Francis remained hidden in his little corner of the library, with his petit dejuner, a little meal that others might have wanted, stolen- but he wasn't about to share. He might have returned to the world stage, but he was still sore, and this was his.
When England entered, he considered announcing his presence- however the food would have been a loss, as Angleterre would have spilled it while kicking him out- And then came the vision of Angleterre talking to the air once again.
Envy raised its head for a moment, as France wished that he might see these creatures- and fell just as swiftly. He didn't need to be made fun of any more than he was.
The motion in the door drew his attention away from the shorter, short-tempered Brit, and to the sight of tall beautiful America standing in the doorway, a look of unspeakable heartbreak on his face- and France realized that Angleterre had named the fae his 'best friends'.
Matthew came shortly thereafter, and led his now sickly looking brother away.
It was food for thought.
"Face my desires and feelings?" England was forcing a snort, and Francis could hear a note of uncertainty in his voice. Had he noticed America? Had he seen Alfred's face- "Happy endings are for fairy tales, and the idiot's movies, Belle. Not for old Nations like me. Now- let's see about some sugar-"
Happy endings, decided France, Are for everyone.
And once this war was over, he had a new project. Yes. Once it was appropriate, and they had proper time for these things...
France went back to his lunch with a renewed and happy appetite.