Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or Si tu t'en vas, I just own an unhealthy devotion to Pierre Perret and France as a nation and its history. English is not my mother language and neither is French, any constructive criticism is appreciated. Thanks to Stars of yaoi/Lacertae for the Beta and the reality-check.
Warnings: The song got stuck in my head in early January, so the present-time setting mentions what was happening back then, even though France and England's problems are strictly personal. It just took me a lot of time writing the story. France is going to speak random French because, well, he is France.
Si tu t'en vas,
Ma vie s'en ira.
Jamais pour nulle autre
Mon cœur ne battra.
If you go away,
My life will go away.
Never for any other
Won't my heart beat.
It had been hours since the phone call had started, and England was getting tired of it. He was getting tired of many things in the latest years, but this particular phone call between his Prime Minister and France's President was getting ridiculous. Ridiculously long and ridiculous on a matter of contents, since six years had passed since the referendum, and among those one was a transition year and another one a… well, England didn't really have a proper adjective for the year that had just ended, truth to be told. He just was glad that it was –hopefully- over.
The bloody phone call had other reasons to be blamed, though, since it seemed to be the final act of whatever thing had ruined the plans he and France had made together for the winter holidays. They were about to get ready to leave, when they had been recalled back to their home offices to 'play their part'. They'd had to cancel their reservations – far from their homes not to risk running into one of their sovereigns' spats – and resigned not to meet at all, keeping their relationship going with phone calls and online meetings, since they were supposed to actually work the whole time and even dinners out had been cancelled one after the other.
England had been annoyed by the change in plans, but considering how guilty he was feeling about the mess, he deemed the forced distance a good solution until things had settled back to some sort of normalcy. France, on the other hand… he had almost looked liked he had known beforehand that a holiday together was too good an option to be real. This was something that contributed to break England's heart each time he saw him, no matter how relaxed and cheerful France still pretended to be, fuelling his guilt and his inability to stare at his lover's eyes anymore.
The fact that England's sovereigns had once again started their current problems did not help at all, since he knew that France hated to play in defence, and this was especially true now, since they both had gotten used to fight together and not one against the other or as enemies.
Eventually, England snapped and strode towards his Prime Minister to take the phone from his hand.
"Leave this to me, this is getting ridiculous!" He yelled at him, before focussing back to the person on the other side of the phone. "Oi, switch. Hand me over the frog."
He heard France's President huffing childishly -no differently than what his own representative had done- before calling France to the phone... Several times. What was happening there? God, he so hated not doing these debates in person, reading France's face was a piece of cake. Eventually, he heard Macron handing over the phone to his boyfriend, but no words came from the other side of the call.
"Oi, France? Are you there?"
Somehow, England just felt the silence becoming thicker, before he herd France answering to him in a soft sad voice.
"Arthur..."
Not England, something that since the fourteenth century usually meant that France was angry with him; not Angleterre, something that would mean standard France. No, it was nothing less than his bloody human name. During an official call –France didn't even use it when they went on dates, or when they fucked on any available surface.
"What do you think about this, France?" He attempted to drag the focus back on the topic. "In spite of everything, I hope that, if we can finish this quickly, we can still grab that meal we have been rescheduling since they called us back."
"You cancelled all the reservations I made, Arthur." That name again… what the hell was wrong with France? "You've kept cancelling reservations one after the other, sometimes even barely telling me beforehand that your plans had changed."
"You know how work gets, but we can make new ones. I know that you wanted something nice to get away from this mess, and I want it too."
"I needed to get out of this mess, Arthur, I needed to see you. Things are not working like this, and the political side… it's not really something you and I can do anything about."
"We'll make everything work out, like we have always done. That's why I wanted to speak to you directly, I bet that we can reach a deal between the two of us. We always find a compromise."
"I'm tired of finding compromises, especially since my concessions and my compromises are met with plain betrayal."
"Is this the Aukus again?" England asked, annoyed by France's plain and deceived tone of voice as answer to his request of bringing the debate back to them. Why was France not opening up to a deal? And what was he actually referring to when he mentioned betrayal? He could only guess that it was politics... There was no other option, wasn't it?
Somehow, England realised that they should have had this conversation during one of those dinners he had cancelled and not in front of their sovereigns.
"Has it ever been solved?" France answered after a long time, his tone sounding so flat that almost felt like he was humouring him.
"Well, you didn't recall the ambassador then, why would you do it now?"
"Is this what you want? Anger me so much that we recall our ambassador so you won't have to take the responsibility to throw her out by yourself? Is our frigging relationship something worth it only as long as you can fit it in your political agenda?"
"Now, isn't this too harsh?"
"Isn't this the truth!? You brought my ambassador and the Aukus up, I never mentioned either!" France yelled, before sighing in plain resignation. "I- I've been wondering, Arthur... If the best solution for me, both in politics and personally, isn't just to give you what you are asking for."
"So you are calling her back!" England countered, unnerved by France still using his name while they were talking about their political relationship... Because they were still talking only about politics, right? That personally France had thrown in in his answer–
"Arthur, she is not the one leaving England!" France rose his voice once again, and England realised that it sounded as if it was about to break. "I am. I'll come to collect the things I left at yours as soon as I physically can."
"Wait, what do you mean with that–"
"I thought I was being clear enough but I guess you just had to be a stubborn mule on this matter as well. I'm leaving you, Arthur. We're done. I hope this will bring you more happiness than our relationship ever did."
That said, he heard France handing the phone back to his President, who started whispering to him in quick French, obviously appalled by his own nation's announcement. England was unable to focus on the content of the quarrel starting on the other side of the call, though, as well as on the loud questions coming from his Prime Minister, who also didn't understand what was going on, just like his counterpart.
England couldn't answer, though: his whole body felt stiff and heavy, his head dizzy and his heart... broke.
He let the phone slip from his hand, his eyes unable to focus but still opened wide in shock. France always forgave him everything as long as he swore his devotion to him… how could this be happening? He was undeniably the one always pulling the rope to make France drag him back towards him… but the rope wasn't supposed to break.
He was barely aware of his Prime Minister retrieving the phone from the floor to attempt getting the attention of someone on the other side of the call... and then everything went black.
Tu es venue de la nuit des temps
Poser ton cœur sur mon champ de bleuets,
Tu es partie cueillir le printemps
En sarabande avec les feux follets.
You came from the dawn of time
To lay your heart on my field of blueberry,
You left to live the spring
In a saraband with the wisps.
When England opened his eyes, a child France was staring down at him, a happy smirk plastered on his face. It was so cute that England felt his heart missing a beat, despite his best efforts to keep his expression stern.
"You woke up!" France chirped merrily, his small index finger tapping jokingly the tip of England's nose before he moved to sit properly back on his heels. "It's so not cute sleeping when a nice neighbour like me comes to visit!"
Now that France wasn't hovering over him, the shining sun hit England's eyes, and he noticed that he was laying on a small path of soft grass just near the forest where he usually gathered his food. Some wild bushes of blueberries were in full bloom near him, reminding England how he had come to check on them just before he decided to take a nap.
Despite this being his usual gathering spot, how France had managed to find him so easily was anybody's guess.
"If you had warned me that you'd come–"
"You would have made sure that I didn't find you at all~" France interrupted him, chuckling and smiling warmly to him.
England blushed scarlet at the truthfulness of the jab, but sat up to pout properly at his friend.
"W-why w-would I ever wait for you!"
"Why indeed~" France teased him, grinning evilly at the younger nation before closing the gap between the two of them to finally get to the matter concerning his visit. "I wanted to tell you first!"
"W-what d-did you want to t-tell me?" England asked in a small worried voice, his tiny chubby hands going instinctively to grab his tunic in apprehension.
"The world is so big England!" France announced with an enthusiasm he had rarely showed on any other topic, as he moved on all fours to be at level with England's eyes, both of his hands at the sides of the younger nation's legs. Their faces were now so close that he could smell the soft scent of just-baked bread that surrounded him as if he had been eating some. "It's big and beautiful and full of different things and people! I want to know everything about it! Can you imagine what that means!? Limitless things to see and people to meet!"
If England had followed France's enthusiasm up until the limitless things to see, the limitless people point made him growl at the prospect, as he crossed his arms on his chest before huffing in annoyance. Was he not enough for France that he needed to know more people? How many friends did a nation need!? He was France's friend.
"I don't believe that people and things to know are limitless." He quipped then, not even attempting to hide the irritation he was feeling. "And in addition to that –knowing more people doesn't mean that you will know better people."
France simply stared at England in confusion, making him fear that he had been probably a bit too harsh in slamming his friend's enthusiasm like that. To the confusion, however, a soft smile followed, a smile that once again stole the breath out of England's lungs and made him blush.
"Let's do it together, England!" France proposed out of the blue with a big sunny smile. "It will be fun!"
"L-like I would ever do whatever thing together with you!" England yelled back, managing to turn even redder than he already was, this time in pure embarrassment, since France had probably guessed correctly why he had been so against the announcement. "E-even if I will ever plan something like that, it would be against you not with you, you dumb idiot!"
Despite the refusal and the insult, France just laughed heartedly at his answer and stood up, making England feel the sensible drop in warmth.
"Deal. I'll go first then!" He announced merrily, before starting to run back home. Before disappearing, however, he turned one last time to smile warmly at his friend. "I'll wait for you wherever I go!"
That said, he turned around again and disappeared quickly from England's sight. The younger nation wanted to follow him, reach out to him, tell him not to go or that he would join him soon, but his whole body seemed petrified on the spot as soft tears threatened to fall down his cheeks.
"Don't leave me behind, France..." He managed to mutter, before he let himself fall on his back on the soft grass and swore against his pride, the same pride that had made him refuse France's proposal to go exploring the world together.
Still, everything wasn't completely lost: France was just moving before him, right? He just had to find a way to reach him as soon as he could... Or to get there first. Yes. Ready to wait for France to join him and smile again in that particular way that made his breath catch in his lungs.
De fleur d'ortie ou d'oranger
Laquelle est douce laquelle est un danger ?
Dans mes bras, quand tu t'es couchée,
Contre mon flanc la glace m'a brûlé.
Between nettle or orange blossom
Which one is sweet which one is a danger?
When you laid down in my arms,
Against my side, the ice burned me.
A loud noise reached England's ears, but it took him some time to understand that it was his mobile ringing. He groaned aloud and looked around himself, attempting to understand where he was and what was happening. As he turned towards his bedside table, he noticed the screaming device: fuck, the incoming call was from America and this had been his third attempt at reaching him. Well, he could just wait. He took the piece of paper that rested next to it, then, and made a face at his contents.
The scrabbled note read 'The doctor said it was just stress, so bring your ass back here as soon as you wake up.' Even though there was no signature at the end, it was quite obvious who had written it.
His phone luckily stopped screaming, but England had no time to sigh in relief -glad that at least one problem was avoided- that it started ringing again.
He groaned then, and answered America as he got up to make himself some tea, hoping that it could help him to clear his mind about what to do to get France back to him.
"What the hell do you want!?"
"Finally! I tried 50 times over and over and you didn't fucking answer!"
"You didn't call 50 times and I was asleep! Thank you very much for waking me up."
"Canada said that France dumped you."
Fuck. To hell his hope to keep this quiet until he found a solution.
"I'm not planning to let him dump me, especially not over the bloody phone!" England yelled, more at himself than to America. He punched the nearest closet in a fit of rage, but all he earned was an old CD falling on his head. "Ouch!"
"I told you that your ideas weren't wise!" America kept rambling however, uncaring of his sufferings. "I sometimes ask myself why I'm still listening to you!"
"Oh, c'mon! You liked the idea of getting more work for your struggling factories! Besides, we didn't fight over the Aukus."
"Great work I got! One I can't deliver in reasonable time plus more institutional work because France is angry at me!" America whined. "I don't like France being mean to me."
"I'm sure you don't like it, when the two of you bicker it's like seeing two children fighting over some sweets."
"No, England, that's the two of you."
"We do not."
"You do! When France and I fight, he yells and I plea forgiveness." America pointed out. "I like him better when he gives me presents and praises me, or when we do things together."
"Like he would ever stop spoiling you and Canada."
"So, what are you going to do?" America moved back to the actual topic of the phone call, his voice sounding uncertain. "Canada and I are really worried."
"Why would you? For you guys won't change a thing: the fight is between the two of us."
"England… we don't want our family to crumble."
"You two will still be your fathers' favourites. So don't worry."
"Dad… what are you going to do?"
"I haven't the slightest idea." England confessed, sighing deeply as he sat down at the kitchen table and checked what the hell had fallen on his head.
Great. French music. Probably one of the things France had mentioned he'd want back.
He opened the lid and much to his surprise, there was a letter addressed to him inside.
"Oi? England?"
England just ignored America and opened the letter to read it… or better then, to understand what it was about, since it wasn't a proper letter: written inside were the lyrics of a song, together with a sprig of nettle. He checked the track list on the back, and noticed that the lyrics belonged to a song that was part of precisely that CD.
He went to his old stereo to put it on, then, but America's voice soon reminded him that the younger nation was still waiting for an answer.
"Are you still there? Do you want me to talk to France? Even Canada said-"
"America, I don't need-" while he was answering America, though, England's eyes fell on the date written on the letter: 23 June 2016. "Fuck."
"What's up?" America kept asking, though. "Is it-"
"I'll call you back." England cut short, as he tapped close the phone call at the same time as he started the song and it began to play.
Si tu t'en vas, ma vie s'en ira. Jamais pour nulle autre mon cœur ne battra.
If you go away, my life will go away. Never for any other won't my heart beat.
He frigging knew the bloody song.
Back in June 2016, France had been listening to it daily, England had just never really thought about paying attention to the lyrics. Back then, it had been France the one scared that the referendum would have meant England leaving him.
France had never sent the letter, though, and for some reasons he had thought about a different approach... and England had been all too willing to melt in his arms reassuring his boyfriend that no change was in sight.
England had been left alone to witness the results of the Brexit referendum, results that had shocked him to the very core. He laid on his bed, then, and was surprised about how his first thoughts weren't about how to deal with his life after such a decision, but about not really knowing how to confront France on the matter. On one hand, he wanted to disappear, to forget everything that had happened… on the other hand, he wished that France could be there by his side, cuddling him and reassuring him that everything would be all right.
Oh, how he would have liked France's caring arms around him, one hand caressing lightly his hair as his soft voice reassured him that he was still loved and worthy of his place in the world, that he hadn't made a mess and this was a decision like any other, because everything depended on how you did things. He wanted France to make him feel sure of himself and his place in the world and in his heart… so that he could have enough courage to confront the very same French nation and tell him that he would never leave him.
How pitiful was life, when your best friend and your boyfriend were the very same person?
England was so deep in his self-deprecating thoughts that he barely noticed France slowly entering his room and silently lying next to him. Close enough to be there if England wished to tell him something, but far enough not to bother him, if he wanted France to leave him alone because he had decided to turn a political decision into a personal one.
Despite the gap, England could feel how cold France was, even though it was June and outside it was supposed to be warm. Not a word was spoken, the dread of an end that could be easily called by either of them hanging over their hearts like the spade of Damocles.
And still that uncertainty and that coldness felt heart-warming to England as well as annoying, because France was possibly there for him despite the French nation's own fears. From his point of view, France should have just let him rot in hell, but instead there he was: silently waiting for England's choice, ready to shoulder it no matter what it was. Waiting for Arthur's choice, since England had already said its part.
France's presence was enough to help him finding the strength to set the fear and guilt he was feeling aside, making him thinking Screw everything! Everything he had believed until then, his pride, his duty… and then he had simply turned towards France to hold him close.
And he had realised that France really felt cold to the touch, as cold as he felt and as still as a stone. For a fleeting, scary moment, he had feared that France's heart had already stopped beating for him and that he had lost him forever.
As to prove him wrong, though, France simply answered his embrace, his hands grasping tight the back of his shirt for dear life, as England's hand automatically found its way in the soft golden of his hair.
"I love you, France." Were the only words that he had managed to mutter, words to which France answered with a light chuckle that felt more like nerves breaking than the chirping carefree laugh England was used to hear from him.
« Tu es vraiment une fleur d'ortie, mon cœur. »
He had called him a nettle flower back then. Just like it was written in those lyrics… he had not questioned the thing further at the time, he had just been glad that they still had one another to hold onto. What if those words were really connected to those lyrics and France had meant that he was dangerous? Or was it sweet? Or both. What the hell did this song mean?
England skimmed through the lyrics of the song and, after getting to the end of the letter, he took a bet on the words that had somehow led France back to him: if they had been true for France then, he just had to hope that they were still true now. He grabbed his coat and, instead of going back to his government as his sovereigns had requested, he headed towards Dover.
Enivré d'un souffle d'été,
J'ai moissonné tes seins en liberté.
Ton regard poignardait les cieux,
J'ai dû sécher toute la pluie de tes yeux.
Intoxicated with a summer breath,
I freely harvested your breasts.
Your gaze stabbed the skies,
I had to dry all the rain from your eyes.
Too much past had run between them, too much to let their love wither without even attempting to save it. England had done many things wrong in his life, but he had to admit that with France it had been one misunderstanding after the other even before their relationship started.
Well, calling a misunderstanding what he had done when he was a teenager was rightfully stupid, but it was true that the first time he had attempted to confess his feelings to his long-time friend he hadn't known a single thing. About everything and everyone, including himself.
It had been his first victory over France, a simple battle that had given him the hope to finally have earned the right to do what he had wanted with France for a long time… only to end up hurting him instead.
England had forcefully dragged the defeated France against him and he had started to touch the body he desired without restriction. He had pulled down the upper part of his tunic to kiss and bite the soft pink nipples he had dreamed about, as one hand reached the soft skin of France's butt cheeks from under his tights, while the other pushed him down and his leg moved between his friend's ones, brushing against his crotch...
He was ready to finally get rid of France's tights, when the other nation had yelled his name, making him look up in surprise at his face.
"Why are you yelling!? Wh-" England's voice fell dead in his throat as his heart stopped in his chest, though, as he noticed that France's eyes were glistening with tears and that his expression was far from the one enraptured in pleasure he had been aiming for.
As he took his chance to look properly at his friend's body, he realised how red France's wrists and whatever piece of skin he had grabbed until then were... How could he had been so focussed on what he wanted from the older nation not to notice that he was opposing resistance and badly failing at it?
"England, please, stop this… I don't want it to turn like this between us! Not with you… everyone but you…" France whimpered, his voice trembling in what couldn't be anything else than fear.
"You have no idea how long I waited for this day, you can't just tell me to give up! It's my chance to finally have you!"
"What the hell are you saying!?" France attempted to wriggle free again, but England just pinned him back to the ground with all the strength that being the winning nation of the last battle had given him, even if he knew that it was cheating. "England, please! I thought you were my friend! Besides–"
"I saw you the last time you were defeated! You just do it with everyone who wins!" England yelled back at the other nation, showing his actual age throwing a plain tantrum at not getting what he wanted. "Why would you let others have you but not me!?"
France's eyes grew bigger in shock at England's confession, making the English nation stare confused at him, honestly worried about the meaning of his friend's reaction.
He called his name but France didn't answer, scaring England even more since it wasn't everyday his friend showed himself so overwhelmed by something to be unable to even bite back some nasty remark. England just dragged France towards him, then, finding no resistance at all while he lead him to sit on his lap and he wrapped his arms around him, hoping that it was enough to give him some kind of comfort.
Sure, England still hoped to get his chance to have sex with France, but there really was no point to touch him, if the other nation didn't enjoy it. How had it happened that he ended up doing things so wrong that France was now shocked, crying in his arms and needing all the support England would never refuse him? No matter if he had started with the idea of making France his in a more physical way, for the moment England knew that his duty was to do his best to reassure France that he could count on him as a friend, cuddling him and kissing away those horrible tears that were turning his beautiful blue eyes angry red.
Why was France even crying? If he didn't know better, that looked like shame and embarrassment… had he done it wrong or had he said something bad? And why was he so inexperienced that he couldn't get what he wanted even when he won?
"What have you seen?" France asked after some time he had been nestled safely in England's embrace.
"I- I didn't recognise him, but he was dressed like the people who had just defeated you. I saw you… with your legs around his waist and moaning." England felt France shiver at those words, so he tightened his arms around him, hoping that his following words got a different reaction from France. "You were so beautiful that I thought… I thought that I wanted to be the one making you moan like that, I wanted to be in his place… but I also resented him, for the very same reason. I got angry and he heard me so, before you could see me snooping, I escaped… I'm sorry, France."
After a long moment of silence, France just sighed and moved in his hold to embrace England warmly by the waist, hiding his nose in the crook of his neck.
"You're a child, England… but I wouldn't know what to do without you in my life." He told him eventually, annoying England beyond his limits at the gratuitous insult.
"What the-"
"It's not the norm using your upper hand in war to have sex with the defeated enemy, England." France explained calmly, mimicking the tone of a tired schoolteacher. "Doing that is abusing your position… what you saw was happening against my will."
"Wait… what do you mean?"
"I'm saying thank you." France looked back up to him and just smiled warmly at England. "The noise you made was enough to allow me to escape."
"You… escaped?" England waited for France to nod sadly to him before continuing. "But… if defeating you don't give someone the right to have you… what does?"
France's eyes grew larger in surprise once again before he allowed himself a soft chuckle.
"You really are still such a child. No matter the adult urges and the older face, you didn't really grow up that much."
"Oi, don't call me that, you're not much older than me!" England pouted, annoyed by France's reaction. "Just tell me! You know the answer, right?"
"What about asking me?" France answered, shaking his head in disbelief at England's honest lack of knowledge on the subject. "Does it sound so strange to your ears?"
England blinked a couple of times, not really understanding if France's simple suggestion was the real thing.
"You can ask… something like that?" He questioned, honestly confused. "Doesn't it sound not proper, or just… bad?"
"It's bad not asking your partner or not leaving them any choice in the matter." France explained, finding this whole conversation completely unbelievable. "That's why I said that you're still a child: that's common knowledge."
"But if that's common knowledge, then why did he- I mean, did he-"
"He just assumed that, since he had won the battle, he could ignore the fact that I said that he smelled like fish and that I wanted nothing to do with him." France pointed out, shrugging in annoyance at the reminder. "I'm not as cheap as I look. And even if I were cheap, I'm still entitled my own free will."
For the first time that afternoon, England found himself chuckling lightly, and he tightened his grip around France's shoulders.
"That bloody tongue of yours is going to be the death of you." He reprimanded France, his forehead against his friend's as he stared adoringly in his eyes. "But such a statement is so like you."
"You like me like this, though." France teased back with a wink, making England's eyes widen.
"I… like you? What makes you think that?"
"The fact that you got into this mess because you got jealous and wanted to have sex with me." France pointed out plainly. "And yet you halted everything to comfort me, as soon as you saw me upset."
England could just stare at France's logic, surprised by the fact that he hadn't thought about such a chance first. Did he really like the frog? He certainly still wanted to have sex with him, but somehow it felt like it wasn't just a matter of having France. Maybe, if he tried it, could he understand?
"Uhm… about what you said…" England muttered eventually, his cheeks turning flaming red in embarrassment. "Would you? I mean- Would you like having sex with me?"
France seemed to think about it, mulling over his options and evaluating… something. Probably whether England really knew what he was asking for or not, considering the confusion he had shown until then.
As an answer, France left a soft kiss on his forehead, and then he just proceeded to get up and set his tunic decent once again.
"Hey, where are you going?" England asked, worried to have said something wrong. Even if France refused him, they could still be friends, right? There was no need for France to go away… "What's your answer!?"
"My answer is yes," France reassured him, his gaze over England softening with something England couldn't decipher. "Just not today. Grow up a little, and I'll be waiting."
That said, he ran away back towards his camp, leaving England to stare crestfallen at his retreating back.
England took a deep breath and shook his head to free himself from those memories that were distracting him. Those horrible memories, because, after doing some proper research and properly understanding what he had almost done to the nation he liked, he had almost thrown up.
It had been hard, back then, shouldering the knowledge and find the courage to confront France on the matter, but when he had done that England had been rewarded with France's sunny smile and a peck on his lips, a peck that slowly had grown into something more.
England could only hope that the same thing was going to happen now.
Les nuages dansent entre nous.
Tu es blanche écume ou bien fleur de saison,
Rose en bouton, feuille de houx,
Graine qui choit dans le creux du sillon.
The clouds dance between us.
You are white foam or a seasonal flower,
Rose bud, holly leaf,
Seed that falls in the hollow of the furrow.
As England proceeded to dematerialise himself in France, however, he felt something stopping him halfway, and when he opened his eyes, he noticed that he was at Dover and not in Paris.
Since that mean of transport was for emergencies and he basically never used it, he guessed on an error. When he tried the trick again, however, he realised that his magic was working just fine: it had been France who had shut him out of his country.
Fuck. It was since Trafalgar that France hadn't done that, and even before that time he had done it so very little.
Trafalgar… despite owning a square with that very same name, how much time had passed since he had thought about it? Since he had thought about how it had all started between France and himself…
The battle was coming to its end, but England's happiness at the fulfilling feeling of victory sudden turned into dread, as he saw France falling from his vessel. He reached the rail and stared down at the still shaken sea, but France gave no sign of resurfacing.
Fearing for the worst, England retrieved a cord and cut a lifeboat loose before tightening the cord around his waist and jumping straight in the water to search for France. He found him easily, but instead of feeling relieved at the sight, he could just stare in shock as France breathed out the last bit of air he had caught before falling.
He looked better at his friend's situation and noticed that France's legs had ended up trapped in something long and green, which looked like seaweeds. The French nation had obviously gotten rid of most of them, but time had not been on his side.
England did his best to reach him, then, and grabbed a hold of him, cut off the remaining weeds, and tugged his cord, signalling for his men to pull them out of the water. As soon as they had re-emerged, England went for the lifeboat and once inside he cut off the cord that still connected him to his vessel... Something that had been quite stupid, in hindsight, because the sea was still unsettled by the battle barely fading, and after some failed attempts to govern the life boat, a wave stronger than the others prompted them away from their boats. When England opened his eyes again, he could only be glad that they had ended up stranded on the nearby shore.
Despite the turmoil, however, France had still not regained consciousness.
England moved his wet hair out of the way and caressed his cheek, taking his chance to admire the paleness of his skin, as white as the white lily that represented him, and how beautiful he still managed to look, despite having almost drowned and the naval defeat.
"France please wake up…" England pleaded, feeling more and more anxious seeing France's dead-like appearance.
How stupid was his plea, considering they were both nations and thus immortal until something extremely bad happened. Certainly, a random navy defeat in the middle of a much bigger war wasn't something that would do someone like France in, still, staring at him looking as pale as the death couldn't allow England to feel any reassurance about his wellbeing.
"Please, honey, don't leave me…" England tried again, swallowing down the dread in his throat, dread that felt salty on his tongue, because of the seawater and the tears that had begun to fall from his eyes.
What an idiot he was, getting so emotional over a death that he knew wasn't about to happen. And after he had turned France down a lot of times for the stupidest reasons. How worthless were his fears about the genuineness of France's feelings, in front of the depth of his own? In front of the dread for his life, his heart beating faster as he stared at the small droplets of water running down France's handsome features… in front of the love he couldn't stop himself from feeling.
His thumb teased France's lower lip, a gesture that stirred something inside him as much as it reassured him, since he could now feel France's breath teasing his skin.
"Francis?" He called out eventually. "Francis… I love you…"
France groaned and stirred, only to sit up all of sudden and cough violently, beginning to spit out water in front of England's astonished stare.
"Fuck the water…" France muttered, making England chuckle as he attempted to dry up his tears with his wet uniform, until the French nation turned to focus towards him. "You… saved me?"
"Yeah. It looks like you're not the beautiful mermaid you thought you were."
"I just said that, compared to you, you were a kitten scared of water and I was a merman. Beautiful is your own addition." France teased with a smile, waiting for England's admission of guilt before continuing. "Thank you, though. I wouldn't have died permanently, but it would have been a quite nasty one."
"You don't really need to thank me…"
"You hate water. And you won the last battle."
"But I-" England stopped himself before admitting his feelings to France, desiring to confess with all his strength but not really knowing how to do it.
France perceived England's moment of discomfort and smiled widely at him, deciding to find a way to lighten the mood and allow his friend to relax once again.
"Are you not going to ask me the usual?" France flirted, winking at England as he caressed his tight with desire. "If you don't need me to thank you in words, you know… I can find a more physical way that you like better~"
"The usual… is sex a drink now?" England huffed annoyed, pouting childishly at his friend. "I meant to tell you that… well, I'm getting tired of just asking you for sex."
France's eyes grew larger in shock, and with that England had the final proof he needed that he was an idiot.
"I- I'm sorry, I thought you would have liked it… I mean, when I asked you the last time you seemed still interested, so…" France muttered, looking at everything that wasn't England, evidently shocked at being turned down like that. "I just assumed–"
"Wait, France! I d-did not mean that! I still like you and I want you, it's just…" England hastened to clarify. "I… well… I meant to ask you, if we couldn't, you know, have something more… steady."
"Something… steadier?"
"Yes, something like… you know… going on dates, spending quality time together, make love…"
"Are you trying to ask me to become your boyfriend? In the middle of a war?" France asked again, sounding more and more confused. "Besides, when I was the one asking you, you said that you didn't date frogs the first time, that the day in which you will have any kind of relationship that's not hate with a Frenchman will never come the second time, that you would rather die the third, that–"
"Well, yeah, I turned you down because I thought you weren't serious, not because I did not want it."
"T'es un con, Angleterre."
"Can't really say anything about being an idiot, still…" England acknowledged. "Why can't we try to be a couple of idiots?"
"Of course I want it!" France answered quickly, moving to kiss England hard on his lips as he straddled him. "I'll let you know that I've been making love to you from day one, though."
"I- I think I might have done the very same thing by chance…" England admitted as soon as he made himself stop kissing France, their breath teasing their lips as their eyes lingered on one another's.
"Oh really? Then what about we practice making love on purpose?" France teased, licking his lips before he captured England's ones once again and dragged him down over him on the soft sand of the shore.
They had made love, after that, and starting from that moment their relationship had gone on, with its highs and lows… until today, but this was something that he meant to change.
He ran towards the train station then, only to run into his own border control. He by-passed them swiftly, only to be stopped by France's officials, who were waiting for their side of the check-in –or so he supposed.
Si tu t'en vas,
Ma vie s'en ira.
Jamais pour nulle autre
Mon cœur ne battra.
If you go away,
My life will go away.
Never for any other
Won't my heart beat.
"Do you have a good reason to go to France?" One of them asked, towering over England.
"What the fuck does this mean? I need to cross the Channel, so leave me be!" He answered him angrily, searching for some space between his or France's guards but finding none.
"You can't even cross France if you don't have an urgent reason, didn't you check the news?"
Fuck it. Was this the result of his sovereigns' poor attempt in reaching a deal with France, or was this his lover simply putting his threats into action?
"Look, I need to see my boyfriend and this is an urgent matter." England attempted to explain, then, hoping to move the officers to pity. "He's not coping with this situation, I can't leave him alone in France."
His plea, however, earned only a shake of his head from the French official.
"It's not really a good justification. You should just go back home."
In the meanwhile, his own border control had reached him, and got a light hold on him.
"C'mon, it's no use making a mess," the English officer added, tugging him back towards the exit.
England opposed the attempt with all his might, and tried to get free from the hold that had now turned tighter on his arms.
"Let me go! This is vital, I can't just go back home! He needs me!" He yelled, only for another English officer to join the other in restraining him.
Desperate to get out of the guards' hold, he then stared at the French officials, who had not dared to put their hands on him until then. Now that he thought about it, why there were French officials on his side of the Channel? Were they there by chance? Was this how this stupid custom thing now worked? He had always had preferential means of transport, was this how things had gotten for their people?
The anguish he felt at the thought, just made England more desperate to reach France.
"Francis!" He yelled, more to plead for his boyfriend to grant him a breach through the wall of rules he had built around himself than to move the officials to pity.
Either it was one or the other, one of the French officials just looked at his English colleagues, distracting them enough to allow England to escape and run to catch the train directed to Paris. No one followed him to stop him, and also on the French side he strangely found no one checking his reasons to come to France.
Was it France's will reaching out to his people? He still had no way to use his magic, though, something that made him dubious about his chances of success. Since movement as well as perception did not work, England could just buy a ticket for the public transport and head to France's Paris apartment.
Tes baisers sont des voyageurs
Qui vont sur les lèvres des vendangeurs,
Dans le cou des marins pêcheurs,
Et dans la bouche de tous les menteurs.
Your kisses are travellers
That go on the lips of the grape pickers,
On the necks of the fishermen,
And on the mouths of all the liars.
When England reached the apartment, however, no one answered the door, no matter how much he called his boyfriend's name and ringed the doorbell. As he started searching his pockets for the keys of France's apartment, the door finally opened, only to reveal a quite angered Spain. Behind him, resting with his shoulder against the wall as he stared outside, was no one other than Prussia.
Great. The rest of the Bad Friends Trio.
"I need to see France." England explained, despite fearing that the two nations were there precisely because they knew too well what had happened between him and France.
"What makes you think he wants to see you?" Spain asked back, his voice colder than he had ever heard it.
"Spain, Prussia, please-"
"Go back home, England." Spain interrupted his plea, crossing his arms over his chest in obvious annoyance. "It's surprising you even managed to come here."
"Look, he needs-"
"He needs you to stop monopolising him without giving anything back!" Prussia butted in the conversation, sounding quite angry himself. "Without you around he can finally do and fuck whoever he wants."
"That's for sure!" Spain followed his friend's lead, offering a teasing smirk to England. "It's not like he would have problems finding a warm body to cheer him up. Who's to say that's not the first thing he has done as soon as he broke up with you?"
"You are just trying to rile me up!" England countered annoyed, but quite sure that their words were just words. "You know better than me that he doesn't like much occasional sex."
"This would be comfort sex, though." Spain pointed out. "Do you think that any of his friends would refuse to lend him a hand? Do you still remember how he looks, or you have been too focussed on going behind his back?"
"Wait, behind-" England attempted to ask, only to be interrupted by Spain.
"Don't even try saying a word, England, after the way you treated him there's no way we are going to believe you."
"Maybe we should allow him to see France." Prussia butted in the conversation, smirking teasingly at England. "What if we told you he's resting in his bedroom after the wildest threesome he has ever had?"
Plain panic added to England's confusion, and he swallowed hard as he attempted to keep up his best poker face.
"I don't believe that you guys had sex with him."
"Oh really? Would you believe it, then, if we gave you the whole background about how it happened?" Prussia continued, enjoying his sufferings. "We could tell you about how he called us in tears after escaping his sovereigns pleading him to be reasonable, or how devastated he looked when he opened us the door: unshaved, his hair a mess wilder than yours, red circles around his eyes..."
"Stop it."
"Scared to hear the truth? We could get back to what you know best then, and tell you about how he looked after we offered to help him forgetting about you." Prussia continued, though, making England wonder for a second whether he meant that he would stop telling the truth because England knew lies best, or that he would go on talking about a subject England knew better. "You should know well how France looks after he has been thoroughly ravished. His blond hair in disarray, his lips wet and slightly reddened, his skin easily bruising showing blue marks where you touch him harder, red stripes where your nails scratch-"
"Let me bloody inside!" England interrupted him, scared that Prussia was really meaning what he was saying... It was a lie, right? It had to be a lie.
As he attempted to bypass the two friends' barricade, however, the two nations easily forced him back outside, as Spain retrieved England's public transport pass from his pocket before showing it to him.
"England, he completely deactivated your whole magic on his lands, even the basics for a nation to call himself such." Spain pointed out angrily. "You don't even know where he is! This should tell you well enough that he doesn't want to talk to you!"
"He is not here." England's realisation made him feel even worse than he had felt until then. Then it really was lies Prussia had been referring to... and to be this angry it wasn't political lies, what the hell did France believe?
"Obviously." Prussia deadpanned, leaving England in the limbo of his guesses.
"Where is he?"
"Go back home, England." Spain concluded, placing a hand on his shoulder and sounding almost as if he was pitying him. "We're not going to tell you where he is and he won't allow you your magic on the hexagon. You can't just go and search each and every crevice in France hoping to find him."
The information that France wasn't at home and that he was probably feeling as heartbroken as he was, though, was the only information England needed, so he hastily freed himself from Spain's grip as he turned on his heels and rushed down the corridor.
"I don't need magic to know where he is!"
Les nuages dansent entre nous,
Dans tes cheveux y'a tout l'or du Pérou.
Tu me cloues de tes mots jaloux,
Ta gorge abrit' les sanglots les plus doux.
The clouds dance between us,
In your hair there is all the gold of Peru.
You nail me [to the ground] with your jealous words,
Your throat is home to the sweetest sobs.
When England reached France's cottage in Champagne, however, he found it empty and his heart sank. This had been his obvious choice: the place France's favoured whenever he felt the need to relax in solitude after something bad had happened.
Usually, whenever it happened, they went there together, no matter if the culprit was one of them, and no matter what their relationship was at the time. They brought their things and just stayed there pretending to be common people for a while, until they felt themselves once again. In the house, however, there was nothing that suggested that France had been there since the last time they had visited together.
England sighed then, and went for a walk in the vineyard, hoping that France had simply decided to stay outside. It was cold, and the vineyard looked eerie with his ancient vine trees showing their bare and tortuous figure standing out against the grey sky and pale greenish grass. It wasn't his first time seeing France's prized vines in winter, but the fact that he currently had no one at his side to cuddle against to shrug off the feeling of discomfort the sight brought him just made him feel France's absence even more.
How stupid had he been taking France for granted and thus making them fight to the point that the relationship they both had desired and treasured was now crumbling to pieces?
When he was just about to give up and go back home as Spain had suggested, however, England noticed a blond familiar head. In the light of the few rays of sun creeping through the clouds, France's hair looked like a patch of shining gold forgotten on a concrete road. He couldn't see much else of his lover, since his face was hidden behind his arms, currently crossed over his knees.
"Francis?" He dared to call, effectively earning France's eyes on him. France's blue eyes shining with tears.
If this weren't a dreadful situation, he would allow himself to tell France that he looked beautiful in tears, but everything considered there wasn't a single chance that France wouldn't understand it the wrong way.
"Why are you here?"
France's voice sounded as if it was breaking and, as he looked at him better, he couldn't deny that the description Prussia had done of his lover's appearance was indeed fitting.
"I- I'm sorry, Francis." Was all England managed to answer him.
"You shouldn't be, things happen." France offered him. "Just go back to whoever you're seeing at the moment and let's pretend we never dated."
Fuck, this was the problem then. The thought that the misunderstanding was related to France believing he had someone else, somehow made England a bit more relaxed about his chances to get him back and the situation clearer.
"What makes you think that I'm seeing someone?"
"Seems more logic than you completely forgetting me without a reason."
"France, our work-"
"Your work is currently plotting against me, if you didn't notice it, and I don't believe that you enjoy it so much that you wouldn't like seeing me after you're done." France cut short. "I need to see you, but I am also old enough to make one plus one."
"Well, you got the numbers wrong, then, because I'm not seeing anyone but you." England countered then, closing the space between the two of them to kneel in front of his lover and caress the tears that were still falling freely away from his cheek. "I didn't change my mind about being with you."
"Maybe you did and you just don't realise it yet." France's answered him, his voice slightly breaking. "Probably you would prefer to lead us into a situation in which I'm swallowed up by things and… and I just disappear. That would save you the problem of breaking this off. If that's your plan, I prefer doing it on my terms."
"I absolutely don't want you to disappear! And I don't ever want to break up with you…" England repeated, just in case it wasn't clear to his lover. "Why would I have come here if I didn't care!?"
"Routine," France deadpanned, despite looking quite conflicted. "You should really go now, England."
Si tu t'en vas,
Ma vie s'en ira.
Jamais pour nulle autre
Mon cœur ne battra.
If you go away,
My life will go away.
Never for any other
Won't my heart beat.
"Francis, please… I admit that I was a complete idiot and that I have no excuses, but whatever I did wrong, I never did it on purpose or for any other reason other than that I'm an idiot."
"Then tell me why you never wanted to meet over the holidays even when we could!" France countered angrily. "Why don't you want to see me, if you still love me and you weren't going behind my back!? Why telling me that you have work to do and then Scotland comes and tells me that those were lies? Why keeping our calls short? Why are you avoiding me!?"
"Because…" England started to answer, only to have to fight with himself to admit to France something that he could barely even admit to himself. "Because I am ashamed of myself and whatever we are doing right now."
"Please, this is bullshit and you know it. We killed one another more than once in the past. Like I would be fazed by some deal breaking and a bunch of disputes."
"That's the past though! Recently, things were more… familiar. Something you would normally expect in a couple, despite all our fighting." England admitted eventually. "I… don't want to go back to that time."
"Is this why you are doing precisely that?"
"I said-"
"You personally, Arthur. Not you as England." France stopped him, swallowing hard. "Dating you right now is nothing different than dating this current England: treachery, silence, lies. I thought you were better than this! I can stand it politically, not in our relationship."
"I admit to silence and a few lies, I even admit avoiding you, but I swear that there have never been treachery on my side! I swear this to you, believe me." England attempted to defend himself, even daring a small smile. "I can't live without you, Francis, and no matter how it looks from your side, even my politics, if you look at it properly, just shows that England can't leave without France."
"Doesn't really feel like it. Either way."
"I never said I'm attempting to show it the proper way." England then sat properly in front of him, their legs at one at one another's side, and cupped France's chin with his hands. "And I can't even promise that I will ever learn how to do it properly. Still, believe me, my life will die with our relationship, if you ever left me."
"If you're trying to move me to pity-"
"I'm not. I'm not even meaning it literally… Or better, I mean exactly what I said." England tried to explain, earning France's curious stare on him. "You are the sparkle that lights up my existence, Francis, I can't imagine my life with anyone but you."
Vois Grégoire ou vois Nicolas,
Autour de leur cou tu peux t'accrocher.
Tu peux les nicher dans tes bras,
Nul ne peut à mon amour t'arracher.
See Gregory or see Nicolas,
Around their neck you can hang on.
You can nest them in your arms,
No one can tear you away from my love.
"Is this what you told to Spain and Prussia to have them telling you where I was hiding?" France asked sadly, lowering his eyes despite appearing moved by England's words. "I knew I should have told them to go back home when I came here."
"They really didn't tell me anything; I guessed where you were on my own."
At England's words, France's eyes were quickly back on him, disbelief now clear in them.
"I- I thought that I had deactivated your magic."
"You did. I couldn't even cross the Channel, to be honest. I had to force our joined security, because I had no proof that this was an urgent matter." England reassured him, offering him a small smile as he closed the space between them to rest his forehead against France's. "But as I told your friends, I don't need magic to find you."
That final confession finally made it through France's anger and sadness, and he smiled back at England before draping his arms around his neck.
"I hate when you are like this."
"That's why I never do romantic stuff and I leave it to you." England chuckled, answering France's hug holding his lover by the waist. And he had never felt more relieved and delighted in his whole life at the feeling of France's cold body finally safe in his arms. "Just because I don't show it properly, it does not mean that I don't love you, Francis, only that I'm an idiot."
"I don't mind the relationship that we have, but… lately you've made me feel completely non-existent. As if I'm not worth of either your time or your care. You barely even talked to me, we didn't even fight anymore…"
"I'm sorry. It's just… each time I saw you, I kept thinking about how much I disappointed you and how many stupid things I did in politics."
"Do you realise that the calls you cut short and the dates I planned and you cancelled were meant to discuss exactly that?"
"Maybe… I was scared to discuss it with you. I feared we would come to this point."
"Something you made happen."
"Yeah… I'm not very smart on the subject, we already discussed it."
"I will never ask you to be talkative or any different of who you are, but when we need to talk we must do it. Or just say that you don't want to."
"Since we're talking about expressing our thoughts…" England took his chance to ask, his face turning scarlet as he hid it in the crook of France's neck. "You know, with Spain and Prussia…"
"Spain and Prussia what?" France asked doubtful, allowing some space between the two of them so that he could stare at England in the eyes.
"I mean… when I went to your apartment, they… uh… hinted that you might have slept with them…"
"And you did believe them?"
"I- it's not really that the point… uh… I mean, I would understand it, if you did it." England confessed, his eyes staring fixed on the empty space between them. "They were not wrong saying that being with me might give you trouble, because I'm both jealous and absent…"
"You're not generally absent, you are absent only when you think too much about things that are not worth the time. And I'll tell you again: I didn't have sex with them, Angleterre." France reassured his boyfriend, despite still not understanding how such a debate was even happening. "I'm even astonished that you would believe something like that."
"Well, Prussia was… quite convincing. Even if some of the things he said were quite generic, he did know things that are more specific. Like, you know, that your skin bruise easily…"
"Arthur, I love you and I treasure everything daring we do in bed, but do you realise that everyone I fought against has the very same knowledge?"
"You're not wrong on that… I still want you to know that, well, it would have been fine." England managed to confess, his cheeks bright red in embarrassment. "Just, please… Don't leave me…"
"I don't need other men in my life, you are more than enough to deal with." France's soft voice felt almost like a caress to England's ears, and he allowed France's lithe hand to rise up his chin so that he could stare once again in France's eyes. "And you don't need to grant me a free relationship I don't want only to quell your useless guilt."
"Does this mean that I'm forgiven?"
"Forgiven to be an idiot that overthink things and so lies to his boyfriend, leaving him alone over the holidays? I guess so." France teased him, smiling as he enveloped England in his arms once again. "I feel the same about you, you know Angleterre? No matter what your fear makes you do. You're the sparkle that lights up my life."
"I… Sort of guessed it," England confessed. "That's why I gathered the courage to try talking it out with you, despite how angry you were."
"Uh?"
"I found the letter you wrote for me in 2016… I mean, the lyrics you put in a letter."
"Oh, dear…" France muttered, tightening his hold on England as if he feared that he would escape from him at any moment. "I- I never really managed to throw that away even when we made up. Somehow, I think that it still reflects the fear I have in my heart… That's why when you started lying and avoiding me, I thought that the moment had finally come."
"As stupid as it sounds, I hoped so. That's why I took my chance and decided to attempt talking it out to you."
"I'm glad you tried." France admitted, nuzzling England's neck as a soft shade of pink coloured his cheeks. "Sometimes it feels nice being the one chased instead of only being the chaser."
"I love being chased by you." England admitted with a light chuckle, taking his chance to take a long sniff of his lover's scent. "And just for your knowledge: starting tomorrow, I'll deny it to my last breath."
"I wouldn't expect anything else from you." France chuckled and took his chance to stare back at England in his eyes. "After you're satisfied denying it, though, can we have that dinner together?"
"Do we really have to wait? I hoped that we could have it right now, I'm starving."
"I'm starving too." France teased, before meeting England's lips in a gentle kiss that soon he deepened, allowing the both of them to enjoy themselves with laziness as England helped him to climb on his lap as he enjoyed caressing his body.
Only after they had taken their time teasing and licking every crevice of the other's mouth they parted, only for England to stare mesmerized at France's eyes.
"I can't believe I was about to lose all of this just because I'm an idiot."
"You forget too easily that I love you as you are, you should never feel ashamed of yourself or of what you do."
"It's... hard accepting that everything I do is fine with you."
"Well, I'm not a Saint, Angleterre, I think that's just right that acceptance goes both ways." France chuckled. "What if I cook you something and then we take some personal time for ourselves?"
England thought about the order to get to work as soon as he woke up for a fleeting second, before just nodding to his lover and stand up to offer him an hand and help him back on his feet.
"I can't wait. I enjoy at home dates way more than going out, you make even French food taste good."
The tease made France chuckle, and he entwined his fingers with England's as they went back to the cottage.
"There will always be food for you from me. For as long as you need it."
"And there will be always love for you from me. For as long as you need it."
Si tu t'en vas,
Ma vie s'en ira.
Jamais pour nulle autre
Mon cœur ne battra.
If you go away,
My life will go away.
Never for any other
Won't my heart beat.
The end
