DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hetalia: Axis Powers nor any of the characters featured here.
"Arthur" whispered a tentative voice in my ear, "Are you okay?"
I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn't want to look at him.
The wine bastard probably never realised how good he smelt. Red wine and some snooty French cologne, and he never could manage to completely shake off the smell of cigarettes. He'd tried to hide it from me, and I knew. I had once seen him smoking at a café, and when I met up with him merely an hour later he smelt as if he'd bathed in cologne and his breath was minty. I'd laughed. He asked me why I was laughing but I couldn't tell him. He simply put another mint into his dainty French mouth.
Dirty would've been another way to describe his mouth. When it wasn't trying to entice me into bed, it would go on the attack, nibbling and sucking any part of my flesh that was exposed. Then he'd deliberately thicken his accent and whisper in my ear in a husky voice, "Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?" I hated that song, and I hated that bloody lyric. He found it amusing. I fell for it every time.
Francis did use people for sex. He'd slept with half of the European nations, yet it always made me smile how he'd never been with Alfred. He remarked to me once how he almost had slept with the boy when Alfred became independent. He said it made him feel dirty to ravish the American. That made me laugh, and he smiled. He always smiled when I laughed. Then he would reach out to me and brush away any hair that'd fallen into my face. He would kiss my cheek or my forehead, and call me his "petit chou." It'd always make my heart beat faster.
Sure, I'd fight with him. I hated him. But I will never forget the day Princess Diana died. I was pale, stricken and crying. It hurt so much, having the entire nation in mourning. Francis came to my house. I pushed him away but he refused to go. He held me tightly while I sobbed. He nuzzled my hair, whispered French sweet nothings into my ear. After I had calmed down I sat there in his arms, savouring the warmth and the feeling of his arms around me. I gazed up at him, and I asked him, "Why? Why are you here? You never care about me."
He cupped my chin in his hand and gazed into my eyes. He used his thumb to wipe away a stray tear on my cheek and said to me, "Because, my petit Angleterre, je t'aime." He leant down and placed a chaste kiss on my lips before I could respond. I could feel his heart beating almost as quick as mine. It was then I knew that I loved him too.
"Arthur, please. Look at me."
I opened my eyes. Everything was blurry. Tears streamed down my face as a familiar pair of eyes started down at me, anguished with worry.
"Is he really gone, Alfred?" I whispered my voice hoarse.
"I'm sorry Arthur."
I collapsed, Alfred grabbing me just in time. Grief numbed my body. Alfred tightened the embrace and whispered into my ear, "I'm sorry."