The rain fell hard as the young man ran on the wet, slippery ground. The wind blew hard making the trees rustle and the leaves fall. The night sky was dark and cloudy, not a single light shined that evening. He couldn't see a thing but continued trembling on to his destination. His boot's were worn and falling apart, his clothes were torn and stained with blood. His whole body ached, but he continued to run. He had to run...
France lied awake in his bed, still feeling uneasy from his confrontation with England. Feeling the urge to get out of his room for a while, he slowly lifted the burgundy sheets off of his body and stepped onto the hardwood floor. He opened the door, his hand shaking slightly. He walked into the main room of the house, looking for a candle and some matches. He found the matches in a cabinet and the candle on the windowsill. He took a match and lit the candle, watching the dim light source flicker in the otherwise pitch black room.
He contemplated what had happened that day. About what England said. His words were sharp, blunt and violent to say the least. But most of all, He thought of America. The young colony under England's rule. He thought about his optimism, strength, energy and that smile of his that could light up a room. And how it all went away when England was around. He knew all the young colony wanted was affection, he could see it in his eyes. But his thought's were interrupted as there was a knock at the door...
America knocked on the door, not knowing if France would be awake or not. He began to grow impatient and knocked again hoping for some sort of response. He sighed heavily as he crossed his arm's trying to keep warm. The cold was unbearable. The rain fell on him as he stared at the sky. He would wait all night if he had to. The door slowly opened, only to reveal a shocked France.
"Amerique, what are you doing here?!" France asked, shocked.
"I-I n-n-need a p-place to s-stay for the night." The American stuttered.
France adverted his gaze to the colony's shirt. It was completely covered in blood, as was the rest of his clothing. Looking upward toward the Americans face, he saw a bruise on his left cheek. He looked at his eyes and saw that he had been crying. He felt terrible.
"Come inside, I have a room you can use." Said France, still in shock.
"Th-thank you." America replied.
The two men went inside, enjoying the warmth of the residence. France turned to face the American and saw that he was shivering. His dry cracked lips were slightly quivering as he tried to speak.
"C-can y-you show me where the bed is?" He asked nervously.
"Of course, right this way." France said, mentally slapping himself for not thinking that he would be tired.
He led him to the bedroom through the dimly lit hallway of his house. The floors were hardwood and the walls were painted white. There were various paintings hung up on the walls he saw as they passed by. When they arrived at the bedroom, He saw the same hardwood floor and the walls were the same color. The bed had a brown post which looked dusty from lack of use, the sheets were a dark shade of burgundy with gold embroidery.
T-Thank you for letting me stay, France". America said as a light shade of pink dusted his cheeks.
"You are most welcome, Amerique." France replied.
America said his goodnight's and with that he was off to the bedroom. Exhausted, he went under the covers and fell asleep...
France went into the bedroom to make sure he was okay. He walked in slowly and quietly in an attempt to not wake the peacefully sleeping nation. He softly caressed his cheek and kissed him softly before exiting the room. It was from this point on he knew that he had feelings for the young colony.