Steal My Heart (A Hetalia Fanfic)

A Rose for my Love

This is a really short chapter... But just a note, I don't want any hate about how France is portrayed. He's actually one of my top two favorite characters, he's right behind Russia. But Farnir dislikes him, so since its in her POV, she's gonna be a bit-or a lot-prejudiced against him.

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I crossed my arms and glared at France with narrowed eyes. The moment we arrived at his house, he had shown me the outfit he expected me to wear. There was no way I was going to wear his maid's outfit.

"I'd rather die than wear that slutty costume," I snapped. "In fact, I'd rather die than live here with you."

Something that looked like pain flashed across France's eyes. I must have imagined it, I told myself. He could get any girl, why would not getting me hurt him?

"Mon amour," he whispered. "Please don't say such things... They will break my heart." He stepped forward and put his hand on my cheek, he began to lean closer to me. I slapped his hand away and took a step back.

"Don't even try to make me think you care," I snapped. "You just want me because you can't have me, and because you KNOW it hurts England!"

"Hurting Britain may be a perk, but I don't care when it comes to you! Je t'aime, Farnir! Je t'aime!" he yelled, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes.

I turned and walked away, saying, "Tell it to someone who cares!"

I wandered in France's house, hoping to find somewhere I could relax, away from that vulgar, disgusting man.

I walked through a door and gasped as I found myself in a beautiful rose garden. There were roses of all colors-pinks, blues, yellows, oranges, whites, even one or two greens- but mostly reds. It was simply breathtaking, and not anything like what I would have expected from France. This couldn't be HIS garden. There had to be someone who had done this other than him. He couldn't have created a thing of such beauty.

I breathed in, enjoying the heavenly aroma of the roses.

"So you finally found something that you like about my home?" The sound of France's voice made me jump.

"Um, yeah, I guess," I stuttered. "Why are you here?"

"I love roses," he answered. "When I'm upset, I come here, and normally everything is better."

"Oh, so you're not upset anymore?" I asked.

"I said normally," France answered. He sat down on a bench, his head down so his hair fell across his eyes. He was actually pretty cute... I shook the thought out of my head as France continued, "But there are certain situations that it seems roses can't fix." That was said looking at me. I looked away.

"I-I should go," I stuttered. "I'm tired."

France reached over and plucked one of the roses, a brilliant, deep red, and handed it to me. "Pour toi, mon amour," he said softly.

I took the rose, my face on fire, and then turned and left. No, taking that rose didn't mean I liked him. He was a disgusting, vile frog, who would stoop to any level to sleep with a pretty girl. Right?

That's what I told myself as I opened the door to my room. That's what I told myself when I set the rose on the bedside table. That's what I told myself when I lay down to fall asleep. That's what I told myself when I dreamed of him.