The Sea Against The Storm

Chapter 1: The Calm Before The Storm

"Why do you insist on following me?" Arthur snapped at the frenchman, feeling a tremor travel through his body as thunder boomed in the sky. He tried his best to ignore it and keep a cool face around Francis, which was one of the main reasons he was trying to get him to go away. He didn't want to break down in front of him.

The World Meeting had ended about an hour ago, and since it was held in his country this time, he wouldn't of had far to go if his car hadn't broken down. Francis didn't bring his car, since the place he was staying in was within walking distance of the place they had chosen for the meeting. It was pouring down rain, and the loud thud's sounded nothing like rain drops as they hit Arthur's umbrella, which Francis was holding. Francis claimed to have not known it would rain that evening, but Arthur wasn't sure rather to believe it. He had a itching suspicion that he'd planned this from the start, so he could walk him home and purposely annoy him the whole way. However, the idea was improbable. 

"Follow you?" The frenchman inquired innocently. "Angleterre, I am merely worried for your safety. The storm, and you walking home all alone, I couldn't let that happen, now could I?"

"Yes, you could have. I'm perfectly--" Another loud clap of thunder echoed in the sky, causing England to jump, clamp his hands over his ears, unable to stop the shaking now. 

It's not real anymore. He thought furiously. Stop thinking about it. Just stop thinking about it. You'll be fine. Keep it together, Arthur. At least until the house. Don't let Francis see.

He felt a thick arm wrap around his shoulders, however, and his body was pulled into what he knew was Francis'. He shuddered at the flash of lightning he caught at the corner of his eyes, and Francis tightened his grip around him as the clap of thunder followed soon after. He heard the frenchman mutter something like That was close.

When he realized he hadn't pushed the frenchman away yet, his eyes widened and he straightened himself, pushing Francis away. "Hands off, bloody git." He said, somehow keeping his words firm among the chattering of his teeth. He couldn't go far, though, as he wouldn't be under the protection of the umbrella anymore. Though he was already pretty wet from when the rain wouldn't pour straight down, and the wind would carry it to blow in front or behind him. Francis was likewise wet.

All Francis did at the gesture was laugh and put one hand up in surrender, since his other was occupied. They continued on in silence for the remainder of the trip.

When they got to Arthur's home, Francis seemed reluctant to depart. Arthur was fumbling with his keys with shaking fingers, the storm having not improved any at all in their walk there. He just wanted to stop remembering. He couldn't stop thinking of bombs, every time the thunder sounded. He just hoped Francis hadn't noticed. But just like Arthur thought Francis might have planned for his car to break down just so he could walk him home to annoy him, it was highly improbable.

"Angleterre," Francis said gently, just as Arthur was finally able to unlock his door. He opened the door and was glad to feel the warmth rushing against his skin from the inside. He turned back at Francis, who was still holding Arthur's umbrella. Francis was frowning, and Arthur realized that if he gave him the umbrella back, he would have to walk back home without the umbrella, cold and shivering... Why the image gave him such unrest, he wasn't sure. He sighed, closing his eyes, knowing he would probably regret his decision. 

"Fine," Arthur whispered. "You can stay here for the night. Only because it's late, and the storm. You get the couch. I'm going to bed, and don't think about trying to follow me. Now get in here, Frog. Before you let the warm air out."

The response seemed to brighten the frenchman's mood greatly. He closed the umbrella and slipped inside, when thereafter Arthur closed the door behind him, and started walking towards his room. Francis was grabbing some spare blankets from the closet he knew they were in, and carrying them over to his couch. After seeing that, Arthur turned his back, and entered his empty room, and the likewise, bed.