*THIS FIC IS VERY OLD AND I AM ASHAMED*

Chapter 2~! Translations for French at end of story!

As England lie in his small hotel bed, he found it impossible to fall asleep. He tossed and he turned, kicking off his blankets when he was too hot, and then he would suddenly become cold and pull them back up again, shivering.

His head wouldn't stop spinning, so at first he was convinced that he was ill. However, he had no fever, although he felt abnormally warm. For hours he lay awake, confused and frustrated until a blotch of red caught his attention in the corner of his eye. He sat up and squinted at it until he realized, it was a rose.

It seemed lonely but beautiful in its own tall, thin vase, glowing scarlet even in the night, reminding England immediately of France. He touched his neck where the man had kissed him and shivered as he remembered the thrill. He had to admit that it wasn't at all bad, just shocking. Britain wasn't sure how to react at the time, but in a way he really did enjoy it, and the more he thought about it, the more he craved it.

So, although every prideful fiber in him told him to fall asleep and ignore it, Arthur stood slowly and made his way towards the lone flower. He lightly brushed its petals with his fingers before taking it his hand and holding it close to his face. Its sweet aroma reminded him immediately of Francis, and as England slowly brought the flower to his lips, the other country's words overcame him.

"Love…love is the togetherness that brings peace…"

Perhaps he is right….England thought reluctantly, Is this why I've been so miserable all these years…? He vaguely recalled a day when the two of them were younger…a day that he tried so hard to forget.

It was a remarkably beautiful spring day, and the sun shined in the sky while a gentle breeze swept over the grass. These were the types of days that England loved, so that he could be at peace with himself and the world. Life was maddening at times, so the moments that he could escape were the ones he cherished the most.

These were also the types of days that France enjoyed, and so, because of their mutual love of the sunshine, these were the days that they would often spend together.

"It is beautiful, is it not?" a younger France asked with a smile, taking a seat on the plush, green grass.

"I guess so." England muttered back, taking a seat next to his friend and resting his face in his hands.

"Why so down, mon ami? There is much to be happy about!" the blonde man laughed and lied down on the ground, looking over at Britain with a happy smile. "You probably just ate too much of that rotten food of yours."

"Shut up, you damned wanker!" England pouted and knocked France on the head with a fist, but the French man only laughed again. "Have you lost your wits? The world ends this year, remember? You were the one who was so worked up over it…so how are you so calm now?"

"Ahhh…that again…" Francis shrugged and looked up at Britain from his spot on the ground. "I guess you could say that I've accepted it."

"Accepted it? You can't just admit defeat in the presence of something like this! Is that all you Frenchies know how to do…surrender?"

"Hush now, Arthur… why must we fight all the time…? If the world is indeed coming to an end…how about we just relax and enjoy each other's company…"

"Hah! As if anyone could enjoy being with a person like you!" England scoffed, folding his arms, making his anxiousness nearly palpable in the air.

France frowned, even though he was used to the curt remarks. "What's bothering you, Arthur? You seem down…or…more down that usual, rather."

"Nothing is wrong, frog face!" the other country replied almost too quickly, jumping when he felt a hand on his shoulder. France had sat up and was staring into Britain's green eyes with obvious worry, and to his surprise, Arthur didn't shrug him off.

"...I'm worried…just a little bit, that's all…" he whispered softly with a sigh.

"You are worried more than a little bit, friend…"

"…France, what if I died tomorrow? I don't want to die yet! There's so much I haven't done…!" England burst out suddenly, grabbing onto France's blue jacket and shaking him vigorously. "What am I to do? I can't live like this!"

Francis just sat there in shock for a moment, for he had never seen Britain act so helpless. He smiled with pity, resting a hand on the smaller country's head, murmuring, "It is not healthy to worry so much over something you can't control, my dear… It shall happen to all of us in the end…"

"Then how do you live with it…? How can you just keep on living the way you do?" Arthur shrieked, glaring at France in an attempt to hide his incoming tears.

"Oh, mon chére…This is the difference between you and me…" when England opened his mouth to argue in his defense, Francis pressed a finger to his lips and whispered in his ear, "…My eyes have been opened and can see the beauty and love in everything…maybe it's time you opened your eyes as well."

England felt himself blush at the sensation of the other country caressing his lips, but the warmth made him feel slightly comforted. Arthur smiled and relaxed, keeping still even when France brought his arms around him and pulled him into a tight, friendly hug.

France whispered softly, letting England's head rest on his shoulder. "Learn to love a little, dearest…because you know what…?"

"…what…?"

Francis rested a hand on England's heart and smiled, "…You're beautiful, inside and out."

England cut off his memory abruptly, the stunning spring atmosphere fading from his mind as he forced himself back to reality. He cursed at himself for giving in to his foolish memories, tossing the rose in his hands to the ground.

"D-Damn it..!" he hissed aloud, falling to the ground in front of the discarded flower, glaring down at it in disgust. In his anger he ripped the petals from the bud, one by one, until the rose was a sad, naked mess of stem with its soft petals lying on the ground.

"France sent this to my room…He's trying to trick me…! That bastard..!" he thought with revulsion as he picked up each petal, counting them as a habit and dropping them carelessly in the trash.

He rose to his feet and began to pace the room, fighting away the blurry tears that brimmed in his green eyes. In frustration he slammed his fist on the wall, a curse from his neighbor, Russia, soon following.

"If you cannot keep your insane fits to yourself, Sir Britain…I have means of keeping you quiet!" he snapped in a rare display of his terrible temper, returning a slam on the wall to Britain before returning to his bed.

England believed him of course, Ivan scared him even when he wasn't angered, so the British man took that as advice that he should probably leave the quiet of the hotel if he wanted to avoid bothering anyone with his expression of aggravation.

He (quietly this time) walked to the door of his room where his coat hung, and he reached inside the pockets to search for money to buy himself a cab and a drink. He felt paper and pulled out what he thought was American dollars, but was surprised to see that what he held was instead a folded slip of white paper. Confused, Arthur unfolded the parchment and squinted in the dark, and once he was able to make out the light, cursive words, he couldn't stop the tears that rolled down his face.

"Mon chére….

You are still beautiful."

TRANSLATIONS:

Mon ami = My friend

Oui = Yes

Mon chere = My dear