Lost Letters (Hetalia: FrUk)

4. Well, not exactly

"Where is it?" England overturned another stack of papers. "Dammit, where did it go?" He pulled his desk forward and check in the back. Aside from a bit of dust missed from cleaning, and a pen that had rolled back at some point, there was nothing there.

He fell back on his haunches, defeat baring down on him. He ran a shaking hand back through his hair, and a small half chuckle left his mouth.

"Gone. It's gone." His breathing became short.

"What's wrong with England?" A fairy whispered.

"He noticed the scroll."

"What about it?"

"It's gone, duh!"

"Oh, well should we-"

"No way!"

"Let's just sneak out veeery slow-"

"Wait," England said firmly as he stood up and turned to where the small gathering of fairies; who had frozen mid-escape. "Would any of you happen to know where the scroll went?" They all continued to hover, but remained silent. "Anyone?"

One fairy looked away.

"Where is the scroll?" He crossed his arms. One second passed before one fairy spoke out.

"We gave it to France!"

"Everyone fly away!" They all listened to the random fairy and flew from the room. Arthur wouldn't have done anything though; he wasn't even able to move. He was paralyzed by this news.

"....France.... has it....?" He fell to his knees once more.

He should have burned it.

~

France'sPov

~

Meanwhile, the French Nation England currently feared for so much was sitting at his kitchen table, the scroll laying open before him; the old parchment from the past a stark contrast to the modern style of the kitchen.

How old was this letter?

Did Arthur still feel this way?

"Well, he did deliver it," He ran his hand back through his hair with a nervous chuckle. "I don't know what to do." He had no idea how to proceed next. Of course, his first instinct had been to chuck this whole thing aside as a very cruel prank, but after realizing this was something written out centuries ago, he knew it was not. But then, what should he do? He had always thought his friendship with the prickly Englishman had been built on their mutual hate for each other. Well, he assumed England hated him, but he hadn't felt the same.

He loved England. He loved Arthur.

But, then the question stood: If this was written so very long ago, were the feelings still there?

"You already answered that," He sighed. He had to still feel that way. He delivered the scroll. But...

Why was this stressing him so much? Hadn't he done this a thousand times before? Should it be so complicated to go to Arthur and tell him he feels the same? He never had this problem with-

"Maybe I should just call?" He was definitely not acting like himself. He wasn't supposed to be this nervous. Wasn't he the Country of Love? Yes.... Then why wasn't he acting like it.

"All this stress isn't good for my looks." Maybe he should wait a few days. After deciding on that after a long time of uncharacteristically second-guessing his thoughts, he decided to go for a walk.

"Maybe the lovely ladies of this city can help me clear y mind!" He said happily, but his heart wasn't behind his words.

He went out for a walk, his intentions to, in fact, find a lovely young woman tp grace his company with, but soon found himself on the other side of town. And he was standing in front of a very familiar house.

He stared up at the small manor, at the window of England's bedroom, and contemplated what his next actions would be. He almost turned around to leave, his worries implanting themselves in his mind, but in the end, his heart overcame his mind, and he walked to his British friends front door, determined.

~

England's Pov

~

Terrified. That's how the the great United Kingdom, once ruler of the seas and much of the world, felt the instant the doorbell rang. He knew who it was, of course, as no one ever came to visit him.

He was currently in the kitchen, making lunch for himself, but he haphazardly through the dough in his hands on the counter and stripped himself of his flour covered apron before darting out of the way of any window visibility.

"Is it France?" He whispered. A fairy overheard him, and dart to the main hall to look out the peephole.

"Yes!" She said as she flew back into the room.

"Bloody hell," He whispered as he slipped into the bathroom to be alone.

"I'll just pretend I'm not home and wait until he leaves," He nodded his head, "yes, that's perfect." Except, it wasn't.

"Angleterre, I know you are home!" He heard France call, "I can smell the smoke coming from your stove!"

Englamd scrambled from the bathroom and ran into the kitchen, having completely forgotten about the scones in the oven. Without thinking he opened the oven door and grabbed the metal tray of pastries from inside, letting out a less than dignified shout as the metal seared his skin, inevitably, causing him to drop the scones to the floor.

"England?" He heard his name called again, "Arthur, are you alright?" He cursed and turned on he cold water as his skin bled. Fucking metal had seared the skin open!

"I'm coming in!" He heard keys jiggle in the lock of his front door.

He had given France a set of keys only because he was in London for a month, and his boss thought it would be better for them to get along if they had, how she put it, "access" to one another. And now, he silently cursed her for that. He threw open the window with his uninjured hand to try and air out some of the smoke, but it didn't really help.

The front door opened, and the footsteps of the unwelcome intruder came straight for the kitchen.

"Mon dieu! What happened in here?" He yelped as he walked into the messy kitchen. Flour had splattered earlier when he threw a roll of dough down accidently into the container, his apron was thrown on the floor, his pan of scones lay scattered across the floo, the air was filled with black smoke, and he was bleeding rather profusely into the sink.

"I was just.... cooking."

"I can tell."