Their embrace lingered for only a moment before England turned. France let go of him, letting his limbs fall limply to his sides, face full of sadness and regret. Britain's eyes watered yet again as he pulled on the handle of the office door, slowly inching the door forward into the hallway. Britain walked out of the office carefully and quietly. Had he come here with any belongings? Had he left anything with France- aside from his own dignity? Britain saw the dark windows of the resteraunt, stars lighting the night sky and dim fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling, lighting his own path that seemed neverending. Thoughts rushed through his head as he began to recall the experience of that night. Britain could have just gone home with France, he could have just stayed in his embrace for a moment longer, the safety of France's loving arms calming his nerves for just a second , only one second, more.
Britain crossed his arms over his chest, a shiver riding up his spine. He knew they couldn't be together, at least not in public, and Britain knew he couldn't let France in. He felt another rush of tears flow down his cheeks, almost sickened by his own words to France, his lover. "A love means nothing if not shared between two." Britain recalled the chill of the office room as his words creeped out of his mouth. He had wanted to turn to France and give him his love, to show him that their lives were meant to be shared together, but if they had to hide it forever... "Damn frog... I hate you!" Britain had walked into a daze, unaware that he had already made it to the empty house he had rented for the week. Britain slammed his hand down on the door, his hurt and anguish took hold of him, his regret seeping deep in his soul. Then, he fell to his knees, for he loved that 'frog' and would refuse to live in a world where he did not exist. Britain wished he could replay the night, accepted the grasp in which his companion held him. Britain soon brought himself to his feet, and, unlocking the door, went into his bedroom, and went to sleep.
France stared at the floor of his office, leaning against his desk. He twirled a rose in his hand, feeling the prick of a thorn drag through his already bleeding thumb. He was too numb to feel the pain of such a simple, physical being, his heart hurting worse than any other physical wound he could sustain. He knew Britain didn't mean what he meant, but the feeling that he had lost someone was fresh. His mind burned with after thought, and his body ached and dragged, its limp stature pulling France down. He thought of Arthur handing him a bandaid for a would that Arthur had caused himself, muttering, "It's because you're such a bloody sissy." And France thought of the way he'd accept it, pulling Britain's outstretched hand to his puckered lips, kissing the hand briskly before earning a punch right in the mouth.
France had smiled at the though, only ringing a new pain into his heart, because he knew those moments were over. It would be cold between them. Neither would glance at the other without remembering the lost love they- Well, France, had tried so hard to hold together. It was now that France realized his bleeding thumb, seeing a drop fall to the floor. He pulled the rose away, placing it back into the vase he took it from. France leaned for a patch of gauze under his desk, when he realized the small satchel that clearly belonged to Britain. France's heart tightened again, but with a new emotion, hope. He grabbed the satchel and headed out of his cafe, allowing supervision to his head cook.
France walked faster and faster, his legs bringing him to a run. He knew exactly what he would do. He held the satchel tight in his hand, his fist clenching the short strap with great might, making sure he would not lose something so valuble. France whispered to himself at each beat of his heart, "I love you Britain. Je'Taime! Je'Taime" France raced along the pavement, a new sense of hope beating to the tune of love.
<End of Aftermath>
<Author's note>
Sorry that this one got s short, and remained a bit mysterious. If you didn't read all of it; Britain's a jerk, France is sad, but then, happy, because he might have found a way to make things right.
