Drunken Kisses Part 2 Just Like London

Spain was walking up the steps to the door to return to the meeting room.

"Ai, stupid notes." He said to himself. He had places to be and an Italian to meet. As he reached for the knob, the door....opened by itself?
Antonio took a smack in the face from the door and stumbled backwards.
France's arm caught him.
"Ah, A-Antonio. Désolé. I didnt see you." He said, looking away. Spain held his nose holding his free hand up in surrender.
"Im alright, amigo. But you were running awfully fast. Is there something wrong?" The Spaniard leaned over and tried to look at his blue eyed friend. He shook his head.
"Okay! Call me if you need something France." And with that, Spain entered the building leaving France by himself on the front steps, smirking.
"Typical airheaded Antonio." He said aloud while starting to run again. The further he ran the more of his tears dried. And the more he realized that he was overreacting. I mean, sure he made passes as England. But, how was Arthur supposed to know that everything he said, he meant. He loved Arthur.
He loved him more than anyone. Along time ago Francis realized a fact that he was both embarrassed and ashamed of.

Everytime he made love to a woman......He thought of Angleterre.
Francis covered his blushing face as he speed-walked through a vendors street.

'Why did we have to have the meeting in Italy?' He critisized as he bumped and elbowed several pedestrians. Some of them grumbled. A few murmered in Italian something that Francis didnt want to know. A couple of women stared at him.

"Ohh~ Biondo. Capelli belli~ " He heard one of them fuss. It sounded like a complement. He glanced at them.
They were pretty enough. Regaining his pride as he did so, he approached them.


***Now to England~*

England stood in the middle of the hallway, trying to review what had just happened.

The frog had told him what had happened at the pub. England had hit him.
France had-
He got...sad. He'd looked like a kicked puppy. And his words were still echoing in Arthur's brain.

' It didnt mean anything. ' The Frenchman's voice had seemed especially strained.
' It...will never mean anything. '

That was when he left, leaving the gentleman baffled in the middle of the hallway.

"Of course it didnt mean anything!" He yelled aloud.
"I was drunk!"  

"Ooh~ Now I see." A new voice said, making England jump. Spain leaned against the wall. England fought back a growl.

"What?" His voice was sharp and cruel.
"Oh its nothing. Just thinking about how Francis almost killed me with a door. Now I might know why he was eager to get away from here."
Arthur turned to look at him.
"And what, dare i ask, is that supposed to mean?"

****



"Ow~ Damn. You didnt have to do zat." Francis said, feeling the liquid run through his hair. He'd taken the women to a bar: where he was the only one who gotten drunk.
Before***
"I dont know how he dosent see how much i love him." His voice dipped up and down in a battle to control his accent.
"HE?!" One of them had said.
"Lets go chika's, this guys already got somebody on his mind." A dirty blonde had said calmly.
The brunnette headed woman wasnt so tolerating.
"Tease!" The woman had said while drowning his 'belli biondo' hair in rum. Scoffing as she left.
"Ow~ Damn. You didnt have to do zat." He watched as the calm blonde leave behind the steamy one. Leaving Francis alone with one girl, the copper headed one; who had remained cheerful and light through most of this.
"Arent you going to leave too?" He questioned letting his accent show.
"Sí, but i wanted to tell you something." She paused while she tried to find the right words. Francis raised his eyebrows.
"Maybe he dosent know you love him because you flirt so much." She said, blushing slightly. France's eyes widened.
"But...Thats the only way I can show him...I love him. "
The girl sat back down next to him.
"Making him jealous isnt the only way."  She explained, closing her eyes.
"I-Its the only way I know 'ow." The Frenchman held his face in his hand, partly in embarrassment, partly for steadying himself against the bar.
The girl was silent for a moment before speaking again.
"Have you realized you feelings yet?" She said bluntly, making the blonde snap up to look at her brown eyes.
"Of couse I 'ave! I recognized my feelings centuries ago!" His voice hightened in defense. The girl didnt even flinch at the word "centuries".
"Have you said them out loud? That might help." She said with a smile.
Francis blushed.
"Just say it out loud."
The blonde took a deep breathe and looked deep into his glass. Seeing past the burgandy wine and closing out the sounds of the Italian bar. He ignored the sounds of what was probobly curses from a back table.
"Che Palle!" He heard. He closed it off.
He heard the sound of a bell jangling as someone new walked into the bar. He let it guide him to a clear mind.
'He's so stubborn.' He thought to himself.
'But...'
He let scenes play through his head.
Those moss green eyes that Francis thought were absolutely beautiful, and how they turned into a vibrant forest shade whenever he was mad. His cheeks that puffed out slightly and reddened whenever he was embarrassed. The way he carried himself, a true gentleman... Even though he was actually a total pervert. The way they would fight, whether verbal or with swords, reminded France of the days whenever England was a delinquent, cruel and unmovable. His messy dark- blonde hair that he had always tried so desperatly to fix. France had even tried to fix it..No avail. His big bushy eyebrows that everyone had always made fun of him for. Francis thought it was cute.
" Angleterre." He said, his mind providing him with an image of an impatient England.
"Je taime." He admitted.
"For over a century, actually. And I've taken advantage of our time togezer...Thinking zat maybe you wouldve recognized by now how much I care for you."  He sighed. The Enland in his mind blushed, only egging France on.
"But in ze end Im just someone for you to fight with..."
He paused, choking on his words. It hurt to come to the realization.
"...Or am i someone you can come to?..." He cracked a heartbroken smile.
"I suppose ze only reason you come to me is because i listen...But 'ave you ever thought of why i still listen? "
"If you havent figured it out by now...Then I guess i 'ave nothing more to say." He looked up, his eyes closed in tranquility and sadness. But then...the England in his mind spoke to him.
"I-...Is that how you really feel?" His voice was shaky but sharp and clear.
"For centuries, Angleterre." He found himself talking back.
England was silent.
"......Do ever think that maybe i come to you for a different reason?" The Brit asked.
"How could i be sure that its nothing more than friendship you hold for me?" He questioned.
".....I'll prove it."
"How?......You're a figment of my imagination. You cant do any'zing." Francis taunted.
"THE HELL I CANT!"
Francis broke out of his mind theatre when he felt a hand grab his elbow and yank him out of his bar seat, stumbling a little. England snarled in anger as he pulled France out of the pub and out into the dark, rainy night. The blondes eyes widened as he realized his imagination must have been blinding him a little too much. England pulled him into the alley way of a brick building, sheltering them from the rain and protecting them from view. His small hands grasped France's shoulders.
"Did you mean all of that back there?!" He yelled.
Francis blushed furiously despite himself, coming to a horrible realization.
Arthur had heard every word of his confession. He vaguely remembered the door opening before he began his meditation.
Francis covered his face with his hand.
"O-Of course not!" He studdered. He peaked through his fingers enough to see Englands eyes shift colors and gain ferocity.
"Dont you dare lie to me Francis Bonnefoy!" He commanded.
Everything was quiet. The loud drum of rain was deafening over the sound of France's quickened heart beat. Both of them were soaked...But England was used to rain and Francis had other things to focus on.
He took a deep breath.
"Yes....Yes, Angleterre. I've loved you for centuries and now you know. Are you 'appy now?!"
Engalnd looked at his feet, still pinning France to the building behind him.
"You know you said everything out loud earlier, right?"
" Im fully aware, Oui." He watched as England flinched at his harsh voice.
"E-Even the part about....my eyes." France noted the blush creeping its way onto Arthurs face. He hadnt know he had said that out loud.
"What about it?"
"......Its very flattering...to get such compliments......from the country of romance." Englands grip on his wrists loosen. He took the opportunity.
England gasped as he felt Francis yank one arm out of his grasp and grunted in pain as he used the free appendage to grab Englands forearm and forced him against the wall.
"Francis, what are you doing?!"
"Tell me what you think of me."  France said. Catching the Brit off guard.
"What do you mean?!"
"If you could tell me anything, what would it be?"
'To stop being a drama queen and so bloody confusing!' He screamed in his mind, but didnt say out loud.
"Well......You...You're you. And you can be really irratating." He looked France in the eyes.
"And i hate-"
He heard the taller nation catch his breathe and tighten his grip on his wrists.
"I hate how you know exactly what im thinking. I hate how you know just what to say to piss me off or make me blush. Wh-....Why do you know me so damn well?!"
France released Englands wrist and stepped back into the rain.
"One must know 'ze person they love."
Francis looked the picture of lonliness as he turned his eyes to look into the clouds above him. Dark and raining.
"Just like London." He murmered. His hair stuck to the side of his face in blonde tendrils darkened by moisture.
"..........Francis." England's voice was shaky.
"What?" The Frenchman remained rooted to his spot.
"Will you walk with me?"
Raindrops pelted like hail on tin and steel roofs.

"Qui."