Hetalia Couples! (Finished)

Nicotine (2p! FrUk)

You could say this is a casual affair. I m s o r r y! Anyway! I keep naming them after songs....heh most of EM are Songshots anyways. Nicotine is by Panic! At The disco, on the album To Weird To Live, To Rare To Die. EMO TRINITY BISHESS.

François was a cold man. Never smiled, never cared, never showed any sort of emotion but distaste. He was once a happy man, Full of joy and actually had a heart. Until he changed, though no one really knows what happened they all know about him. He became....unstable. Drinking, smoking, and never was able to stop. His son left him the day he became eighteen, off to live with someone he loved. But it was to late, he was already enough like his father to frighten anyone. François stayed this way for many years, until Oliver showed up.

Oliver, whom was a cheerful man that had a passion for cupcakes, had changed him. François actually cleaned up once in awhile, cutting his beard occasionally and stopped drinking as much. The smoking never stopped, neither did the cold heart. Oliver, oblivious to what he was doing to François, immediately became friends with the cold Frenchman after they literally ran into each other. Well....Oliver did the running and François did the staggering. Now almost a year later, they were as close as can be. François would never admit something though.

When Oliver came around, his frozen empty chest almost sparked. A tiny flame, licking up and then extinguishing as soon as he left. Extinguished from the Tar blocking it from its needed oxygen. A tender flame without oxygen, only to became a cold ice blockage. Frozen red droplets of blood the only things getting through.

Now, there they sat. Sitting in Oliver's living room, watching some Tv show. Oliver half-Asleep against a smoking François. He looked down, Oliver was now sleeping. His mouth open slightly, the corners up as usual, curled up into a ball and leaning his head on François's shoulder. He sighed, the feelings of wanting to kiss him taking over before he interrupted them

"OI....Oliver wake up." Oliver blinked and sat up, stretching and grinning again.

"Oh..My apologies, I must've dozed off....Well...I'm off to bed, you can sleep in the guest room if you want." He said, cheerfully as always. François nodded, turning the Tv off and trailing behind Oliver. One set of feet, bouncing up the stairs another one just barely shuffling. Oliver got to his room and opened the door before saying,

"Goodnight, François!"

"Night..." The two closed their doors behind them and François put out his cig in the provided ashtray. Oliver hated the fact that he was practically killing himself but understood it was a problem and tried to help him. François plopped onto the bed and looked at the ceiling. He makes me happier...He's The joy in my life....He's like my drug.....his eyes widened as he realized something. I'm in love with two different types of Nicotine.

And that's where it all started.

As soon as Oliver left for work the next morning and François got home he grabbed an old, dusty object form his closet. He winced at the memories it brought but cleaned it off and tuned it. Looking at his old Best Friend he nodded at his work. The dark blue base was once again visible, shiny strings reflecting light from the ceiling, the bridge calling to be held. It was ready. He plugged in the guitar to his Amp and began to strum. Seeing he hadn't played in ten-odd years he was a bit rusty. But by the hour he managed to resume his skills in the instrument.

Hours passed. He clock unheard, as well as the phone. Only the sound of music notes, groans of frustration, and scribbling was heard. He worked into the wee hours of the morning the next day. Where he woke up, Guitar across his chest and surrounded by crumbled up papers and broken pencils. So in all it took him: 199 note book pages, Twenty pencils, uncountable curse words, two packs of cigarettes, and twenty hours to write it. His masterpiece. François looked at the notebook laying across his guitar, on top of his clean bed. He nodded, the familiar flame growing in his heart as he hoped into he shower.

"Bonjour-"

"Oh my butterscotch! I was worried about you! I called you at least twenty times! I was working overtime or I would have come over but still! Friends don't do that to each other, Poppet! I was worried about you! That you had..... Gotten in trouble or something."

François sighed, and looked at his newly cleaned self in the mirror before he replied, "It's my fault. Sorry. Anywhore, can you come over?"

Oliver's grin was felt through the phone as his mood lightened again, "I'll just ignore that- Of course, Poppet! When?"

"Umm  hour?"

"Okay! Cya then!"

"Au Revoir..." François put down the phone and rushed to his apartments kitchen. He grabbed all all the ingredients  for what he had in mind and began to cook. Wish me luck...

An hour later, Oliver arrived. Who, was delighted to see lights on a and the smell of food in the house. François had cleaned up his place, taken away the stains and broken bottles. Fixed the shades and put decorative lighting around.

"This is delightful, François! What's the occasion if I may ask?" Oliver asked, grinning and he place his stuff down having his coat taken by the Frenchman who for once didn't smell like wine and smoke.

"You..." He reached over and placed a tray on the table, "Bon Appetite..." What he revealed was a Marvelous meal of what? The most romantic food on Earth, spaghetti and meatballs. Oliver giggled slightly at his formal ness making the other roll his eyes. François handed him a fork and the two began to eat. What if he doesn't like It? All that shit you wasted?  What if he doesn't love you? Ever think of that, dimwi-

"Thank you, François. This is fantastic!" Oliver interrupted his thoughts. A ghost of a smile hinted in François's smile replied. Oliver immediately ran over and hugged him, "You smiled!" François  his eyes. 

"In your dreams."

"But I saw it!"

"Where's your proof?" The two bickered, making François's nerves and thoughts go silent as he out their dishes in the sink. He led Oliver to the couch and rushed upstairs. Looking in the mirror he took a deep breath, straightening his shirt and clearing his throat before grabbing his guitar/amp and walking downstairs.

"What do you got there, poppet?" Oliver asked, his head tilted in a cutely confused way. François shook his head as he plugged everything in. He looked at Oliver,

"This is what I wanted to show you.....this is what I was doing yesterday..." He took one final breath before music notes filled the air again.

Cross my heart and hope to die
Burn my lungs and curse my eyes
I've lost control and I don't want it back
I'm going numb, I've been hijacked
It's a fucking drag
I taste you on my lips and I can't get rid of you
So I say damn your kiss and the awful things you do
Your worse then Nicotine!
Nicotine!
Yeah your worse then Nicotine!
It's better to burn then to fade away
It's better to leave then to be replaced
I'm losing to you baby, I'm no match
I'm going numb, I've been hijacked
It's a fucking drag
Yeah your worse then Nicotine!
Nicotine!
Your worse then Nicotine!
Just one more hit and we're through
Because you could never love me back
Cut every tie I have to you
Cause your loves a fucking drag
But I need it so bad
Your loves a fucking drag
But I need it so bad....
Because your worst then Nicotine
Nicotine!
Yeah your worse then Nicotine...
Nicotine!
Yeah!

His words trailed off and Oliver's expression shifted, told you he wouldn't like it-

CRASH

Oliver had yanked François down by his collar, crashing his lips into the taller males. François's eyes widened as he realized what happened. He wrapped his arms around Oliver's waist and picked him up, swinging his legs around his waist. Both of them grinned through the kiss as Oliver pulled away. Oliver pecked his nose softly.

"You've always been my Nicotine, Poppet."