noticed that he had gotten to the sore point of their relationship.

"I'm sorry I hurt you trying to avoid you, I thought it was what you wanted and needed." He continued. "If it makes you feel better, I felt a complete shit believing that there was no chance for us, and even worse whenever I tried to avoid you."

"It would never make me happy knowing that you felt like shit, Angleterre, and this even if I didn't love you." France forced himself to say while lowering his eyes, unable to stand England's stare anymore. "On the contrary… How easy is to set the childhood friend aside? When we are this close, forgetting that we are people with feelings of our own that can get out of control… is normal."

"I could never forget you, France, you are too much for me."

"Then why would you go with other people and abandon me in a corner?" France eventually decided to ask, still looking away from England.

"There's no way in hell I would trust myself to anyone but you." England put both his hands to cup France's jaw as he tried to make him look back at him again. "You know me: I say and do wrong things, I can't cook, I'm possessive, stubborn, violent, I've way too much pride... And yet I crave for someone to show me that he cares despite this, I'm deadly unsure of myself, and what's worse is that it is hard for me to open up and ask for all of these things."

"Honestly, who would ever believe that, if it's hard asking all of this to someone who knows and accepts me like I am since we were children, I could even think of asking this to someone else?" He continued. "Friendship? Sure. A one-night stand? Probably. But any kind of actual relationship? If I was so scared to confess to you that we sent the both of us to the edge of despair, how in hell could I try that with someone that at best would know me one tenth of what you know me. And I'm not speaking only about time, because you know everything of me to the core. I'm too complex to fit with anyone but you, I'm not built for something different than this."

"Neither I am, contrary to popular belief." France swallowed, but the smile he tried to offer England just turned into a grimace of shame. "Being extrovert and at ease with my body doesn't mean I'm a slut. I'm the nation of love and love is what I need over everything else. I need to love and being loved, sure, but what I need the most is you, however you want me."

England smiled kindly at him and used the leverage he had to guide France's face towards his, so that their lips were so close that their breath mingled and they could feel one another's warmth on their skin.

It could be a kiss, but not completely.

France knew that it was England's attempt to get a proper answer from him, and he knew that his friend deserved one... England looked sincerely sober this time, could this finally be the definitive time they would confess to one another? Was he still allowed to hope that this was real and lasting? It was what he had desired for so many centuries he had almost lost count of them.

And England felt warm in his arms and he smelled so good and he was there waiting for him to close the gap... making France want to risk everything he was and had to taste those lips, no matter how many times he had already done so. England's lips were a drug way stronger than any he could ever inflict on his body, because he knew that given a proper reason to do so, he had the strength to fight off any attempt at addition drugs and wine might induce to his body.

Something that turned out to be impossible with England and his kisses. If he could live off on those, he would gladly do so, and each time England granted him one he was left begging for more. More kisses, more caring touches, more.

He swallowed, then, and closed the gap between their lips, allowing them to brush against one another so tentatively as if it had been their first kiss as they were barely teenagers. France expected it to feel different, instead it felt just the same... the same tingling sensation that had kept confusing him during those centuries, the same uncertainties, the same warmth, the same- love.

The very same love he believed it was all in his head whenever England, in all of his acts, attempted to make him believe that he didn't give a fuck about him. These were the same kisses England gave him while drunk and they allowed themselves to make love.

He opened slightly his eyes to reassure himself that England was sober, and he saw him with his eyes closed, an expression of overwhelming bliss plastered on his face. That was different. Sure the kisses were the same, but England while drunk looked angry with himself, desperate, so aroused that he could barely think, lost in the middle of so many emotions that overwhelmed France and made him stare in awe at that rush of energy that no one seemed to be able to contain.

France admired all that, but when the storm that had swept them away subsided, it always left only destruction behind, a wasteland over France's hopes and over England's body, both of them abandoned mangled and broken under white sheets that smelled of them in a way that scared them as much it brought comfort to their hearts. Because if France had decided that he could survive having his hope crushed every time, seeing what England was doing to himself was a pain he couldn't bear to stand, and made him feel the executioner more than the victim.

He fought off the need to deepen the kiss and rested his forehead against England's, waiting for his lover's green eyes to open and stare back curiously at him.

"What made you change your mind?"

"Isn't it stupid that we confess while drunk only to stay friends and suffer while sober?" England told him plainly. "Because I did it, right? That's what was pushing you in a corner, together with the rumours coming from the others. We were throwing one another into the haze of despair... someone needed to stop this."

"So there he came, my knight in a shiny armour." France allowed himself a small smile, his hand moving to England's jaw to caress it with warm affection.

"If I were a knight, I would have realised sooner what was going on." England admitted, embracing once again France's waist to hide his face against his chest. "I can't even say that you are an idiot, because I would have probably had your same doubts, if things were reversed."

"Everything considered I would say that we both were idiots, listening to other people instead of looking at what makes us special for one another."

"What makes us the only ones right for the other. I would never have anyone but you, France. Really." England admitted, before offering France a dubious smile. "You still did not answer though."

"I love you too," France hasted to put in clear words. "More than words can say."

"My failed poet." England chuckled, dragging France closer to him. "Now that we're done with denial, though, I hope you will talk with me before going and hurting yourself."

"Only if you do the same. It was heart breaking watching you devastated like you were each morning after."

"That's why I kept leaving."

"It just hurt me more." France confessed, making England swallow in guilt. "I wanted to be there for you."

"I know, but that hurt me. I wanted to feel capable to deal with my feelings by myself."

"If those feelings were for me, wasn't I entitled a word on the matter?"

"I was too scared to be hurt and proud to try talking about them with you. Besides, I didn't think you cared beyond us being childhood friends, considering what people sai-"

"Oh let people say what they want!" France huffed annoyed. "They are never right anyway."

England chuckled at France's annoyance, a real relieved laugh that honestly made the both of them feel that, after the storm, the rainbow was already poking through the dark clouds.

"You are right, we should have focussed more on what we knew of one another instead of allowing other people make us believe anything different." England agreed. "We might have been together for a lifetime, but this doesn't make us banal and obvious. It makes us special."

France finally felt like smiling himself hearing England's words, and took his chance to caress his cheek.

"What did I say yesterday that made you change your mind?"

"More than saying... Is what you did, how you looked. God, I was so scared of losing you." England shook his head, as if he was attempting to forget, and buried his face back against France's chest, tightening his hold on him. "I wish I hadn't needed such a wakeup call."

"I didn't die." France reassured him, but just earned England's grip tightening on him in answer.

"Physically you didn't, but inside-"

"Can't we just move on?" France proposed, unwilling to move back to the day before now that he had the slightest hint of hope that he could get his soulmate and keep him by his side. "A new start and everything?"

"Sure I'd like to." England easily agreed, and moved his head upwards to offer once more his lips to France, who eagerly accepted, allowing the both of them to find in that kiss all the comfort they needed and pushing what had happened all in the past.

Hands searched for more of their lover, entangling in long humid hair or searching for the firm sureness of well-built shoulders. Soon it wasn't enough anymore and their lips opened to the other, allowing their tongues to tease and explore everything with leisure... And more. The same more France had kept asking the day before.

France broke the kiss a few moments to stare in England's green eyes, eyes that for the first time showed him his love clearly, free from the haze that alcohol and despair had brought to him until then.

"We can spice up our life with love this time, don't you think?" France offered to his lover unsurely, only to receive another real bright smile from England.

"Sure thing, in our life and in everything we do."


The end