Chapter Text
I would rather not go back to the old house,
There’s too many bad memories, too many memories
And you never knew
How much I really liked you
‘Cause I never even told you,
Oh, but I meant to...
Back to the Old House –The Smiths
France and England have always had a complicated relationship. They were constantly at each other’s throats- it was a fact that nobody could deny. Although, unbeknownst others, England secretly felt differently.
The two countries loved fighting for fighting’s sake. Though- something neither of them would ever admit- they secretly enjoyed each other's company. Throughout every era of history, they had always been there for each other- France cannot exist without England, and vice versa. It was the humiliating truth, which England would refuse with his life, that the two of them had always been closest to each other out of everyone else.
What happens when he’s forced to face his feelings?
20XX, World Meeting-
The room was loud with overlapping chatter. It had been less than an hour and there had already been 3 fistfights... an average world meeting.
England sighed, taking a swig of his tea- Earl grey with moderate sugar and milk, poured into a water bottle. He had always preferred to use teacups- it made him feel more like a gentleman- but unfortunately, they were rather inconvenient to use on the go.
This morning, he didn’t feel like getting involved. Like the civilized country he was, Arther sat peacefully, doing paperwork as he observed the room around him. Many asian countries including China and Japan were having tea in the corner of the room. Not far from them was Seychelles, Mexico, Brazil, and a few others chatting. On the other side of the room, many European countries gathered as they watched Russia strangle Alfred...
A small crowd formed around the two in a circle as they threw punches. Germany was trying to break them up, accompanied by Italy, who was hanging of his arm as-per-usual. England recognized one of the countries as Antonio. The elated, brunette Spaniard jumped up and down in excitement, too energetic for this early in the morning.
The next “country” was Prussia- although he no longer had his own separate nation, he still loved tagging along with his younger brother, Germany, and going to world meetings to wreak havoc.
Lastly, his eyes caught the attention of... Francis.
Honestly, he had no idea how he wasn't the first person he noticed. France was dressed in his typical fashion- an obnoxiously bright blue-purple outfit, his hair in a ribbon. His clothes were ironed neatly; his hair was curled, and he was incredibly overdressed.
That Frenchie always put far too much effort into his appearance. Of course, it’s not like England felt underdressed around him or anything... he was perfectly happy with his clothing! They were subtle and gentlemanly, nothing like the eyesore standing in front of him. He didn’t need to dress any differently! England narrowed his eyebrows, frustrated at the thought of him.
Recently, England had felt more distant to France than usual. I mean, of course, their countries were not known for getting along in the slightest, but in the past century things had been peaceful! Now, with the rise of Brexit, it felt like there was much more animosity towards him. For the first time in a while, things felt a lot lonelier again. Of course, England had always been somewhat of a... social outcast, but that doesn't mean he has to cut himself off from the rest of the world! Besides, politics wasn't even within his control in the slightest.. it's not like he could do anything. Now Europe is pitted against him, and America is too busy with his own politics to ever reach out! He still had his brothers, Scotland, Northern Ireland, and Wales, but even then, they rarely spoke nowadays.
He sighed, propping up his head, gaze blurring towards certain brownish-blonde waves. He missed when he was a young, new country- when times were simpler. When he'd lay in the grass without a care in the world, watching the clouds float by... when he'd herd sheep with his brothers in the fields... when he'd gone to America and watched over Alfred, and then little Canada.. when he'd weave together flowers in the grass and smile with France besides him, in his ruffly dress...
He made direct eye contact with France, snapping him right out of his thoughts. He could definitely tell he’s been watching him.
He felt his face warm as the Frenchman made his way towards him with a smug look plastered across his face, leaving the commotion behind him.
“Oh, Angleterre~ What’s wrong? Can’t keep your eyes off this handsome face?~” France smiled, leaning across the other side of the table. He held his face upwards with his hands, watching England, who was averting his eyes, trying to play it off.
“y-you wish. I was simply watching America make a fool of himself, I wasn’t even looking at you,” he muttered. He tried to hide it, but it was deathly obvious he was flustered.
France walked up to him, cocking his head to the side, “Really? I could’ve sworn I saw you admiring my beauty~ It’s okay to admit it, I understand! Nobody could resist this fac-”
He was interrupted as England slapped him, gasping in offense. The scruffy Brit lashed out, the sound of his hit ringing out. "You frog! I would never admire a cheese munching Frenchie like you!”
France held his cheek, exasperated, “What’s wrong with you today! You’re so aggressive, I was just teasing you... you’re grumpier than you Brits usually are!”
England crossed his arms irritated, “Well, maybe I felt like having a peaceful day instead of dealing with your loud arse... always interrupting my silence...” He mocked him loudly in a dumb, high-pitched tone and mock French accent, “Oh, I'm France and I'm just so great, I'm so handsome that no woman can resist me!”
“It's true! No woman or man can resist me... you're just jealous you're not as handsome as me with your tall, scruffy eyebrows. The black sheep of Europe!” he remarked. “Besides, English are way worse! You claim to be a gentleman, yet you’re so aggressive with me!” He whined.
Francis leaned into his ear tauntingly, whispering, "Nobody can resist my charms, mon petit Arthur... not even you~"
The other country couldn't help but blush and roll his eyes, grabbing and jostling him aggressively. Their faces were only inches apart, and France would be lying if he said he wasn't a little into it...
“Bloody hell, you're ridiculous! I can assure you, I am not attracted to you in any way! Anyhow, I am a gentleman, just not to the likes of you French!”
The Englishman wrung an arm around his neck, pushing him towards the ground while the Frenchman began hitting him back. They had officially begun wrestling with each other, breaking out into the meeting’s millionth brawl of the day. Although, their fight had become nothing but background noise. The room was deafeningly loud from the commotion of several fights all playing out and compared to America’s obnoxious yapping that could be heard from a kilometer away, their bickering was barely audible.
After painfully barrel-rolling over the ground, France had ended up on top of England, straddling him by the waist. The advantaged man grinned victoriously, grabbing the other by the collar and jostling him.
“Hah! I win!~” he beamed, laughing in his face. England could feel his breathe against his skin. His face flushed, seething with frustration.
The Brit shifted underneath the weight of the other man, holding the other firmly by the waist as he muttered aggressively. "Hff... like i'd let you-"
Clink!
The countries were abruptly interrupted by the sound of a metallic tool falling, catching both of their attentions.
Shit.
On the ground lay a shiny, golden fairy wand. England’s face dropped as he scrambled, trying to grab it quickly, but France was quicker. He scooped the wand into his hands, snickering at the sight.
“Pfft... C'est quoi? Oh Angleterre, still believing in fairy tales? You’re so silly, as always~”
The scruffier reached for the wand, panicked “Francis, give that back!”
The other only laughed, moving it further from him, “Ah-Ah-Ah! This is too cute, even for you!”
Furrowing his eyebrows at his nemesis, England tried again, “France, seriously. You don’t know what you’re-”
In the blink of an eye, a blinding white flash beamed. Everything was loud, then silent, then black.
It felt like it had been ages before the feeling of wet, dewy grass grazed his skin. Where- When- was this?