2p!France X Male Reader

Disbelief

The heavy smell of second-hand smoke hung in the air. It always did in Francois' room. You didn't even know why you went in there in the first place. Usually you stuck to your room if you weren't hanging around any of the three guys that weren't Francois. You avoided him as much as you could, in fact. You hated Francois. You hated him with a passion. His unwashed, ratted hair. His constant 5'o'clock. It turned you on. He was making your life hell. His horrible posture, the excessive bags under his eyes. His violet coloured eyes. They were gorgeous. The way he just left his cigarette butts strewn about, not to mention he constantly has one of those awful cancer-sticks lit up and hanging between his lips. His soft looking lips... You hated it. You hated him. He was a disgusting excuse for a human being. He smelled like cigarettes, sex, and depression on a daily basis. This was all you could think about. You shouldn't think about him so much in the first place. You just didn't want to face the fact that you were practically a love-sick puppy. The way you would melt around him. How you would crave his attention. How you would downright fantasise about him. It was disgusting.

You stepped farther into the room. He wasn't even home. Good. Knowing him he probably would have killed you for being in his room without permission. You brushed your hand against his duvet, wondering when the last time he washed it was. His bed was unmade. You grit your teeth, ripping the blankets and the sheets from the mattress. You don't know why you were doing this. The French bastard had never done shit for you. You gathered it all together in your arms. Your moment was short-lived however, and you nearly dropped everything when a voice interrupted you. You knew that rotten monotone voice. Of course you knew it. Along with that trashy French accent. It was probably fake too. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

None other then Francois. You turned on your heel. Your face was red out of anger and embarrassment, ad the obvious. "The hell do you think I'm doing?" You sneered in reply. "Stealing my shit." He replied bluntly, stepping closer in a menacing manner. "Where's your trampoline, 'cause you seem to be jumping to conclusions pretty fast." You replied, tossing the sheets back onto his bed. His eyebrows furrowed. "What the fuck was I supposed to think? Oh you have my stuff, whilst being in my room without permission, so you're obviously baking fucking cupcakes right?"

You were quiet for a moment, scoffing. "Fine. You have a point. I was gonna wash your sheets. They smell like sex." You finally said, crossing your arms. Internally you were cringing at everything you said. As if he didn't already hate you, he would certainly hate you now. Of course, why the hell did you care whether he hated you or not? "Bullshit. They always smell like sex. Why do you even care?" Why did you care? You shut up for a second, before walking out of the room, leaving the Frenchman to watch you leave.

You sat on your bed. You were in denial over this whole thing. Maybe... Maybe you should just come to terms with the fact that you like him? Now that you thought about it... Maybe you liked him for a lot longer then you would let yourself let on... "Fucking hell..." You muttered, punching another hole into your wall. You were more or less a very angry person. You took a deep breath. "Maybe I should just tell him...?" You thought aloud. No. No that would be stupid. He wouldn't reciprocate. After all the shit you did to him. Does he even feel love? Francois seemed to be consistent with claiming he didn't care about love. You stood up. "Who cares. Even if he doesn't feel the same, it's not like he can hate me anymore then he already does. At least I'll have it off my chest..." You mumbled to yourself, taking a breath before leaving the room to face the Frenchman.