The 'FrUk' In 'Fructosis'

The Acceptance II

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Once Arthur had closed the door, Francis turned around and began walking away, softly humming Edith Piaf's "La Vie en Rose". He often found himself humming that infamous melody, particularly when his invitation for a date had been accepted.

But this wasn't a date he was about to have. Arthur was his rival, that much he knew. And yet, his heart seemed to be his ignoring his common sense as it continued humming that romantic tune.

He unlocked the door to his room and went inside. He looked around and decided he had to make his room look spotless. It wasn't because he wanted to impress Arthur, far from that. Instead, he had to ensure his rival couldn't badmouth him to the other nations for having an untidy room.

Indeed, that must've been his reasoning behind it. He put away any dirty dishes he had lying around since breakfast, threw away wrappers and papers that were left lying about and neatly folded his silk pyjamas before placing them under his sateen pillow.

He also made sure he himself looked his best. He brushed his hair once more and put on some cologne. He had to outdo his rival, it's as simple as that.

A light knock was heard on his door. Francis rushed to open it and smiled delightedly at his guest. He noticed Arthur's nervousness and reluctance to make eye contact, as well as his sweaty hands which he attempted to wipe off his pants. Although most weren't aware, Francis was very observant and had an eye for detail.

"Welcome, Angleterre," said Francis in a gentle tone. He moved to the side and gestured with his hand for Arthur to enter. "Come in, the food's getting cold."

Arthur nodded and stepped inside, silently admiring how clean the Frenchman's room was. It didn't exactly surprise him, considering that he already viewed Francis as a clean, organized person, at least in terms of decor.

His gaze then landed on the trolley with food and the hunger he felt before returned, causing his stomach to growl once again. The Englishman groaned at his own body betraying him, which in turn made Francis laugh.

"I see you're pretty hungry. That's OK, feel free to eat as much as you like," Francis smiled and gestured towards a chair that stood next to the trolley.

Arthur raised one of his bushy eyebrows at this comment and sat down. "You won't be joining me?"

"Non, I already ate. But I will keep you company so we can talk while you eat." Francis pulled out another chair that was opposite to the one Arthur was occupying and sat down. The two were now facing each other.

The Brit carefully picked up a pastry from the trolley and took a bite. The food was truly exquisite, and it made Arthur's starving body crave more. He then picked up another pastry, and another, and another...

While he ate, he could feel Francis' sapphire blue eyes silently staring at him, but he refused to meet his gaze. If he had, maybe he would've noticed the gentle smile the other man had, or the way Francis' left hand was cupping his face as it rested on the palm of his hand.

To say that the French representative was mesmerized by his guest would be an understatement. He himself wasn't quite sure why exactly, but this whole situation seemed so new to him. He had known Arthur since they were infants, he had dined with him countless times and yet, this experience made him feel like this was the first time he'd met the Englishman.

It most likely had to do with this being the first time they had shared a meal alone. Somehow, this had only occurred to Francis now, and it made him wonder if Arthur was aware of this fact.

He resumed looking at the Brit, all the while feeling like he was staring at a stunning piece of art at a museum. For seemingly the first time, he noticed how captivating his eyes were - emerald. Even though the Englishman refused to make eye contact and preferred instead to focus on his food, Francis noted how his eyes shined in the sunlight that sneaked its way through the window, their glow comparable to the gemstone they resembled.

He took note of how his messy blond hair appeared gold when exposed to the sun's rays. How it fell perfectly on his face, just narrowingly avoiding obstructing his vision. He also noticed how it fit Arthur flawlessly; no matter how much the Brit brushed it, it still remained looking unkempt, much like how Arthur himself would always be a delinquent at heart, regardless of how much he tried to play gentleman.

"-ey! Hey! Snap out of it, dammit!"

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚