From Nothing (Hetalia fanfic, FrUK)

Chapter 6

 Despite my current perceptively severed state, I could tell that, although Francis tried covering it up, he was certainly frustrated. It's not like you can expect to just chant gibberish over an artistic pentacle and hope what you want will pop up. There's certain elements and rituals.

“Why would the color of the candles even matter to the purpose of the spell?” he asked, squinting at the small text in the book he was attempting to consult from.

“It strengthens the potency of the spell,” I explained, already exasperated from this day's antics, which so far proved fruitless. “It's the inner spirituality in a physical form. Like, purple works best for spells involving creativity or spirituality, while blue is better suited to healing and communication.”

A flash of what I remembered Francis' anger to look like passed quickly, as he took a deep breath and said as calmly as he could, “I can't claim to completely understanding why you're into this.”

“I don't see why you drink wine as much as you do, but I can't claim to never having enjoyed it,” I said, trying to establish some sort of non-offensive connection and encourage him to try harder. “The first bit is the hardest. It's a lot to memorize. Take your time.”

“It's incredibly boring,” Francis said, losing all insight as to who he was talking to. A tiny flame of anger flared up in my chest, watered-down as Italian tea. Rather than say something about it, I chose to open a book, trying to look full of purpose, and flipped through the pages.

My attention was brought back to Francis as, even though I wasn't looking directly at him, I could see a tiny glare that indicated a very bad idea had presented itself to him in the guise of a good idea. I braced myself for the coming horror.

“Maybe wine will help with your emotion problem,” he said, a glint in his eye which caused small boys and sometimes grown men to run away, quick as they pleased.

“Are you suggesting I get drunk?” I asked. “With you? Do I look like the most keen potential rape victim?”

“It's not rape if you like it,” he said with a terrifying grin that rivaled his eye glint. This warranted a good beating, but as I was too far away, I threw a book—of an impressive weight, might I add—in the direction of his head. He dodged it by a centimeter or two...damn agile bastard.

“Besides, I thought you hated me when I got drunk,” I said. It was very true that anyone that had been around me while I was in an ungentlemanly drunk state of mind had agreed that it was something that should be against the laws of the universe.

I still have yet to figure out if I'm Protestant or Catholic.

“Well, if all else fails, I can always roofie you,” Francis reasoned, and I had to agree that it would be an effective termination to my drunk ramblings, if somewhat undesirable.

Wait a minute. “Why the bloody hell are you in possession of roofies, frog?!” The nickname I had given him so long ago slipped out so naturally, yet I couldn't remember the last time I'd called him that. Maybe it could be chalked up to some sort of improvement..?

Unlike his previous smile, this one was warm and old, but old in a good way, like a nostalgic picture that brings back rushes of joy-filled memories. Happy, but a little sad, too. “You haven't called me that in a very long time,” he whispered, confirming my silent assumptions.

Nostalgic smiles are not generally everyday occurrences, so I had to guess that this was a “tender” moment, although somewhere deep down, I suppose I already sensed it. Knowing was only part of the recovery, though. The next part would be even more difficult; responding appropriately.

I just didn't know how. I had depended on knowing before; if I can't have proper emotions, I may as well have knowledge, correct? In a way, I retained that dependance, and it was frustrating to have nothing left to lean on, like being on the very edge of a cliff blindfolded. Fall one way, you'll land on solid ground, and be safe. Fall the other way, you lapse ever downward till you're just a blood stain at the base.

So, I tried copying his smile. It was a small smile, but I supposed it was better than staring blankly. He seemed to think so too as he gestured towards the kitchen. “I could go for some wine. What about you?”