Blood Red Roses [Hetalia FrUk]

Day Four-Afternoon-Plans

Arthur quickly dressed in his usual, beige slacks, grey suit coat, white dress shirt and a black tie. He laced up his perfectly polished shoes. even though the meeting was cancelled today, he still wanted to look his best. There was a reason why.

The brit walked down to Francis's hotel room. Knocked softly. "Frog..?" He asked softly through the door. The Frenchman opened the door and smiled.

"Bonjour, Arthur. Good morning," he greeted him. Arthur straightened his tie, tugging nervously at his collar.

"H-hello, frog. I...a few days ago, when I ran from you in the rose field, I...I got a rose. And...I love the rose. Very much. It reminds me of you and makes me smile. I was wondering...if...you have any more roses...?"

Francis smiled warmly. "Oui, I have more roses, Arthur," he put a hand on Arthur's shoulder, and led the brit downstairs and out the back doors of the hotel, to the rose garden where they'd argued just a few days prior. Francis picked three more roses for Arthur. "Careful of the thorns. You already cut yourself once," Francis said, his back to Arthur as he tied the bouquet.

"How do you know that?" Arthur snapped in reply. His thumb wasn't swollen anymore. Suddenly it hit him. "You perverted Frog! You spied on me! You saw me find the rose, you saw me put it in the vase! Bloody hell, I'll report you! Stalker! You--"

He was cut off by Francis. "Hush, Arthur. You are a good detective, I'll say that." He chuckled. "Yes, I know everything. You are deep in denial of love. You've tricked yourself into thinking you're better off alone." Francis handed the bouquet of roses to Arthur. The brit was astonished. These roses were beautiful. But still not as beautiful as the first rose. Nothing compared to that.

"I was w-wondering, frog..." Arthur treaded carefully. Francis was a pervert. A beautiful one at that. "W-would you like to see the first rose? It's in this beautiful, pristine crystal vase and...and..."

"Oui, Arthur. I would like to see the rose." Francis whispered in Arthur's ear, and the brit realized for the first time how close the two were standing. Francis' lips brushed past the tip of Arthur's ear, and with that, Francis was gone. Arthur was left standing, in the middle of the rose field, face burning hotter than Alfred's summer barbecues.

He couldn't wait for Francis to see the rose.