England glared at France from across the UN table. Normally the old frog-face would be looking back at him and uselessly flirting. But today the distracted Frenchman was daydreaming.
'Ah what a wonderful taste.' Francis thought to himself. He knew his Angelterre was still angry with him. They had gone drinking yesterday and he still wouldn't tell England what had happened.
"Ah, cinnamon and tea." Francis said while looking directly at England.
England snapped.
"What the bloody-hell happened yesterday?!"
The Frenchman laughed; which normally would have sounded incredibly annoying. But today, to England, it sounded like a real laugh.
"La' mour , if I told you it would only make you angrier."
England shook with rage.
"Dammit!"
"Cinnamon and tea, that's what you ate yesterday right?"
England nodded his head, trying to contain his rage.
"You cant eat just cinnamon, but essentially, yes."
"Ah, I could tell. Tucked under the alcohol, was the sugary taste of cinnamon."
Englands eyes snapped open wide. Francis realized what he had said, all too late. He took the time that England was using to shake in confusion, to gather his books and get ready to run.
"Taste?" England asked.
France ran out of the room as fast as he could. But England caught him shortly after. He may have been the shorter of the two, but he was a former delinquent.  And those old muscles, still worked. He caught France's sleeve and pinnedhis wrist to the wall. England may have had to look up at him, but to France he still looked intimidating. Arthur looked in his blue eyes searching for an answer.
"What exactly do you mean by taste? And don't avoid it just tell me. If you tell me I wont be mad."
Francis laughed nervously.
"I promise you, you'll get mad."
"I promise you, I wont."
France looked into England's eyes, and he remembered the struggle he had went through whenever America had gained independence. He remembered the depression he had gone through. The moodswings. He would be quiet, needy, and clingy one minute. Angry, rude, and knocking over tables the next.
France sighed deeply.
" Yesterday,you weren't exactly the soberest of the Englishmen."
England felt his cheeks get red.
"Well," France braced his body for the beating he was about to receive.
"- you kissed me and then you passed out." France let out. He felt the grip on his sleeve loosen. But he didn't feel any pain. France opened his eyes. England was knelt down on the floor, holding his arms around himself.
"La'mour?"
France felt England's knuckles hit soft face with power. France stumbled back.
"Dammit, don't call me 'your love' after telling me something like that!"
England's face were red, and his eyes were starting to tear up. He couldn't believe he was showing this kind of vulnerability in front of his enemy. He felt a warm hand grab his arm and pull him up. France held England's face in his hands.
"Angleterre, it was a drunken show of affection. It didn't mean anything." He had to fight out that last part to keep from getting angry.
"I-It will never mean anything."
France released England's face and quickly, angrily walked down the hallway and exited.
He left England in the middle of the hallway, debating on whether he should run after him or not.