Francis leaned back, still half asleep. Arthur's arms, which were wrapped around him, were just so warm.

"Francis?" Arthur must have felt him shifting, "Are you awake?"

"Mmmm," Francis moaned in response.

Arthur sighed, "How are you feeling?"

Francis opened his eyes and leaned back enough to look at Arthur, "I'm all right."

"I have some business to take care of, so I'll need to go home in the morning. Is that okay?"

"Oui," Francis shifted so he could wrap his arms around Arthur's waist and rest his head over his heart, "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Well, you know, you-"

"I'm fine." Francis was a little surprised to realize he wasn't saying it just for Arthur's sake, but that he truly meant it. "Just promise you'll come back."

"Of course I will," he promised, "As long as you need me. Just... give me a call."

I always need you, Francis thought as he fell asleep again.

It had been a few months since the night they spent under the stars. Francis hadn't been calling Arthur quite so often anymore, it was weird: before he had avoided calling the other nation because he didn't want to disturb him, now he had found he didn't need the physical comfort quite so much. He still missed Arthur, but in a 'I like spending time with you' way, rather than a 'I need to know you don't hate me' way.

Perhaps it was because he missed Arthur, or perhaps it was meant as nothing more than a thank you, but Francis had decided to make a surprise visit to his neighbor to the north and do something nice for him. More specifically, make him an edible dinner. And if the dinner happened to be slightly romantic, well, that was an added bonus.

Arthur looked around his house as he closed his front door. He had come home from a long day of work to find that his house smelled suspiciously...french. He came around the corner into the living room to see Francis kneeling in front of the old-fashioned, and unfortunately not working, radio. "Francis?" he asked in surprise, "What are you doing here?"

The Frenchman stood up and spun around in surprise, "Arthur!" he blushed, "I-er," he pointed to the machine behind him, "Your radio is broken."

"Yes, I've been meaning to get that fixed. But, again, what are you doing here?"

Francis tugged on the bottom of his shirt, almost like he was nervous, "I just," his face flushed a bit, "I wanted to see you."

"You could have called," Arthur reminded him, "I would have come over."

"I know, but you always come to me. I wanted to come to you."

Arthur hesitated, "I haven't visited you in a while," he observed.

"Well no…"

"But, then again, you haven't called. Which I suppose should have made me worry more, you could have gotten worse…" he realized he was rambling, he quietly tried to amend what he had been trying to say, "I didn't think you needed me anymore."

Francis' eyes widen in surprise, "I always need you, Arthur," he says it so quietly Arthur almost thinks he imagined it

"What?"

Francis stares down at the floor, his blush spreading from his face to his ears, "I wanted to do something to thank you."

"You… what?" Arthur stared at him quizzically.

"For being there for me," he clarified, "So I made dinner."

"Oh, that's nice. Thank you."

Francis finally looked up at him and smiled.

"This is good," Arthur complimented.

"Well, compared to anything you could make," Francis teased, "Of course it is."

"Oi! I thought you weren't supposed to insult your host at dinner. I also thought said dinner was meant as a 'thank you', not a 'fuck you'."

Francis laughed a little, "Of course, I am sorry."

Arthur had almost forgotten how good that smile looked on him, it had been so long since he had seen it. "So is dinner really all that brought you here?"

"No, I," he paused, not meeting Arthur's eyes, "I wanted to talk to you."

Arthur froze, "About what?"

"As I said, I wanted to thank you for all you've done to help me…" he trailed off, like there was still more he wanted to say.

"And?" Arthur prompted.

"And I wanted to tell you I love you."

There was a long silence in which neither of them spoke or moved, they just watched each other, each trying to gage the other's reactions. "No, you don't," Arthur finally said, "You just think you do. It's all-"

Francis got up before he could finish and walked to front door, putting on his shoes and coat.

"Francis?"

"I'm going home," he spoke so quietly Arthur had to strain to hear him. The door closed and Francis was gone before Arthur could think of anything to say.

Arthur didn't get much sleep that night. He kept tossing and turning, replaying what he had said. Wasn't that what he had wanted to hear from the Frenchman? Hadn't he been waiting for Francis to be ready for this kind of step?

So then why did he not only reject him, but actually bring his feelings into question?

Maybe he really though Francis still wasn't ready. Or maybe he was just scared.

He eventually gave up laying in bed in favor of pacing the house. Maybe he should go see Francis and try to talk some sense into him. He wasn't going to get any sleep anyway.

And so, sometime past midnight, Arthur found himself in Francis' home nearest the channel. "Damn it," he muttered after searching the bedroom for the Frenchman, who was nowhere to be found. If he was wrong about him coming here, it meant he would have to go to Francis' other homes until he found the other nation.

He looked out the window at the moonlit garden, the same one they had watched the stars in. He frowned in thought, there was a small stream at the back border of the yard.

As suspected, Arthur found Francis on a tree swing by the stream. "Francis?"

He didn't seem surprised to hear him, he didn't even turn around, "Non."

"Uh, what?"

"You don't get to decide how I feel. They're my feelings, and I know them better than you."

"I know that, Francis, really. I was just saying, after everything you've been through, it's natural to feel this way about someone who's been so close, or who you might view as a savior. Like transference, or hero's syndrome, or whatever it's called."

"Yes, Arthur," Francis stood up and faced him, "That explains why I've been in love you my whole life. Even at Waterloo, even when you took Mathieu, even as Jeanne died. I loved you, sometimes I hated myself for it, but I've always loved you. And if you don't believe me," he pushed Arthur's shoulder, a little harder than he meant to, making him lose his balance and fall into the water. "Arthur," he gasped.

Arthur laughed, cutting him off, "All right, Francis. You're right. So you do love me. Just like I love you."

"You?" Francis asked softly, "How do I know you're not just pitying me?"

"Pity? Francis-"

"Why shouldn't you?" he interrupted, "I don't- I'm not- I... Arthur-" he sounded like he was about to start crying.

"You're not pathetic," Arthur objected, "Or worthless, or useless, or any of those other negative things someone has made you believe. You are perfect."

"I'm not," Francis sniffled.

"Fine. But you are so perfectly imperfect that I don't know how anyone could not love you. Especially me. I really do love you, Francis."

Francis wiped his eyes and reached down to help him up, but instead Arthur pulled him down into the water with him. Francis shrieked as Arthur laughed. Francis pushed his hair out of his face and splashed him.

"Fine, all right," Arthur laughed then wrapped his arms around Francis, "I'm sorry I said you don't love me."

Francis buried his face in Arthur's shoulder, "I'm sorry I pushed you in the stream. But we're going to get sick if we stay here."

"Yeah, a'right," he helped Francis up, "You have something dry I can borrow?"

"Yes, of course," Francis took his hand and led him towards the house.

"Just not that horrible Paris snuggie."

"Of course not. That one's mine," he paused, "But I do have a London one for you."

"...Wot?"

Arthur laid on Francis' couch. Francis was lying between his legs, arms wrapped around his waist, asleep. True to his word, Francis was wearing his horrible snuggie, but Arthur was dressed in sweatpants and a tee shirt. Arthur was brushing his fingers through Francis' soft curls.

They had been watching a movie before they both fell asleep, Arthur had woken up during the credits and was now watching infomercials in french. Francis shifted a bit, "Arzhur?" he slurred.

"Hmm?"

"What are we watching?"

"I think it's an infomercial for a… blender?"

"Do you need a blender?"

"No."

"Me neither," Francis pushed himself up and kissed Arthur, "We should go to bed."

"'Go to bed' as in…?"

"As in sleep," Francis smirked, "Unless you want more?"

"Only if you do."

Francis laid back down, "Non." he was silent long enough Arthur thought he fell asleep again, "Arthur?" he asked.

"Hmm?" Arthur kissed his forehead.

"J'taime."

"Love you, too."

There's chapter three. Hopefully it met the standards of the first two. This should be the end of this story, but I'll leave it labled as in-progress anyway.

Shout out to browsofglory for requesting part three. Thanks for the support of everyone who favorited, followed, and reviewed.