Whenever I see FRUK drunk I always see England being an obnoxious drunk but never a cute drunk. So I decided to fix that

France growled lowly under his breath, wondering how he had tolerated this for all these centuries, why he could never leave England to his own devices and relieve himself of this stress. For as long as he had known England, he could never be left to drink alone as his tolerance grew weaker. Remembering how he used to be able to walk out of a bar and no matter how much he drank not a single drop could touch him. How he could flash a sweet smile at someone and they would turn weak in the knees. How had England not become banned from a bar yet because of his antics? How had nobody recognised him when he walked down the street? The blessing of being a nation mean they could blend into society without anyone ever knowing their true identity.

But when had matters changed? When had England turned into this obnoxious drunk that became a hindrance to take care of? The person that other nations cringed at the very mention of and tended to attempt to block from their memory? How this had become a habitual behaviour for him that had become a part of their routine, something they had adapted to? Surely in all these years England would have picked up habits and learned to take care of himself. Being able to cut off his tab and learn when he had enough to drink and needed to stop. To consider eating something through the night and fill his empty stomach instead of binge drinking and believing himself to be invincible. Here he found himself in a familiar situation, dragging a drunken England along a dimly lit street with his arm over his shoulder and wondering how he got himself into this mess. Wishing he could go back in time and convince England to be able to get himself home alone and sensible. Protecting England from endangering himself and France being forced into the position of babysitter to ease his own anxieties. Why did a country infamous for being a bunch of drunks have such a poor alcohol tolerance, hell if anything, Europe was aware of how Brits had a higher drinking tolerance. There was an entire culture of drinking infamous in the UK that even Australia could appreciate.

England's culture of drinking was often comedic and yet appreciated by many, the citizens of the nation were rather open about the drinking culture they surrounded themselves in. England tended to repress or forget the memories of his actions despite the fact that he could never escape them. But other nations tended to tease England about this much to his chagrin. Perhaps it was age kicking in when England was a pirate in his former youth, England could drink anyone under the table, how things had changed. It was common that drinking often caused regrettable and amusing memories, when it was supposed to help you forget their worries and stresses. The irony of it all was something that anyone could mock. He'd been taking care of England since their adolescence, come high wind or weather, unfortunately these days it consisted more of drinking than genuine troubles that plagued his life. It seemed England had become more reliable and sensible, though his current political climate had been causing England more struggles than he let on. "You really need to lay off the alcohol Angleterre" France sighed wearily, going on the wagon was a suggestion he highly recommended to England.

England hummed drunkenly, hiccupping under his breath as he staggered down the street, his gaze was blurry and the lights felt too bright. The darkness surrounding him, the cold stone beneath his feet, the echoing silence of the empty streets. The cold night air tickling his cheeks, the hollow feeling in his stomach, the alcohol filling his senses, this comfortable numbness. The fragrant scent of France's perfume wafting up to his nose, the alluring scent that lingered on France's skin, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. Everything felt like a mess right now, he could barely remember past the first couple of drinks and arriving at the bar. Everything had blurred together, becoming a mess of colours and laughter that didn't make sense. But the familiarity of France was something he could never forget, he was too deeply imprinted onto his psyche, a playful smile danced on his lips "Ya… smell… guuuud…. Fr… ance…" he slurred.

France sighed, here came nostalgic England, he was always prepared for this side of the Englishman. The no filter drunk that spoke whatever came to mind no matter how inappropriate the topic may become. But then his sense of smell was all he could rely on now that his other senses had been dulled due to the alcohol in his system "It was expensive so I hope so" he groaned. France only had the best tastes in wine, food, perfume and clothing, priding himself on his culture and sense of style. He called himself big brother because he wanted to present himself as a good influence to other nations. But England tended to appreciate this on a different level when he was drunk, causing France to respond with sarcasm.

England chuckled, though he claimed to hate France, deep down he was someone he could never hate. Sure there were traits and hobbies he had developed over the centuries that annoyed him, but he could never bring himself to despise France. Everyone else abandoned him, everyone else forgot and left him behind, moving on from him and acting as though he was a stranger, despite their strong historical bonds in their development as a nation. After becoming neutral and isolating himself, everyone mocked him and teased him. Calling him the black sheep of Europe, the perverse ambassador, a slue of nicknames made in mockery that they didn't realise hurt him more than he let on. Feeling as though he was the punching bag and joke of the world.

But there were those who remained and new allies he formed that ended up bonding him in ways he never forget. Belarus, the younger sister of Russia had become one of his biggest allies and friends, based on a mutual loneliness and love of magic, witchcraft and folklore. Though she still harboured a cold demeanor, she showed a subtle softness around him. Canada remained loyal, part of the British commonwealth, a close ally and helping him during the civil wars. They were able to bond emotionally and shared similar cultures, allowing them to bond as people. Canada shared his emotional maturity, intellect and had become an admirable nation. He was able to build allies with Japan and other nations, forming friendships he had always longed for. But France remained, for whatever reason he still stayed, he could have discarded him, moved on and found something better. France still loved him, he needed only to look into his eyes and know that France was someone he could rely on. A place he could return to and feel safe "yew… aways….*hic* luk after meh…" he mumbled.

France sighed, he could never abandon England as he worried too much about him, able to see the softer fragile core of the Englishman that he sealed away from others in a form of self defence. Though England denied this statement, it was a truth he couldn't run away from, that he was plagued by loneliness. "Oui, ever since we were kids" he agreed. His mind reflecting to the memories of England as a small nation with cherubic pink cheeks, giant green eyes and a tattered green cloak around his neck. Hiding in the woods and relying on himself to survive, becoming defensive when a stranger would approach. He would never be able to unsee England as the naive child he was, yet admire the man he had become. Nobody else would, nobody else understood England the way he did, the only person who came close was Spain. Though it would gnaw away at the likes of America and cause jealousy to spike, it was a truth he had to accept.

England's eyes watered over slightly, his hidden emotions rising to the surface. France always spoke words of wisdom, he stood up for him despite his occasional teasing. They had a mutual perverse streak, a love of art and good literature, hobbies that connected them on a personal level. France's title as a big brother had accurately described his childhood, visiting him and acting as his family when he felt alone and forgotten. Forming a love in his heart that at times he denied but at the same time felt a sense of pride in. "I… luv… ye…" England hiccuped, the words slipping from his lips before he could stop himself. Yes he was becoming a romantic softy when he was drunk, but the words were no less true. France was one of the few people who truly loved him, accepting every single one of his flaws. France berated him at times out of worry and sometimes he mocked him, but it wasn't as though he didn't do the same. They had been friends long before they accepted their feelings and became a married couple, their relationship forming naturally over time.

France sighed "Oui, Je t'aime aussi" he sighed, the sentimental drunk had arrived. England could be childish, stubborn and often pragmatic, but he had a good heart beneath it all. He accepted his responsibilities and though it took him time, he wholeheartedly apologized and put thought into his words. There were even times England punished himself too severely for his mistakes because he felt responsible. He was a complicated man but it made him more human, more flawed. He loved England as he was and that would never change, he couldn't often put into words the reason why he loved England but that was the beauty of it.

"yer soft hair….. your stupid perfume…..yer dumb smile…." England slurred. France had always had beautiful hair, the the extent that during their childhood France had been mistaken for a girl. He always carried the scent of roses, wearing a charming smile that made his heart flutter. He often mocked France for being too effeminate but in reality they were words of endearment and jealousy, he was all too aware of what a beauty France was. How blessed he felt that France was his soulmate, despite at times having doubt that France could possibly love someone like him.

France blushed, coughing under his breath hoping his embarrassment wasn't painfully obvious. Stumbling over his words like a schoolgirl in love, his mouth suddenly dryer than he remembered. Though England was incoherently drunk, the words uttered from his mouth were rather sweet compared to his usual drunken rambles. He hadn't expected to see this side of England and wondered if he was attempting to seduce him, for though he hated to admit it, it was working. England was infamous for his silver tongue and mischievous words that left people flustered. He was rather stunned for a response, praying England wouldn't remember this.

England sniggered under his breath, a brief leer appearing on his lips "yer nice arse…. How cute yew luk when ya….*hic* cry or blush…" he muttered. There was a reason he stared at France so much, why he got angry when other people leered at his husband, France was a catch. The way he cupped France's butt and loved the feel of it under his fingers. The way his face would colour to match the roses he loved so much when he was embarrassed, which England found endearing. How he couldn't help but tease France into crying or blushing because it was too bloody adorable.

"Angleterre" France trailed off, though awkward this was indeed what they called a heart to heart. However, he felt a weight press against him as England slumped forward and fell asleep. His drunken stupor had fallen to an end thus came the comatose sleep, but he would indeed regret his actions come the morning after. A glass of water would be needed when he got home, to fill his empty stomach the following day brought on by his drinking. France had cared for him numerous times and new exactly how to cure a hangover. France sighed before he had gotten an answer, England had hit his limit, it was inevitable and something he had been expecting to happen. However, things had transpired differently than usual.

He lowered England, shifting to position England onto his back, cupping him underneath his bottom and hooking his legs across his hips. Piggybacking him home to their shared house, making sure he was stable. Though compared to their usual drunken antics, he admittedly had fun tonight, rather than it feeling tedious and annoying. Smirking in amusement as he reflected on the night's events, bringing them closer than he expecting, giving him ammunition to tease England over later on. This had to be the cutest thing England had said while he was drunk, usually, he would complain and reminisce about America's betrayal and fast development. Bringing up America and how he felt abandoned whenever possible and sobbing into the night until he passed out. But not once had the american slipped past his lips, nor had he been reflecting on his adolescence and youth as a nation. But this time he had spoken about his affections for France, albeit in a strange manner. He would be sure to remind England come morning, just for the look of utter embarrassment on his face. Denying that he could possibly say such mushy things, despite how charming England could behave when sober. "Honestly, I knew he was a softy deep down" France chuckled, turning his head subtly to nuzzle against England fondly.