The ring at his doorbell was not unexpected, but the face when France opened the door was.
France did not know who he expected, but it certainly would not be England. There were months between themselves and that fight. They had seen each other since then, both alone and not (though more likely not). Mentioning what had happened was a breach in a trust that they did not have with each other, but it was not a breach either of them made. France knew why he did not do it. It was to save himself, not for England's sake. He did not know why England did not. He tried not to think about it.
England stood there, face slightly vacant. Probably a defence against what he was about to do. France steeled himself for anything, but found the defence failing when viewing the flowers England had in hand.
"Can we talk?" England asked, voice almost pitifully quiet.
France was used to being the instigator of this part of their relationship. England barely reached out to anyone, let alone the country he declared to hate the most. It was not to say England never did this. Not at all, but France found himself surprised by it each time.
The surprise came with other emotions as well. France was very used to the array he could feel in these situations. Many times he was relieved, many times he was flattered, touched, and then there were the times he was angry England thought this would work.
Thankfully, this time, France was relieved. "Yes. Let's talk."
He let England in and they just spoke. By evening, France was reminded of something he continuously forgot.
He loved just talking to this aggravating Nation.
And they would do this all over again; in the near or far future they would do this all over again.