“I believe you must.” France crossed his arms over his chest.
“Okay then. Here goes something you really don’t know.” he sighed, “I started liking someone a long time ago.”
France raised an eyebrow. He knew England was talking about America, but he wondered if he should tell England so. He decided to pretend not to know.
“But I’m not really good at understanding my own emotions, so I understood I loved him only later.”
“When exactly?” France asked, curious. It was something he wanted to know since forever. When exactly had England understood that he had a crush on America?
“In the Second War.” England said, sure of himself. France nodded. He thought England had loved America way back, but the fact that England realized only in the Second War surprised him.
“Why?” he asked.
“I thought I had lost him.” England said, his voice breaking a little. England cleared his throat, trying to disguise the sudden emotion. Nevertheless it didn’t work, because, as France looked over at England, he immediately noticed the way the island’s lips still trembled slightly, and he knew that, even after all this years, whatever had happened still affected him deeply. France tried to imagine what had happened to America that had terrified England so much. He could think about a couple of things, but he didn’t really want to ask.
“Anyway…” England said, sighing, “I decided to ignore my feelings, of course. But now I can’t anymore, because I feel like I fell in love with this guy once again.”
“Ah…” France felt his hands shake, so he hid them under his armpits. England kept talking:
“I was so angry when I realized I did. I was upset. I felt… I felt…” England ran a hand through his hair once more, and looked outside at the thick rain. “I was angry.” He repeated. “But when I saw how much this person is trying to win me over, how he is trying to make me happy, forgetting his own happiness in the meantime… well… I can’t ignore something as big as that…”
France stared at the back of England’s neck. He was confused. Who was England referring to now? America or France? It was France that had been trying to win England over all this time.
‘But I’m America now’. France thought then, and something churned inside him. He was America. England thought he was America, that it was America that was trying to win England over. England had fallen in love with America.
“That’s all I had to say.” England said then, turning back to France and smiled at him. “Do you understand?”
“I think I do.” France said, and England smiled. France thought he was blushing too, and he knew that he had said the right thing, because if he hadn’t, England would have sure smacked his face against the window, for letting him open up like that. There was a long moment of silence, in which England seemed torn between embarrassment, happiness and just a little bit of anger. Minutes passed, the rain slowly became lighter, and France suddenly realized that they had to eat since morning.
“Do you know if there’s a restaurant around here, or something?” he asked, knowing fully well how inappropriate such a question sounded right then. He supposed that America would have asked the same thing, so he didn’t really dwell on it much longer.
“Yes, there is a nice and cheap one twenty minutes from here.” England answered, after getting over his first shock. They finally left the deserted country road, and returned back to the main one. Twenty minutes later they were before the restaurant, exactly as England had said.
“Let’s go, then!” France said, as the prospect of food put him in a relatively good mood. He got off the car, and went to open England’s door. England stared shocked at the hand France was offering him, and then pouted.
Love me the "American" way [8b/?]
“Okay then. Here goes something you really don’t know.” he sighed, “I started liking someone a long time ago.”
France raised an eyebrow. He knew England was talking about America, but he wondered if he should tell England so. He decided to pretend not to know.
“But I’m not really good at understanding my own emotions, so I understood I loved him only later.”
“When exactly?” France asked, curious. It was something he wanted to know since forever. When exactly had England understood that he had a crush on America?
“In the Second War.” England said, sure of himself. France nodded. He thought England had loved America way back, but the fact that England realized only in the Second War surprised him.
“Why?” he asked.
“I thought I had lost him.” England said, his voice breaking a little. England cleared his throat, trying to disguise the sudden emotion. Nevertheless it didn’t work, because, as France looked over at England, he immediately noticed the way the island’s lips still trembled slightly, and he knew that, even after all this years, whatever had happened still affected him deeply. France tried to imagine what had happened to America that had terrified England so much. He could think about a couple of things, but he didn’t really want to ask.
“Anyway…” England said, sighing, “I decided to ignore my feelings, of course. But now I can’t anymore, because I feel like I fell in love with this guy once again.”
“Ah…” France felt his hands shake, so he hid them under his armpits. England kept talking:
“I was so angry when I realized I did. I was upset. I felt… I felt…” England ran a hand through his hair once more, and looked outside at the thick rain. “I was angry.” He repeated. “But when I saw how much this person is trying to win me over, how he is trying to make me happy, forgetting his own happiness in the meantime… well… I can’t ignore something as big as that…”
France stared at the back of England’s neck. He was confused. Who was England referring to now? America or France? It was France that had been trying to win England over all this time.
‘But I’m America now’. France thought then, and something churned inside him. He was America. England thought he was America, that it was America that was trying to win England over. England had fallen in love with America.
“That’s all I had to say.” England said then, turning back to France and smiled at him. “Do you understand?”
“I think I do.” France said, and England smiled. France thought he was blushing too, and he knew that he had said the right thing, because if he hadn’t, England would have sure smacked his face against the window, for letting him open up like that. There was a long moment of silence, in which England seemed torn between embarrassment, happiness and just a little bit of anger. Minutes passed, the rain slowly became lighter, and France suddenly realized that they had to eat since morning.
“Do you know if there’s a restaurant around here, or something?” he asked, knowing fully well how inappropriate such a question sounded right then. He supposed that America would have asked the same thing, so he didn’t really dwell on it much longer.
“Yes, there is a nice and cheap one twenty minutes from here.” England answered, after getting over his first shock. They finally left the deserted country road, and returned back to the main one. Twenty minutes later they were before the restaurant, exactly as England had said.
“Let’s go, then!” France said, as the prospect of food put him in a relatively good mood. He got off the car, and went to open England’s door. England stared shocked at the hand France was offering him, and then pouted.