This is more of a serious chapter, but I think we needed a sweet one like this. But don't worry, the next one is coming tonight complete with America's struggle with a bag.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

4. Marriage

"It's a calendar, I swear!" France shouted at England, shoving the form at England in a failed attempt to try to get him to sign it.

"No it's not, it's obviously a marriage registration form, and I don't want to marry you for those reasons!" England shouted back and wasn't very successful in pulling his hand back from France's grip.

France slowly started to write England's name on the line. In a spilt second though, England gained control of his hand and quickly scribbled over the entire paper. France let out a sound like a wild animal being strangled.

"No!" He cried and England laughed maliciously.

At the sound of his laughter Francis growled and grabbed him from under the arms to drag him out. Arthur squirmed and tried to get free, but much to his humiliation, he couldn't. England just settled for screaming bloody murder.

"You bloody frog, let me go!" England shouted angrily.

"Ohonhonhon, no can do," France replied to the shouted with his laughter.

"I refuse to go along with this 'marriage'!"

France stopped dead, but his grip on the smaller didn't loosen a bit.

"Mon Angleterre, if we don't get married… I could die," France told him, putting the extra emphasis on the last word for a reason.

"Maybe I don't care," England retorted angrily, only to immediately regret his words.

"Y-you don't even care if I die." France's voice came out weak, releasing his grip of the Englishman. "After all we've gone through together and all the times you've said you love me… Were those all lies? Were they?!"

Now France had turned England around to face him; England with fearful and regretting eyes and France's full of rage. France stared him down until England finally gave in and spoke.

"Fra-France! I didn't- I didn't mean it that way! I do love you and do care if you die, you should know that better than anyone else! I was just bickering for bickering's sake, and when people bicker things can be said that you don't actually mean!"

France looked furious and England slowly closed his eyes, not wanting to fight back from once and waiting for the slap. When nothing happened, England hesitantly opened them to meet France's. His arms were still crossed and his face covered in his long blond hair.

"Oh, so the problem is not that you want me to die, it's that you don't want to be legally bound to me is it?" France question, looking back up with determination in his eyes. "If that's the case then maybe we should stop seeing each other."

England's eyes widened.

…

"Are you sure I have to wear a dress?" England asked hesitantly and pulled at the skirt of the monstrosity that he was currently wearing that was passed of as a dress. He had tried to pick out a fairly simple one, plain white with little embellishments.

Of course Hungary, the 'maid of honor' would have none of that. Instead, she picked out a wedding gown consisting of a giant hoop skirt with lacy embellishments surrounding what was supposed to be his bust. Little pearls had been sewn in what England swore had to be the most random places with white, fabric roses on each shoulder. It was an absolute mess, but if it would make France (and the crazy-eyed Hungary) happy, he would put up with it for one day.

"Of course," Hungary persisted in France's stead. He'd already had this argument with the two about a dozen times, all losses. But maybe there was something he could do about the dress… He started picking at the roses discretely, hoping that he might be able to take them off. "Now stop picking at it!" Hungary swatted at his hands. "The wedding it about to start. Which means I need to go."

Hungary hurried out to go join the rest of the bridesmaids and up came a young and laughing America. For today, his son was his 'father'. All the same, England hit him upside the head.

"Stop laughing, you git. Or I take away your playtime privileges," England hissed in the small America's ear, who quickly sobered up and wiped the smile off his face (though still had a few facial muscle spasms).

America, holding back his laughter, proudly led his father down the aisle with a bright smile among the other nations. England's face burned, a red-hot blush spreading across his cheeks. A few snickers came from the crowd and England noted the distinct 'kesese' and 'fusoso'.

Taking a deep breath and calming his embarrassment, England looked forward to see France, watching him with the happiest eyes he had seen on him yet, full of a love England hadn't expected. And for a second, England forgot to breathe.

When he reached the steps up to the alter, he paused, thinking back to all the happy moments they has shared, all the arguments they had gotten into, all the war they had fought, all the victories they shared, all the stolen kisses, bloody, dirty and rough…

With another deep breath, he walked up the stairs to be greeted by his groom. France leaned over in his direction.

"We'll work on your style later, but now, I need to focus on being able to reach your face through all this… dress," France whispered, England snickered.

"It was Hungary's idea."

"Ah…" France looked over to the bridesmaid, who smiled and gave them a thumb up. France nodded to her with a smile and took England's hand.

They smiled to each other, and England forgot the dress, forgot the eyes and got caught up in the moment.

Half an hour later, they were married.

"So!" Hungary shouted over to the dancing couple over the music. England had long since changed out of the dress and was comfortably trying to ignore the female. "Where are you guys staying tonight?"

England and France stopped dancing and looked to each other in fright.

"161!"

"230!"

"Guys… I'm going to figure out!" Hungary shouted and the two ran away.