"Ah, Ivan, my dear friend, you do not care for yourself at all," France shook his head sympathetically as they strolled through the park with Russia. "When did you last walk, just like that?"
The weather was magnificent. After the winter, the long-awaited sun seemed to be the best gift of nature. The air was almost shining with the freshness and ringing singing of birds.
"Mmm..." Braginsky thought for a moment. "I do not even remember. Probably six months ago."
"Oh Mon Dieu, the whole six months! Now I understand why you look so grey!" Exclaimed Bonnefoy.
"Thanks that I have such a friend like you, Franz, *" Russia smiled. "Without you, I would have completely withered away."
"Mon ami, that's what friends are for," said Francis. "But, however, you can thank me."
And the Frenchman, laughing, pointed to the cheek for a kiss.
"Francis, Francis," Ivan laughed; however, he wrapped his arms around Bonnefoy, with one hand and kissed him.
Passersby immediately began to look back at them.
- I'm in love with your lips, - France confessed, having stopped laughing, "Maybe sometime, in a friendly way?"
- I'm sorry, you know someone is waiting for me, who need me, and who I need. I can't, even in a friendly way. It's a betrayal.
"I'm sorry. I will not do it again!" Francis raised his hands in conciliation.
The friendly walk continued.
T/N *Franz (Frants) - Friendly and affectionate name reduction, in Russian.