"Francis!"
The Englishman had just walked through the front door to France's house and is immediately met with two brunette women. They were sitting on either side of their host, rubbing his chest and wearing awfully tight clothes.
"Angleterre! I didn't know you would be here so early," Francis sputtered out his words, getting off the couch and walking towards England, "Let me introduce you to sisters Sara, and Jess."
The one named Sara stood up and followed France to meet England at the door. Her breasts nearly falling out of her shirt (if you can even call it a shirt). Jess soon followed. She covered her chest more, but the bottom half was even more bare than her sister.
"France, I came by to visit you. Not your... Friends."
The sisters giggled at this and grabbed their shoes. France kissed both of them on the hands goodbye and watched them as they walked down the road to get a taxi.
England shut the door and put his coat and hat on the rack. France plopped back onto the couch and started buttoning his shirt back.
"So how have you been since the party," France asked.
England cringed at the words and sat down next to his old friend.
"It's the same, really. A few government issues here and there. Nothing much."
France scooted closer, draping his arm around England, "Would it be rude to ask if you could make some more cupcakes?" The British man nearly fell off the couch at this.
"You're only saying that to make me feel good."
"No! No! They were the best things you ever made. I have some materials for you to use in the kitchen."
England started to feel a warmth glow inside him. A wide grin sat on his face.
"Why, of course I would! I am a gentleman after-all." Arthur skipped into the kitchen, leaving France alone to wait. France was excited to try more cupcakes. It was probably the first food England has ever made for France that didn't almost kill him. But something was eerie about it.
Of course people get excited when they finished a piece of artwork or if a child learns to ride a bike without training wheels. But England has a sort of psycho way about baking, as it seems to France.
France stands at the archway watching his neighbor bake. Jumping across the room with a pink apron, and a smile not fading away. Then he sits down and watches the oven as the cupcakes slowly start to heat up and bake. France sits on the floor next to him.
They stay like this in silence for a while. France looks down and sees a butcher knife sticking out of Arthur's apron pocket.
"Mon ami, I don't think you need a giant knife like that for making cupcakes."
The Englishman turns his head to face France. The smile still not fading. His face looking pale, small freckles appearing on his nose. Orange locks of hair falling over his eyes.
"Oh," England chuckles, "Some dishes just need to make a sacrifice. Of course I had to use some of my own blood to decorate the cupcakes. But yours will do just fine!"
England pounces on France, pinning him to the ground. France jerking away, leaping out of England's arms. But England already has the knife to France's cheek. It slides smoothly on his fair skin. A small stream of blood falls onto France's white shirt. The smile never fading.
"England!" France kicks him onto his side, "What are you doing?!"
England jerks back up into a sitting position. The freckles and longer orange hair goes away. He looks down at the knife in his hands. The silver blade shines with crimson blood. France jumps up and stands behind the island counter; separating the two.
"Francis, I'm so sorry I don't know what happened!"
England shakily gets up and walks over to Francis, dropping the knife on the floor. The two stare at eachother across the counter. Both shaking and trying to process what just happened.
"I'm so sorry. Something just came over me." England hands his wounded friend a small rag and France walks into the bathroom to wash up.
"It wasn't deep." The Frenchman said walking back to the kitchen, a large bandage sticking on his face.
"Im sor-"
"You've done worse. Don't worry about it. I forgive you."
A silence filled the room...
"I wanted to," England said failing to hide the fear in his voice, "kill you. But not like a war or annoying fights. I actually wanted to watch you suffer... For fun."
He falls onto his knees, his head in his hands. The two countries have been on and off enemies a lot throughout history. But England didn't have a reason to fight this time.
France sits in front of his old friend and pulls him into a hug, "Have you been messing with your silly magic again?"
"How did you know?"
"You've never been able to cook so well before." He chuckled.
They walked into the guest bedroom and England took a long nap to try and calm down. He asked France to not tell anyone. And that he will solve this problem.
"Don't worry Angleterre. I promise I won't tell anyone."