La Tristesse

Chapter 6

It was good to feel something other than grief, even if it was frustration. As Arthur stormed off, he finished off his cigarette with a long, angry inhale. Why did it have to be England? He even trusted Spain over that bushy-browed warlock. It was hard to tell what sort of blackmail he'd have to endure.
Wandering into his kitchen he pulled a hunk of cheese from the refrigerator and a knife from the drawer. Was hiding even worth it? Everyone already thought he was a pansy. Did it really matter if everyone knew? It was a personal issue to be sure, but if Arthur was going to use it against him-
No. It didn't matter whether Arthur ran his spell-spouter or not. Mattie knew. Gilbert knew. His secret was out. Well, at least one of them, the one that would surely cover up for the other. That was a relief, at least. Still, a sense of shame and failure still lingered on the outskirts of his resolve, waiting to fill the cracks should his mentality begin to shatter again.
God, he was everywhere. He didn't know how to feel. Again, he just wanted to sleep. It wasn't a good idea, hell, it was hardly an idea at all. It was more an urge that his body followed before a coherent thought could even form. Throwing one arm across the table he rested his head atop it. His eyes closed without struggle and for a moment he lay awake, his thoughts filled with fuzzy memories of arms around him and sweet French spoken in a lilting brogue.
Wait. His consciousness stirred. Wait. Wait. He pushed off the table his eyes only half-open. Mon Dieu. Arthur had stayed the night. His heart sped up and he staggered drowsily back to his bedroom, memories surfacing along the way. England had been in his room. That dream- could it have been real?
Surely not. Arthur didn't have a sweet bone in his body. There was no way he'd ever hold him like that, ever comfort him. He was just confused. All of these delusions, these feelings could be blamed on his muddled state of mind.
  Arthur's soft words whispered in his soul, both a comfort and a taunt. "Est-ce mieux, grenuoille?"
No. It wasn't better. As much as he wanted those arms around him, those hands on him, it wasn't better. Forgiveness was hard to find when their bodies were the battlefield. Even if there was a sliver of want, the faintest shadow of love laying between them it stood no chance against the great running rivers of blood that did the same.
      The front door crashed open.
       "Oi, Francy-pants!" Prussia bellowed like a battle -cry. "I hope jou're wearing clothes zis time! Mien thoughtful birdie sent ze awesome me to pick jou up so let's go!"
        He'd never been so thankful for Prussia's ego in his life. Gilbert was distraction at it's finest. "Oui, oui, I'm coming." He called, pulling on his favorite pair of boots and dabbing on a bit of his favorite cologne. "Did you break ze door, mon cher?"
        "Nein. Just ze wall behind it."

***
Where am I going with this? 😭 Fluff? Lemon? It's a mystery.