'Love one another and you will be happy. It's as simple and as difficult as that.'
England still remembered the bluest skies he had ever seen, rolling hills, and further north, snowy mountaintops and glistening branches. And on another continent, a wide open plain with a few trees, sun beating down as people danced and played. And somewhere else, the trickling of a river, the humidity of a dense forest, the crash of a waterfall.
But it wasn't this he treasured, although it was a welcome sight. No, it was the child with sky blue eyes rolling down those hills that he valued, the tiny, child footprints left into the snow by his brother he wished he could preserve. The boundless energy of a koala-obsessed boy was what he wanted to record on camera, and the wonder on a Chinese boy's face as he reached to the water, floating gently down the river, spray of the fall misting over them and their straw hats...
England blinked and the memories were gone. He was so sentimental sometimes. Those children were gone now, and Russia wasn't even a child anymore, although he was in need of the comfort that England could give. And didn't he feel a twinge of guilt whenever he thought that maybe his intentions towards the boy were just selfish. Was he full of love or longing? Did he want to give or take? He didn't want to hurt Russia, but if he wasn't sure of his own intentions towards the boy, then what could he guarantee?
And his own people... He couldn't forget them. They didn't necessarily hate Russians anymore - in fact most young people were amicable towards them - but there was still a part of him that wanted to wrap his hands around the white throat, watch the life fade from his eyes. He had to be careful, he couldn't lose his temper with Russia like he had done a few times with his colonies. It may trigger him, make him feel unwanted again, and England's heart wouldn't allow that.
It also wouldn't allow a blond-haired, blue-eyed nation with a damned stupid laugh into there either. Despite himself, England started thinking about it again. The event, which they never talked about, never mentioned, even though it was less than 100 years ago. He had often wondered why he rejected him so many times, even though he had been there through everything, knew more about England's weak spots than anything else.
He also wondered why France had never made any moves. Dammit! He thought about the name! Stupid frog, making him feel stupid bloody feelings, just typical of him to ruin everything! He was going to get it! He shook out of his anger, so automatic it felt fake, and sipped his tea instead. They had been so young once, so vicious in their anger, charging into wars with an enthusiasm of youth, and making up just as quickly. So turbulent, violent and so very real. And those moments of trembling passion, denied feelings, pride and swords clashing in an entanglement of wild emotions.
They were old now, and all of it was gone, only diplomacy and that one moment, literally encased in a ring of fire with sweat, mud, and god knows what else pouring off their faces as they abandoned all pretences in what they thought was a final goodbye. Germany dragging France away as England screamed, held back by Poland and Belgium. Nothing more than a memory, their world changing but not ending once again.
As though thinking about him summoned him (and it probably did, the damn bloody Frenchman), France entered and smiled at him, winking. England smiled softly back, watching him sit down nearby and pick up the newspaper. They spoke no words. Eventually, ritualistically, France reached out and placed a hand on England's armchair, not touching him directly. Instead of scalding him with his tea, like usual, he did not react, shifting one of his own elbows closer to the other man.
Perhaps things didn't have to be as difficult as he thought. Love could be hard, but to someone as emotional as him, as full of dreams as him, it was definitely worth it, in all it's forms. Hopefully, both of them could experience that together, and maybe pass that love to Russia, another child, all over again.