The 'FrUk' In 'Fructosis'

The Realization

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"-ey! Hey! Snap out of it, dammit!," Arthur's voice brought him back from his fantasyland. "Jesus, you've just been staring at me with this gross shit-eating grin. What are you even looking at?" his voice trailed off at the end.

"You," Francis said, his mouth faster than his brain. Arthur's wide eyes indicated he had made a grave mistake, so he attempted to rectify it. "I mean, what I meant to say was, well, uhm... I'm not exactly sure, but it wasn't anything bad" he gave up, averting his eyes from the Englishman's.

Arthur felt lightheaded. Francis' response made his face heat up, that much he knew, for he could feel his cheeks on fire. He tried calming himself down by telling himself that it was nothing, that the man opposite to him meant it in a different context, but to no avail. His heart refused to listen as it kept threatening to burst out of his chest.

"Idiot!," he stuttered out. "Seriously, what the hell was that even about?," he steadied his voice, now more in control of himself.

"I don't know, sorry about that," Francis apologised while refusing to meet Arthur's gaze. "How's the food? Do you like it?" his attempt to change the subject was rather obvious.

Arthur was now the one observing the personification of France, who was picking up a sweet pastry and placing it in his mouth, most likely as a way to calm his nerves.

Silence once again fell between them, this one, however, tense and uncomfortable, unlike the one before it. Arthur kept his eyes on Francis. The more he stared, the more he felt himself becoming hypnotized by the very presence of Francis Bonnefoy.

Everything that he admired about the man now somehow seemed to have doubled in its beauty. His hair appeared to be of actual gold, judging by the way it glistened in the morning sun, while the wavy locks delicately framed Francis' handsome face, giving him a sort of divine appearance.

His sapphire eyes were cast downwards, staring at the bamboo flooring, probably contemplating the unbearable atmosphere he'd caused. One of Arthur's biggest secrets was that sapphire blue was his favourite colour, all because of Francis. Despite his hatred of the man, he loved the way his eyes shined in the sun.

Everywhere he went, he'd get reminded of sapphire blue; the sky above him and the surrounding ocean all seemed to conspire against him, being a constant reminder of Francis and his eyes. It was no wonder then that he learned to love blue.

He continued staring at Francis, noticing a new detail every passing second. Somehow, in all of these years of knowing him, Arthur had failed to note how Francis had a tendency to lightly tap his fingers on any surface in his vicinity when he was deep in thought.

He had failed to notice how he'd bite on the bottom of his lip and furrow his thin brows when he was thinking about something.

He had failed to notice how his hair would occasionally fall into his face, obstructing his sight, and how he'd put it back in its place with one quick jerk of his head.

He had failed to take note of so many small details, so many small movements and mannerisms that made Francis who he was. Was he always this inattentive? How many things, both important and insignificant, must've slipped by him during all of those centuries he's lived through?

"Angleterre? You're the one staring now..." Francis' soft chuckle cut short his train of thought. Arthur quickly averted his gaze, his cheeks heating up yet again.

Francis smiled at his guest's antics. Their relationship, although the same on the surface, was now burdened with something else. An emotion that was in no way foreign to Francis, but still, he had never expected it to creep its way between them of all people. They were meant to be rivals - nothing more, nothing less.

He wondered if Arthur could feel it too. He hoped he wasn't the only one whose heart was practically clawing its way out of his chest. However, he could tell that wasn't the case based on the Englishman's nervousness and red cheeks. He still kept his eyes away from Francis', focusing on the view that could be seen through the big window next to him.

Francis prepared himself mentally for what he was about to say and prayed that it'd go over well. It's now or never...

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