Love
"You know that French is the language of love~" Francis insisted, batting his eyelashes playfully at the other male.
"Nn, what?" America grunted, his mouth full of hamburger. He chewed some more, then shakily swallowed it. "What was it you were saying?"
France didn't let America's thick headedness get to him though. It was worth it, if only to get under England's skin. He leaned in over the younger man, sliding his hand under the other's chin. "I said, you know, that French is the language of love~" he purred.
"Really? I don't think so. I think American is much better," Alfred said, sounding confused. He reached for another hamburger. But it was not there. He looked around, at a loss for where his poor hamburger could be.
"Get your hands off him you damned frog!"
Oh, there was his hamburger, all over Francis' face. The Frenchmen sputtered, instantly backing away from the American and wiping the condiments off his face.
"That wasn't very nice England," Alfred said, looking a little hurt for a moment. "You ruined my hamburger."
"Your brain is made of hamburgers America," England huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "And I should remind you that you speak ENGLISH not American!"
"No I don't," Alfred said, grinning at England. "Because I don't use all those silly words that I don't know what they mean that you do. And I can spell color right!"
England gritted his teeth. "Listen you! I—"
"But it doesn't matter," America continued. He smiled at England, his true affection showing in his eyes. "Because even though you talk funny I love you anyway."
England stood there, jaw dropped in utter shock for a moment. He had to force it closed with an audible click. Then he scowled, pretending to be mad all over again. "Yeah yeah you big sap. That doesn't make you right."
Which, in English, meant: I love you too.