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Arthur considered himself a rather patient person. At least, this is what he thought until this current moment.
After spending his week dealing with various mayors, senators, governors, lions tigers and bears, all Arthur had longed for was a nice soft bed and long shower. So, as soon as he returned home he shedded his suit (damp from sweat, eugh) and wobbled his way to the bathroom.
The water pressure in his estate was shit, and water leaked from under the cracks in the shower, but it got him clean and Arthur preferred it to nothing.
He finally stepped under the steam and watched his skin redden under the hot water. This activity enraptured him for quite some time before he began scrubbing his body down with soap, bubbles sliding down his ribs and over his gut, to which he grimaced.
“I need to quit drinking so often,” The man mumbled to himself, averting his eyes in discontent. “It’s all these bloody brunches, dinner parties.. the like..”
After showering Arthur dried himself off, pinched at his stubborn contacts in the mirror, pulled on his robe and set off to his bedroom to sleep.
However this would prove to be a fruitless endeavor.
At some point after dozing off there came a thud outside Arthur’s door. This didn’t stir Arthur just yet, as he settled on just rolling over and assuming it was a raccoon. Then, came the knocks and the indistinguishable murmuring.
Arthur could feel his brow twitching as he rose from his bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes to gaze out into the dark of his bedroom.
There came more knocking, though it was by a light hand. Arthur sighed and rose from bed, grabbing his glasses from his bedside table and fumbling through the darkness to his front door.
“It’s 1:00 in the fucking morning, for Christ’s sake.” Arthur opened with, pulling his door open with slight more force than necessary.
“England!” Came an irritatingly familiar voice, though it was lazy and drawn out more than usual.
There stood- or moreso leaned- France in all his glory. The gall this man has! Arthur thinks to himself. First he torments me all the day, and now at this hour?
“What are you playing at? Huh?” Arthur spat, face pulling into a grimace on instinct.
At this France laughs, much too loud for the time of night it is, and drowsily leans into Arthur’s space.
He reeks of liquor. Arthur acknowledges. All of a sudden, Arthur understands.
“Toutes mes excuses, vieil ami. But I just had to come see you! It’s been far-“ France hiccups “-too long, hm?”
“It’s been only a few months since the last world meeting! Not long enough for this foolishness.” Arthur bites, huffing and adjusting his glasses. Francis tracks the movement with quiet eyes, Arthur pretends not to notice.
“Besides, you’re drunk! How did you- how did you even manage to get here? I could’ve been out of town!”
All of a sudden Arthur feels a heavy weight on his shoulder and hair tickling his cheek. Francis had all but completely collapsed into Arthur, his tall frame making it a rather awkward position with his back bent and legs falling out behind him.
It is purely instinct that Arthur catches him before he eats shit. Francis only presses his nose further into his neck, making a dramatic inhale and pulling Arthur in by his robe as if to try and breathe him in.
Why is he.. Arthur froze up despite himself. Him and Francis had few intimate moments together outside of their never ending bickering, and still Arthur would never get used to them, still a small coil would form in his stomach.
“Tu m'as manqué, tu m'as tellement manqué. Il fallait que je vienne te voir.” Francis mumbled softly into Arthur’s ear, like the evil temptist he was.
Arthur knew few words in French, and he didn’t like what words he recognized in France’s sweet whispers.
“France..” Arthur paused, assessed, and then sighed. “Francis. You’re being quite a nuisance as always.”
Francis could handle his liquor. This was something Arthur knew well, as he would often have to carry the brit home back in the days where Arthur would drink and party himself senseless. So seeing the other man stumbling in such a way made unwanted worry curl in Arthur’s stomach.
Clumsily, Arthur brought the man inside and shut the door behind them both. He sat Francis upon his living room couch, which was more decorative than for genuine comfort, and went to fetch him some water.
Francis had changed quite a bit. Not in big ways, but enough that it brought a bit of shock to Arthur. Had it really been that long?
Francis’ hair was still long, but he had gotten a trim. Stubble dusted his cheeks and there was an almost permanent crease between his eyebrows where usually smooth skin lay. Arthur even thought his eyes may have changed hues.
The last meeting, Arthur hadn’t barely spoke to the man. Usually their bickering could fill a hall, but as of recently there were other conflicts too great for petty disputes.
Every country had walked a little slower the past few years. Each gaze growing more and more tired and cold.
So when Arthur went almost the whole day without speaking to the other man, it hadn’t crossed his mind really.
Really, it hadn’t.
“Here you go, frog.” Arthur muttered, tapping Francis’ face to wake him from his doze. When Francis’ eyes focused in on Arthur, a small smile grew on the frenchman’s lips. Arthur glared in return. “Drink up, then.”
However Francis’ hands were sluggish and loose on the cup, so Arthur tilted his chin and held it for him, Francis’ beard scratching against his fingers.
Once Francis had nearly finished the glass he pulled away, lips still parted and damp.
Arthur did not look at them.
“All done?” Arthur hummed in satisfaction, setting the cup down on the coffee table and sitting himself down across from Francis. “Now, what’s your business being here so early in the morning you prick?”
Arthur knew Francis must be much too drunk too answer, but there was no harm in prodding the man that stole his sleep so rudely. Even though said man was intoxicated.
Francis mulled it over, looking around Arthur’s living room with lazy eyes, a smirk playing on his face.
“I- I do believe I’ve told you already, Arthur.” Francis giggled, giggled, and slumped back into the uncomfortable decor couch. “I missed you- I mean, you’re my bestest friend!”
The room falls silent as Francis laughs and whispers to himself. Arthur sits with his hands clutching the arms of his chair with a far off expression on his face.
“..We- we aren’t best friends, you frog.” Arthur weakly retorts. Because in his head the two words repeat in his head as if his skull were an echo chamber.
Best friends. What a joke! They barely spoke anymore outside of arguing, Arthur barely thought of him anymore. Besides, Francis was..
Francis was an odd one.
“Ah, Arthur.. Arthur, you wound me.” Francis smiles. But Arthur can see it doesn’t reach his tired eyes. In fact, his whole face seems exhausted.
How long had Francis been drunkenly wandering England? It couldn’t have been an easy feat.
Francis squirms in his seat and eventually must grow tired of sitting, stretching his long legs over the span of the couch and rubbing his face into the low-quality cushions.
There’s a rosie flush to the man’s face that spreads from ear to ear, and covers the strong bridge of his nose as well. It makes Francis appear sick, and rather darling. Even Arthur can admit that to himself.
“What I meant to ask was, why are you in England?” Arthur asks, his voice much softer than the beginning of the night. It must just be the sleep deprivation.
Francis looks at Arthur through heavy eyes and shrugs.
“I was drunk.. am drunk.. and I- I just can’t describe it.” Francis inhales deeply through his nose and his shoulders rise with the movement. “I felt a need, no- a pull in my chest, mon désir, and I needed to see your ugly mug.”
“How flattering.” Arthur replied dryly. Though his heart felt like lead in his chest and his mouth was dry.
There was an expression that crossed Francis’ face Arthur thought was similar to panic. A somber, quick expression.
The room fell silent. Francis’ eyes trained on Arthur’s face like a heat-seeking missile. Arthur averted his own at first, but found himself breaking and staring back. A laugh broke out from Francis.
“What?” Arthur frowned. Francis kept laughing, and laughing, and then his eyes grew shiny and tears began rolling down his model face.
Arthur felt frozen. He watched as Francis curled into himself and buried his head into his hands with quiet, breathy sobs that could’ve been mistaken for hiccups. It was all so bizarre, how fast it occurred.
Arthur had almost forgotten that Francis could cry. Had forgotten what it looked like on his face.
Then it got worse, and Francis began talking. And Arthur just sunk more into his seat. Shackled to the floor.
“I miss you, hic, Arthur, I miss you.” Francis choked out into his palms. “I wish w’were one.. misd you..”
Shut up. Arthur wanted to say. Stop talking. Leave me alone.
Arthur said nothing at all, and instead stood from his chair, gathered up his robe, and walked back to his bedroom.
Francis cried all through the night. Arthur still did not sleep.