Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, France, or England.
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"Excuse me, Frog?"
"Why?" The Frenchmen added with more emphasis on the question, whilst tapping his fingers on the wood of the English-made desk. His face kept a serious expression, which was odd for him. He didn't look like he was joking in any manner, nor did he seem to be trying to embrass the English man. He just sat there, staring at him.
"Why what, Dolt?" The Englishmen spat the question at him, not at all pleased that the Frenchmen was inside his home. He didn't invite him, no. He'd never invite that idiot! He always invited himself in without even a call!
France paused for a quick second, "Why don't you love me, Angleterre?" Normally, this question was said with some sort of playful tone, but this time it was said with all seriousness.
"What type of question is that?" Arthur raised his voice, shocked, to say the very least. This was not a question he expected to be asked. Well, at least... Not without some sort of forced marriage, molestation, and suggestive glance to go with it.
"Just answer the question," Francis spoke, rather impatiently. He tapped his fingers louder then before, blinking at the Englishmen.
A sigh passed the lips of the blonde haired man, "Because you're a bloody wanker, who'll shag anything that moves, that's why!" The was no remorse in his words, he had said them as harsh as he could to get his point across.
"We use to get along so well, Angleterre."
"Times change, France."
"Well, that hurts. Tre Mal." Another stab at the poor Bonnefoy's ego. His face became emotionless, his stare deepening on his dear Angleterre.
No, No. Not his. He'd never be his.
He would always be in the possesion of someone else. Someone more.. American.
"Why are you giving me that face, you stupid frog?"
"No reason!" And he'd just smile it off until the very end. Never to confess that his feelings were real.
In fear of being rejected by, Mon Cher Angleterre.