A/N Yeah, I love describing rooms 8D And I suck at French... Sorry for that =w= please use some translator of choice when reading, 'cuz I don't really have time for this. Please enjoy, ask questions if you have them and once again, it's interesting 8D changed my way of writing a bit, hope you like... Enjoy chapter11!

I DON'T OWN HETALIA.

CHAPTER 11

Francis watched his secret crush getting dragged away from the meeting by his best friend. A burning feeling built up inside him, and he tried his best to ignore it. But he couldn't, how could you ignore something like the pain that filled him when he saw Matthew disappear from him? Impossible.

"Oi, Francis! Are you okay?"

Francis looked over his shoulder and saw Antonio coming over, he had left Lovino for once and was now heading straight for Francis.

"Oui, je vais bien" Francis tries to shoo the Spaniard off, but Antonio doesn't leave. Francis tries to walk away, but the hurried steps behind him tell him Antonio follows. Persistent idiot. Francis turns around to face him, and Antonio has to make a sudden halt, not to walk into the blond. "Look, I'm fine. It's nothing you can do about it anyway."

"Aha! So it is something!" Antonio looks triumphant and Francis resists the urge to facepalm. HARD.

"Vous etes lent Toni…" Francis mumbles and turns to walk to the cafeteria to get something to eat.

"Wait! I don't know what that means, Francis! Ah, maybe I'll just make Arthur come…"

Before he could finish that sentence, Francis had turned around and came dangerously close to Antonio. "Don't. You. Dare." He hisses and glares at the slightly shorter male. When he sees the horrified look on Antonio's face he sighs and steps back. "Pardon, I'm just not in the mood… I want to be alone, okay?"

Antonio gives him a worried glance, before sighing and patting his shoulder. He says; "Sure, whatever you want" before turning around and walking over to a table where Lovino and his brother sit and chat with a furious speed in Italian. When Antonio reaches the table, he smiles at them and Feliciano immediately forgets about their argument, and Lovino is forced into a hug from them both. Francis smiles faintly at them, not really knowing where to go. He doesn't want to stay, but he knows he can't leave the house either. Matthew and Gilbert are still outside.

First things first, he needs wine.

He walks over to the bar, catching a glimpse of the cute bartender, and he can still have some fun, right? The girl in the black apron, white blouse and black vest looks up from wiping the counter when she hears him getting closer. She looks up and pulls a lock of burgundy hair back behind her ear. He winks at her and leans on the slightly wet counter to get closer to her. He smirks when he sees her cheeks get pink tinged, and she stutters when she talks to him.

"I-I'm sorry mister, the bar is closed…"

"Ah, I know" he sighs dramatically and talks with the deep French accent he knows women love. "But I got this… urge, to drink some delicious wine to lunch. Could you make an exception, cheri?"

He blows her a kiss, and blushing deeply she nods and runs off to get the finest bottle they have. When she gets back, she even has two glasses.

"Here" she says, smiling faintly. "For whomever the lucky one to share that bottle with you is."

Francis smiles and leans over to brush his lips gently over her cheek. "Merci, cheri. Mais, aujour'hui je suis boire seul."

The girl blushes at the French words, but before she can ask for the translation, he turns on his heels with the bottle and one glass in hand and walks away.

He sighs, muttering "oh la la" before deciding to look for somewhere he can hide. "I know there's a room here somewhere… Perfect for sneaking away and doing funnier things during these crazy meetings… Ah! I see the door!"

Triumphant, Francis gently opened the door to a simply furnished room, only a couch, a side table and a chair for some strange reason, was inside the eggshell painted room. The cream colored curtains swayed a bit, getting blown away from the opened window. Francis' steps fell softly on the light yellow carpeting as he makes his way over to the buttercup colored plush couch. He places the bottle of wine on the side table, mutter about how bad the deep crimson red colored wine looked in the yellow themed room. When he reaches the awful colored cushions, he fall face first and groans into the softness.

"Merde!" He swears and turns around so he can stare up on the ceiling. Irritatingly and ironically enough, it is painted sky blue with lots of fluffy, white clouds scattered all over it. He frowns at them. Everything seems to remind him of Matthew, on days with that kind of sky they always went out on a picnic, the little boy always found the best of places where they ate, talked and just looked up in the sky. The French couldn't count all the times he tied wreaths of flowers to the smaller blonde. He looked a lot like a princess with the flowers intertwined in his hair, and it was a bother to get them out when they went off to sleep.

The memory which usually gets Francis to laugh, now only makes him pour himself a glass of wine and down it all immediately. He sighs when the taste hit his taste buds, and he feels the liquid pour down his throat. Quickly he fills another glass and downs it just as quickly. He does this another bunch of times before putting the glass on the table again and falling back to the couch. Even when his system is influenced by the alcohol, the clouds irritates him. If not more than ever. He lies on his back, cursing the blobs of white paint for he doesn't know how long, until the door suddenly opens and he looks at it.

Oh. Seems like Arthur found him.

"What in the bloody hell are you doing here, git?" Arthur sighs and walks over to Francis.

"Watching the clouds" Francis answers and smiles a bit. "Wondering how long you'd take to find me."

The Brit raises one big eyebrow and stops in the middle of the room, right in front of Francis. "Have you been drinking? You know you can't lie when you've drank more than three glasses."

"Okay, that was a lie" Francis sighs softly and looks back at the clouds. "I didn't think you'd bother."

"I always bother. That's why we're still together."

Francis thinks about that statement for a moment. Is it because Arthur bother that their relationship is still alive? He thought it was because he didn't thought he'd be able to survive without the Englishman by his side. But he just proved that wrong, didn't he? The last weeks when he felt lost he seeks the wine bottle instead of his lover's arms. Is it because he knows those arms aren't enough? Is it because he knows those arms will never fill the hole in his heart? Because he wants Matthew.

He widens his eyes and stares blankly in the air. It's a frightening thought, he, wanting Matthew. And not wanting country like, no. Like a lover, like a person sharing the most intimate moments of your life with. Wanting him like he once wanted Arthur.

Arthur sighs and crosses his arms over his chest. "So, you finally realized it, huh."

Francis turns his head to look at Arthur. He looks troubled, nervously weighing from one foot to the other, restlessly looking around the room. Slowly, the pieces falls into place, but Francis can't seem to fit them all by himself. Arthur looks back at the French and sighs irritated.

"I know, okay! You stopped looking at me like you used to, you acted so distant. And you started to look at him. I couldn't stand it. I tried my hardest to keep you for myself, but you kept drifting off no matter what I did!" Tears start to gather in the corner of his eyes and furiously he tries to get rid of them. "I knew you didn't feel the same anymore, but I just couldn't let you go. And when you didn't leave either, I thought we had a chance to get together. I tried so hard Francis. I really did…" He falls into quiet sobbing and Francis slowly sits up the couch. When did he start to think differently? When did the target of his love change? Maybe it never did… As if he could read his thoughts, Arthur looks at him with wet eyes. "You never loved me. I was a replacement. Maybe you had a crush on me, or just wanted to love me like I love you. But I was never more than a fuck-buddy." He chuckles when the word left his mouth. Finally he got to say what he thought, and it felt good. Feeling brave, he lifted his chest a little and raised his voice to a bit over normal. "You've always loved Matthew."

When someone else says those words, it hits Francis like a punch in the gut. He can feel the air leave him and he struggles to keep breathing normally. His dear Mathieu, the only one he has ever felt at peace with. The only one lurking out all the good and bad sides of him and making him smile by just seeing the boy's face. He has always loved him. First as a father or brother, and now as a lover. It makes sense now. Why it hurt when he saw Matthew and Gilbert together, why he always thinks of that one blond… He can feel his own tears slowly pressing out from his eyes. Arthur smiles and gently strokes his arms.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" he whispers and moves a little closer. "To see the one you love with someone else."

Francis nods, he may be the nation of love, but it still hurt not getting who he truly wants.

"Let's break up. You won't be happy with me anymore" Arthur gently hugs the other nation, still whispering softly. "I can't be a replacement anymore."

Francis nods again and hugs him back. They may not be together, but Arthur is a good friend.

"Merci beaucop Arthur" he whispers and hugs the Brit back. They stay like that for a moment, before Arthur pulls away, wiping his tears.

"I need to get back, stay here, okay? You're still drunk" Arthur smiles in amuse and makes sure Francis will before exiting the room leaving Francis to think. The French man smiles when his thoughs has finally settled. Now he doesn't have to be confused anymore. He know now. And he will do anything to get Matthew back.

And a sudden realization struck him.

Now where should I sleep while my house is renovated?

Oh yes~ Felt like writing something here xD Please review and make a sleepy author happy :3