Hetalia Oneshots

France - Convinced

Song: Indila - Dernière Danse

I stepped into the dimly lit room. The company's fifty year anniversary party was in full swing and I was alone.

Don't get me wrong now. I'm an extremely sociable person and I have a huge circle of friends. It's just that today... I suddenly felt lonely.

I grabbed a glass of wine and fiddled with my cravat. For the first time, I seemed to notice that a young lady was singing to entertain the nearly drunken crowd.

Je remue el ciel, le jour, la nuit
Je danse avec le vent, la pluie
Un peu d'amour, un brine de miel
Et je danse, danse, danse, danse, danse, danse, danse

Her voice was beautiful and gentle yet packed with emotion. She sung as if she was going through some sort of agony. The song, no doubt, was equally as sad.

Why would she want to sing a sad song on this happy occasion? Did she need a place to vent her feelings?

With these questions in my mind, I stood on my toes, trying to see the stage from where I was. I couldn't see who the singer was.

Et dans le bruit, je cours et j'ai peur
Est ce mon tour?
Vient la douleur
Dans tout Paris, je m'abandonne
Et j'envole, vole, vole, vole, vole.

The voice was familiar, and it was beckoning me. Where have I heard it before?

I made my way towards the stage, but unfortunately I was caught by one of my colleagues. He was quite the talkative one. I couldn't get a chance to move. Thanks to that, I lost the singer.

By the time the stage was taken by the CEO, she had already gone. All I saw was the flutter of her red dress after she had gone backstage.

I excused myself and told my colleague that I needed the washroom; I snuck backstage in search of the lady. The half drunk glass of wine which was in my hand was abandoned at the table. Wine was not important now; a rendezvous with this lady was.

When I reached backstage, its silence was broken by the outbreak of a soft, pained voice, still singing in French, my beloved native language.

Que d'espérance...

She sang with grit in her voice, and I searched the whole place, listening carefully to her voice, which wafted like a ghost above me in this silent place. The voice of my boss seemed to be drowned out in the beauty of her voice.

Oh, who could she be?

Sur ce chemin en ton absence...
J'ai beau trimer, sans toi ma vie n'est qu'un décor qui brille, vide de sens

I turned to a corner and I felt her voice sound louder. I heaved a sigh, feeling satisfied that I was closer to finding out who it was.

I didn't even need to go even a step further because she was right in front of me, still singing that painful song.

"____, is that you?" I asked, not paying attention to my words.

"What if it was me?" she responded.