A special thank you to all of you who are reading, and hopefully enjoying, this fan-fiction! A special thank you also to the owner of Hetalia, Hidekaz Himaruya, whose characters are just amazing as hell! And now a gigantic "Sorry" to apologize for my crappy English, I do hope it isn't too much of a pain to read this thanking you all,

-Zanteh

Français-English:

Tais-toi: Shut up

Mais non, ça sera amusante : But no, it'll be fun!

n'est-ce pas : Isn't it?

Merde : Shit!

qu'est-ce que tu fais là? : What are you doing there?

Laisse-moi : Let me go!

Friendship

"What are you- Francis!" Arthur yelled when the Frenchman poured some tap water inside the white china pot.

"Arthur, tais-toi! There's an artist working!" He replied smirking knowingly, to which the Englishman offered a lovely grunt. Folding his arms angrily, he sat down fuming.

Francis gave him a pitiful look and mocked walking towards him. "Aw, is my little Brit angry now?"

"Shut. It." Arthur growled back.

"Want to help?" He saw the Brit's eyes shining bright at the offer, while a wide smile drew his way on his joyous face as soon as he walked towards the Frenchman.

"Are you joking, right?" But all in his look hoped to be wrong.

"Mais non, ça sera amusante! Me cooking and you swearing. And in the end the house burning to the basement." He chuckled as his companion punched his arm, growling.

"I'm not THAT bad!" He shouted, scowling.

"You don't keep poison near sugar, n'est-ce pas?" And with a swirl to the side he avoided a well-aimed kick.

"Let me hit you, bastard!" He yelled throwing a teacup at Francis, who shifted into the living room and, swinging his hips to avoid the chairs around the table, ran to the corridor and up the stairs, followed by an angry Englishman and his evil spatula. Soon he was on the first floor and entered the bathroom.

"FRANCIS!" He shouted in resignation, banging at the bathroom door as the other locked himself inside. "FRANCIS, DAMMIT! OPEN THE DOOR! OPEN IT!"

Leaning to the door, he smiled and replied almost singing. "But if I let you in, you will hurt me... And Francis doesn't want to be hurt by a bad bad Arthur!"

Silence. The sound of steps running down the stairs. A drawer opening. The tingling of... Keys? Merde, he's got another key! Francis looked around desperately when suddenly his gaze met... a closet! Sliding to one of its sides, he pushed it in front of the door. Yet, it wasn't enough to stop the Englishman. A chair! He placed it well embedded between the closet and the sink. And then? Towels! He put them on and under the closet to prevent it from slipping, but still it wasn't enough. Arthur would rather destroy all with a chainsaw, himself included, instead of giving up his prey. The sound of a key unlocking, a door screeching, a small footstep, he was there, he was coming, he was...

"What the-?" Francis yelped as he heard a shocked voice coming from the mirror wall behind him. He screamed in terror and ran towards the bath tube to get some shampoos. He threw them madly against the mirror along with a couple of towels and some sponges, opening the fullest ones and squeezing them with all his strength.

Arthur raised his arms in order to protect himself and get closer without damage. Unsuccessfully. Hit by a mint-perfumed soap, his rage reached incredibly high levels and he balked on wildly, pinning the Frenchman to the wall. Francis struggled to gain freedom, but he was trapped like a bird in a cage under the breath of an English cat.

"Laisse-moi laisse-moi laisse-moi!"

"Grrrrr- Ow!" Arthur bent down as Francis kicked his shinbone and jumped to the side into the bath tube, reaching for some more sponges and soaps to throw at the enemy.

"You bloody-" Arthur clenched his fists and stared at him madly.

"Don't you dare getting any closer! DON'T YOU DARE GETTING ANY CLOSER!" Francis shouted terrified, holding the handle of the shower head in front of him, trembling for the tension.

"You'll be drowning in your own blood, you sodding gi-" Water. Cold water, in his face, down his chest, soaking his clothes and making him angrier. Shouting savagely, Arthur jumped on Francis, twirled his wrist and directed the jet towards his heart.

"DIE, BASTARD! DIIEEEE!" He screamed as the water splashed all over the other's chest, wetting his clothes as his breath died in a long and desperate "Nooooooooo!".

"Yes! YES! DIE, YOU BASTARD! DIE! THIS IS MY REVENGE! THIS. IS. ENGLLAAAAAAAAAND!" He screamed crazily raising his arms to the sky and shouting out his joy in a long victorious "WOOOOOOOOO!".

"Arthur?" But Arthur didn't listen, too busy celebrating his victory. "Weee are the chaaampiioooons, my frieeeend! laa laaaaa! Weeeeeeeeeee keep on fightiiing till the eeeeeeeeend lalalalalaaaaaaaala! We are the chaaaaampiooons! We are the chaaaaampions! No-GAH! What the-?" Arthur looked down covering his face with his hands only to see a doused Frenchman staring at him with a shower head in his hands and a look of disbelief in his face. Their gazes met in silence before wandering slowly along their drench bodies.

Arthur was straddling him, dripping water on his wet shirt, whereas Francis, laying down utterly confused, was looking at him with raised eyebrows. Their eyes met, their cheeks burned, their lips curved and they bursted out laughing. Everywhere in the house was filled with their loud glee.

Friendship. Doesn't it mean being stupid together?

Who wouldn't want a friend like them?