He's recovering quickly. I've never seen anyone heal that fast!

I know. He's as tough as nails.

Arm thrown over his head, Francis opened his eyes, focusing on a blurry... Ceiling? Had everything merely been a dream? He sat up, groaning and rubbing his head. No, this was not his house in Calais.

The door creaked open, and in walked Arthur, dressed in clean white clothes.

"Am I in Heaven?"

England laughed, eyes squinting and lips spread in a broad grin. "No. We're in a small village in Switzerland." He neared, sitting beside France on his bed. "But... I suppose you remember little?"

France tilted his head up, trying to recall what happened. "Mm... Nothing after Switzerland."

"They took us to this sanctuary. We'll be safe for... For as long as we stay here." England's eyes brightened. "And... hiking really is overrated..."

France raised an eyebrow. "Are you wanting to stay?"

"If you don't, I mean, that's fine, it was just a suggestion-"

"Non, cher," France shook his head. "Neither of us are in the condition to travel."

For the first time, France gazed at England and saw not a strong, mighty Empire, but a slowly sickening man, health truly deteriorating. Upset, France stood, still wobbly and dizzy- Arthur stood, too, holding out his hands.

"Woah, calm down. Don't push it."

"You need help, too!" France pointed out in frustration. "I'm not fragile porcelain, Dieu. I'm France. I can take care of myself, and so should you."

England hesitated, uncertain of what to say. "I... I know." He shook his head. "So ungrateful," he sniffed, smiling. "I'm truly fine, Francis. They've been feeding me ever since we arrived."

France didn't look too sure, but asked, "How long have I been asleep?"

"A day." England paused and walked to the window, leaning on his elbows. "Did you know that Liechtenstein can make fabulous apple pie?"

Smiling, France walked and stopped beside him. "Does she?" They watched each other, eyes locked in some sort of trance: France broke it, nervously looking down at his hands. "I..." I think I've fallen in love with you. "I want you to show me around."

England nodded and walked to the door. France bit his lip, frustrated that he was unable to say the words he'd wanted to say.

"Aren't you coming?" Arthur asked, holding the door open. Francis shook his head to clear his thoughts, and smiling, followed Arthur out. He winced as they walked out, his eyes adjusting to the bright light. It wasn't a big village, nor sophisticated like the cities they'd seen in Austria. But France instantly felt drawn to this village, watching the people walk around, the children playing in the dirt pathways- it reminded him of a village he'd lived in many years ago.

"What's with that look?"

France glanced at England and laughed softly. "It just reminds me of something."

"There's a river that leads into a waterfall beyond those houses," England pointed out. "We're actually up rather high."

That gave France a wonderful idea, and mischievously blinking his eyes at England, he suggested, "Oh, some skinny-dipping at night?"

Arthur spluttered and flushed, retorting very quickly, "No."

They stood on the porch of France's make-shift house, just staring out at the peaceful surroundings. France sighed out, content. "I could stay here forever."

"No thank you," an irritable voice sounded: France and England turned their heads to see Switzerland nearing. The rifle he'd pointed at England a day ago was strapped around his shoulder: at least he wasn't trying to kill them. Yet.

"Switzerland," France said, "Thank you for helping us."

Scoffing, Switzerland looked away. "I would have left you in a heartbeat. Thank my sister."

"Then we will," England snarked, walking down the steps and down the street with France by his side. Once they were out of ear-shot, Arthur muttered, "I swear, something permanently was wedged up his arse."

Snickering, France opened his mouth to reply, but shut up as they heard Liechtenstein calling to them. "France, England!" She stood aways down the street, and the moment France saw her, he blanched and gripped England's arm tightly.

"What's wrong? France?" England asked, standing in front of him and blocking his view of the nation that looked very akin to someone in his past. Shaking his head, France breathed out, anchoring himself to England, and steadied.

"Nothing. I thought I saw... someone else."

Liechtenstein walked over, concerned. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, he's fine," England answered, but France knew he thought otherwise. "He's still recovering."

"Your leg healed fast, France," she smiled, awaiting his reply with big eyes.

"You... you cut your hair," France managed weakly, swallowing and trying to act more like himself. "And you look dashing, my dear," he said flirtatiously, making Liechtenstein giggle and bite her thumb. England looked irritated, swiftly releasing France's wrist.

"Liechtenstein, dear, could you show France around?" He asked, giving France a disinterested glare. "I'm sure he'd love to taste your apple pie."

"Of course!" She grabbed France's sleeve, excitedly dragging him off. Confused and (although he'd never admit it) stung by England's sudden aloof attitude, France glanced back at him, only to see his back as he walked off.

"This is the city hall," Liechtenstein grinned, opening wooden doors to a large, open area that could hold meetings, and what looked like a bar in the far corner. Seeing France's raised eyebrows, she added, "Of course, we serve beer here, too. But that's just during our festival nights."

"Dieu, how old are you?" France asked, hand over his chest in pretend shock. She laughed, shaking her head.

"No, not me. Brother would kill me!"

France frowned, nudging her shoulder. She was all smiles, as if she was just glad someone was talking to her- France wondered what a lonely life she led. "Don't say such things. Your brother cares for you." The next part he muttered under his breath, "A little too much if you ask me."

"And someone cares for you," she said, expression serious.

"What? Who?"

Rolling her eyes, Liechtenstein tilted her head at France. "Oh, don't tell me you didn't notice the way he gazed at you on the porch. Or the way he glared at you when you started flirting."

"Flirting?" France scoffed. "I don't flirt."

"Well, whatever you'd call it, then. The point is..." she looked away, brow scrunching together thoughtfully. "He's absolutely jealous. The British Empire's weakness... is you, the country of France, whom he supposedly always loathed."

"He still does," France spat bitterly, almost surprised the way his own words sounded. "Once we return to our countries it'll all go back to normal."

"Shizcoff," Liechtenstein huffed. "You're so stubborn." She led the way out, back onto the dirt pathway, and as soon as France emerged from the building, a soccer ball slammed into his stomach, taking his breath away. Wheezing, France raised an eyebrow at the laughing children- but it wasn't the native children who'd hit him. England looked too satisfied with himself, trotting up to France and taking the soccer ball.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Arthur drawled out, trying (and succeeding) to irritate France by drawing out his accent. "Were you standing there?"

"Nice shot, mister!" One of the kids shouted, the rest still laughing- France scowled at England, not at all impressed. England shrugged, throwing the ball on the ground in front of him, and called over his shoulder, "Try not to get in the way, love."

Liechtenstein was giggling as England rocketed the ball back to the group of kids, joining their game once again. She turned to France, who was (definitely not pouting) seething, and said, "I told you. Completely jealous."

Liechtenstein eventually grabbed both France and England, who'd been deliberately ignoring one another, and started, "There's a festival tonight! My dear brother is bringing you some nice clothes-"

"Woah, woah, woah." England stopped her, hands out. "When did all this happen, and why are we just finding this out now?"

She looked slightly mischievous, shrugging. "Since we have new-comers, the village decided to celebrate! There'll be dancing and drinking and drunk people and-"

France spluttered, "Aren't you a bit too young to be thinking about those type of things?" England looked slightly flushed, too, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

Liechtenstein wouldn't be deterred, grinning as she continued, "Killjoys, I think you both need a drink. I'll see you there!" She skipped off, pleased with herself, leaving behind two awkward personifications who still weren't talking to each other.

"Well then," France said stiffly, turning away from England. "I guess I'll-"

England's fingers caught his wrist, pulling him back. His expression looked like a lost puppy, and France almost smiled. "Why are you ignoring me? Is it because I hit you with a soccer ball? I didn't mean-"

"Woah, hold on-"

"-And I know you're still in pain, but i was just trying to get your atten-"

"Shut up, Dieu!" France laughed, finally silencing a rambling England. "You were ignoring me, if I remember correctly."

England looked away, rubbing the back of his head. "Oh. Right. Yes. Er... right."

"And why?" France asked, and for some reason his heartbeat sped up, Liechtenstein's words echoing in his head. Were you really jealous? Do you care for me as I do you?

England's face was slightly red, his green eyes bright as they locked with France's. He opened his mouth to finally reply when Switzerland barged in between them, holding stacks of clothes, expression as disgruntled as usual.

"I don't even know why my sister likes you bastards," he huffed, shoving their folded clothes into their faces. He stormed off and like his sister, left behind two flustered, awkward personifications.

"Well," France stammered once again. "I'll see you. Around."

"Yeah," England agreed weakly as they parted ways.

"Merde, this is so débile," France hissed, trying to adjust his too-tight pants. He swore Liechtenstein had it out for him, or was trying to embarrass him, or was just trying to get under his skin, because not only were his pants skin-tight, his blue flannel shirt was almost see-through. As smooth as France was with the ladies (cough cough, men), he had slight reservations concerning his body.

It's not as if he's never seen my body, France reasoned, trying to calm himself. Why am I getting so worked up?

Shaking his head in frustration, France stepped away from the mirror, adjusting his pants one last time, and hoped to God everyone looked as ridiculous as he did.

Stepping outside into the night confirmed his suspicion: everyone flocking to the city hall looked just as flamboyant, woman in colorful dresses and men in pants that France might have worn in the 1800's. Sighing, France strode down the steps of his porch and into the crowds, finally making his way to the city hall.

Liechtenstein came out of nowhere, bouncing around him radiantly. "You look nice, France!"

France narrowed his eyes at her good-naturedly, walking alongside her as they entered the big building. Chairs were set up on both sides of the room and near the back, leaving the center open for what France assumed would be dancing. Several people were already at the bar in the corner of the room, laughing and hoisting up mugs. Pleasant conversation was a content hum throughout the large area, but the one person Francis was eager to see wasn't there.

Of course England didn't come. He shouldn't have gotten his hopes up.

"Come on!" Liechtenstein guided him to the front row of seats, sitting down beside him- people were starting to sit, the lights dimming just slightly. Only then did France notice the stool in the center of the room: apparently there wouldn't be dancing just yet.

Once everyone hushed and took their seats, France felt his curiosity peak. He wasn't prepared for the wonderful surprise that walked through the door: England's eyes met his, a small smile on his face. France's eyebrows raised in surprise, unable to take his eyes off his figure.

Arthur took a seat on the stool, violin in hand. France already was completely captivated, unaware of Liechtenstein's giddy smile or Switzerland scowling on his right. Flipping his hair and closing his eyes, England started to play, wrist fluidly moving the bow up and down, the fast-paced beautiful song echoing through the whole room.

People started clapping and laughing, cheering Arthur on. He stood, skipping through the room, in between isles as he played, light on his feet and eyes bright. Even France saw Switzerland getting caught up in the clapping in the cheering, not as irritated as he was before.

Then Arthur started twirling and skipping down the isle behind France, and somehow France's chair slid out from his isle with Francis still sitting in it. Arthur started skipping around his chair, and Francis started laughing, eyes locking with Arthur's as he stopped in front of him. He bent down slightly, flirtatiously close to Francis's face, and finally finished his song, dropping the violin from his chin.

Everyone cheered, England straightening and taking a bow, and then disappeared behind a red curtain near the back of the room. People took his absence as a break, standing and wandering around the room, conversing and getting drinks.

Liechtenstein approached France, laughing, "Isn't he good?"

France was still a bit star-struck, and chuckled, "Oui, he is. Were you planning on kicking my chair out?" He fixed Liechtenstein with a playful glare.

"Of course not! That was him!" she waggled her eyebrows almost flirtatiously. "He's got the hots for someone."

Rolling his eyes, France stood and put his seat back, watching as Liechtenstein hovered around her brother excitedly. She looked so happy, eyes locked on her brother- the sounds in the room started to fade slightly as France wondered, did Arthur and I stare at each other like that?

"Francis."

Turning, France stood face to face with England, his hair now slicked back in a way only he could make look good. Green eyes danced with mirth as he teased, "I didn't scare you out of deep, inappropriate thoughts, did I?"

Yes. Completely inappropriate. "You'll never know," France returned, raising his eyebrows playfully. Arthur grinned, and music swelled from the front of the room- a mini group of people holding cellos and violas and guitars started playing. People started to dance, laughing and swirling around, more and more joining.

England looked to France, and suddenly became very, very nervous. "So," he started, voice tense and anxious. "Do... do you maybe... would you like-"

The British Empire was stumbling over his words? All because of a silly invitation to dance? France couldn't help but give a soft laugh, touching Arthur's shoulder. "Want to dance?"

Arthur's face relaxed, as if forgetting that there was touching involved in dancing- because as soon as France grabbed his hand and held his hip, guiding him to the crowd of people, he flushed nervously and stammered, "H-hey! I wanted to lead-"

"Too bad I invited you," Francis chuckled, guiding Arthur's hand to his shoulder. Both of their hands were sweaty, palms joined together. Arthur really never was nervous, and this was strange for both of them, dancing and close to each other, and Francis decided Arthur's anxiety really was endearing.

But then the tempo picked up, and they both relaxed, wildly twisting and dancing around each other, laughter echoing throughout the large room, and Francis decided not to think about anything but the man in front of him.

The hour of dancing bled into two, which bled into three: the tempo had slowed by now, the wild dancing now a soft swaying, the lights almost completely dimmed. Francis felt more than saw Arthur, felt his breath puffing close to his jawline, felt as their cheeks pressed together.

Ah, your love language is touch, France wanted to whisper in his ear. And I'm so, irrevocably in love with you. Francis tilted his head slightly, their noses barely touching, eyes half lidded and gazing at each other.

Kiss me, Arthur wanted to say. Before he got the chance, France buried his face into Arthur's shoulder, sighing out contentedly. Arthur twined their fingers together, trying not to get caught up in thoughts like our hands fit together perfectly, because they were nations with responsibilities and no time for silly sentiments-

Francis felt Arthur's shiver when he whispered against his neck, "I'm glad you ran out onto that street to try and protect the Archduke."

"And here I thought you hated my guts," Arthur whispered back with a smile. Francis gave a soft laugh.

"Bastard, I still do. But, if you'd listened to me... we wouldn't have grown fond of each other."

Arthur hummed softly. Francis looked up and saw the smile, half-lidded bright eyes gazing back at him, and he knew what was happening. It was too powerful to stop, even for nations like them.

France sat there in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, replaying wonderful memories of dancing and music and being in love and Arthur. He shifted, trying to sleep, or else he'd be a bear in the morning, but something was... off.

The room was too dark. Too silent. He didn't hear Arthur's breathing, nor could he feel his warmth.

Ah. That's it. I'm so used to sleeping next to Arthur that sleeping without him is foreign to me now.

France scoffed at himself. He, the mighty France, was afraid.

And promptly he jumped out of bed, walking out in the middle of the night to England's cabin (thankfully next to his), feet damp from the drying mud. He didn't bother knocking. Instead he walked in, quietly shutting the door behind him, padding slowly into England's bedroom.

This is ridiculous, he mused. He'll probably turn me away. He doesn't need to be watching over me now.

Arthur shifted and leaned up slightly in his bed, gazing up and down at the figure in the doorframe. "...Francis?"

"Bonsoir," France greeted quietly, shifting from foot to foot with a sheepish smile. Arthur sat up completely- Francis couldn't help but notice his eyes were wide. He hadn't been sleeping either.

"Couldn't sleep?" Arthur questioned, voice gentle.

Francis shook his head, the unspoken question hanging in the room. Arthur's lips quirked up, murmuring, "C'mere, princess."

He held out his arms after patting the side of the bed- Francis quickly slid under the covers to his side, heart swelling as he nestled into Arthur's shoulder, Arthur pulling the blankets up to their chests. They both settled with a content sigh, before Francis spoke softly, "Merci, Arthur."

Arthur hummed- Francis glanced up to see that his eyes were closed and a smile had formed over his lips.

Oh my God it really is a soap opera. *laughs at self*

Anyway, if you wanna hear England's violin song, search Alexander Rybak's song "Fairytale." Yes, it's a Eurovision song. I'm obsessed, what can I say?

Thanks reviewers! You're what keep me going! :)