Arthur sat curled in the crook of the sofa wearing Francis' too big lounge pants and an J'aime Paris t-shirt. All his clothing had been sullied to the point of needing washed. So, now he was waiting. Waiting for the kettle to cry, waiting for his clothes to dry, and bloody still waiting for a Valentine's Day epiphany. It was true Francis wouldn't care what he got him, but he did, damn it. He wanted it to be special. That fact alone was enough to blacken his mood. He didn't know what to do with all these feelings and he was forever stuck on the thought that France could dissolve at any moment, that war would break out and this would all end. It haunted him, plagued him more with each uneventful day. He wanted this Valentine's Day to be memorable, something Francis would remember even if someday he was shoving a blade through his chest. His stomach sank and he was thankful for the rush of cold air that the Frenchman let in as he entered from the veranda after a smoke. "Onhonhon~ mon cher, it's cold out zere!" He called with a grin, the look in his blue eyes jovial. Arthur knew it was a threat, however. "Don't you bloody dare." He hissed as his lover crossed the distance between them as gracefully as a cat but not half as benign. "Warm me up, Arthur." Francis snickered, jumping onto the sofa and forcing his cold hands up his shirt. "Bloody-" Squirm as he may he could not escape. "Ah- Francis Bonnefoy I will- damn it! Frog!" Hands warmed and ego satisfied, the other man pulled away and collapsed against the opposite arm with the a sigh, his socked feet wiggling over to nestle beneath his bum. They were chilled but no where near as obnoxiously icy as his fingers had been, so he didn't raise protest. "Let's take a nap." The older nation yawned, his head lulling backwards, the sweep of his golden hair catching the light and his stubble taking on a ginger hue. "I want to cuddle." "Absolutely not" "Come on, where's ze harm?" "It's never just cuddling." He sighed, grateful for the kettle's shrill wail. As much as he enjoyed it, he didn't need to be laid again today. Then again, he did get to top this time... "I'll get it, mon amour." Francis declared as he made to rise. He'd never thought he'd let a Frenchman make his tea, yet he returned to his comfortable cushion, watched as Francis unfolded long legs and went to do just that. How utterly absurd his life has become. A smile touched his lips. He wanted to stay like this, to remain happy forever, to never feel the sting of betrayal or the ache of loss. But that was an impossible desire. All his demons awoke as the stark reality rallied his apprehension. Why couldn't he shake this anxiety? Francis didn't seem at all concerned. But then, he was an expert at faking. "Angleterre?" "Uh-" He hadn't noticed his lover's return, until the steam from his tea was wafted beneath his nose. "Sorry. Thanks." Blue eyes looked down at him scrupulously as he accepted the saucer. "Êtes-vous malade?" Francis inquired softly, reaching out to push unruly hair from his face. Arthur allowed the tenderness, but only because he was desperately trying to learn how to lower his defenses. "I'm fine." "Tu ment." "Why would I be lying? If I have a problem I just say so, unlike some people." Turning his attention to his drink, he avoided whatever expression his words had caused his partner to don. He imagined it though: a slight frown, a touch of temper in his cheeks only mollified by the concern swimming in his irises. All in all a rather depressing look. He did not glance up to confirm. Unfortunately, Francis wasn't having any of that. The man squatted in front of him and slid his long arms around his waist. He was lucky that Arthur had a gentleman's good balance or else he'd have had a headful of hot tea. As Francis rested a cheek on his thigh, he conceded. He could do little more. He was already feeling badly and the man was ridiculously plush and warm. "Fine. Let me finish my tea and then we can cuddle." "Je veux youbto passer la nuit avec moi ce soir." "Stay the night?" "Oui." "Well," He hadn't done anything for Valentine's Day yet. There was no way he could stay. "I have a few things to do." "S'il vous plaît." "No. I can't." "Pour la Saint Valentin?" "That's what you want for Valentine's Day? A sleepover?" That wouldn't make much of a memory but how could he say no? He'd just have to find some way to make it more special than usual. His anxiety spiked at the thought of his new limitations. "Fine." To ease his worries and to sooth his lover, he set aside his tea and gently stroked Francis' soft hair. The other nation folded his legs beneath him, settling into a more comfortable position. With a contented exhale the Frenchman closed his eyes. "Merci, Arthur." "Mon plaisir."
**** Ugh, really excited for this next part. Of course this has turned out to be something far from my original intention. Oh well.
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