"He that falls in love with himself, will have no rivals."
Benjamin Franklin
"Are you sure you don't wanna get out with us?"
Francis and Arthur turned in the same time towards the threshold of their room, from which Gilbert was looking at them.
"Humm… I don't know…" Francis replayed, lifting his hands like two plates of a scales.
"Get out with my friends, mess up, have fun and then coming back completely wasted… Or going dinner in the most luxurious restaurant of the city with some politicians and die out of boredom?"
He rolled his shining blue eyes, sighing: "Really, Gilbert, do you think I actually have a choice?"
Arthur patted him on the back: dressed in the best (or worse, it depends) of his punk years, he was going to follow program number one with Prussia, Denmark and, incredibly, China. A meeting between former empires, as to say, and a good way out from the boring routine of a Nation.
France sighed again, turning towards the mirror to examine his looks: dressed in an elegant dark-blue suit, with a light grey "blue shirt under it unbuttoned on the neck, he looked like the incarnation of a modern Adon.
He smiled satisfied, trying to pull his hair back with a hand and stretching the other to touch the shelf beside him, sure to have seen his lavender tie on it just before, without stopping to look at his reflection.
However a choir of laughers forced him to, and turning around towards Gilbert and Arthur, he found them bend out of laughs, and the fact that at every glance they casted at the French only seemed to increase their hilarity, Francis realized to be the subject of some joke.
"What are you laughing at, you idiots?" He mumbled like a spoiled child, and Arthur tried to calm him, with tears at his eyes that were surely not ones of repentance: "Nothing, nothing…"
"If you're enjoying yourself that much, look, I'll leave you with pleasure to Gilbert! Let's see if you're going to laugh, then!"
While Prussia was almost rolling on the floor from the laughers, England seemed astonished for his cutting answer, but then he recovered and, with a smirk that poured innocence like cream from a cake, he approached him and surrounded his waist with one arm, staring at their reflections in the mirror.
"How could I go with someone else?" He passed his free hand on Francis' shirt-clad chest, resting on the belt of his trousers.
"If this body is such to make France himself fall for it, how could I leave it unguarded such gift of God to us poor men?" Arthur whispered in his ear, a naughty expression addressed to Francis' reflection, who smiled in turn, turning to kiss his mate without stopping to look at the mirror with one eye.
"What Arthur, do you want me not to score, tonight?" Gilbert whined, observing them with a mischievous smile.
"That means that tonight the Awesome me will have to make it with Mathias. Or Yao. Or maybe both of them!" He exclaimed, and from the next room came the concerned people's opinions on the subject:
"Just try, fucker, and I'll leave you my axe where the sun doesn't shine as a memory!"
"If you feel like having a nice chat with Ivan, just try, Gilbert. What kind of coffin would you like?"