Exotic Butters(Hetalia High School AU)

Hopefully, Blood Won't Be Shed...

For a person who adores peace and quiet, Arthur was now realising how deafening silence could be.

Usually, Francis would be the one to initiate a conversation since whenever Arthur tries to, it ends up going nowhere.

However they were half way to school and Francis hadn't uttered a word since they'd woken up. And he was acting odd, like he knew he was being stalked by a hitman. It was rather worrying and Arthur had to admit he was alerted by his strange behaviour.

"You haven't opened your big mouth yet, has the cat got your tongue?" He remarked, it came out much more insulting than he hoped it would, shit. Hopefully Francis wouldn't pay it much notice.

The other blond's head jerked up suddenly, as if he was deep in thought before he was interrupted.

"Oh sorry, I was just... Thinking."

"About what?" Arthur enquired.

"Nothing much really," Francis said, shaking his head to rid himself of his thoughts.

"I doubt that. You know, you've been acting very odd today. You've been silent since you woke up, staring at me every once in a while with this depressing look on your face, and holding my hand whenever we get to a road like I'm some helpless five year old! What's up with you?"

"Ah well I... I had a nightmare, that's all. It's fine."

Arthur narrowed his eyes and leaned in closer to assess him.

"It's obviously not fine if you're still thinking about it. And that doesn't explain your protective behaviour. Tell me, it might help." Arthur demanded.

"I've already forgotten about it, don't worry!" The French blond assured.

"That's a lie if I've ever heard one! Now tell. Me."

Francis knew he was genuinely worried and that it took a lot of strength to offer help so he decided to free him from his misery. He did want to get it off his chest, even if it wasn't the whole story.

"Well... I was back in France in what seemed like the eighteenth century and I... did something bad and... was hung for it. And I guess I'm sheltering you because I'm cautious of death today."

"What did you do?" The Brit asked inquisitively.

"My memory's fuzzy, I don't remember," Francis replied with a nervous laugh, in a hurry to end the conversation before his facade crumbled.

"Seriously, that's what you're so bothered about? I'll let you in on a secret, people don't casually hang other people for crimes in this day and age. And I can take care of myself just fine, thank you. Now would you take your own advice and cheer up a little?"

Francis laughed at his answer, satisfying the Brit who rejoiced that he was finally back to his typical self.

Though, deep down, his nightmare was still haunting him. Truth was, he didn't forget the details, he remembered the whole series of events as clear as day.

He wouldn't be so unsettled if him dying was the only aspect of his nightmare, but it was from from it. He could never tell the Brit, it would be cruel to add to his worries when he was clearly tense about seeing Joan again.

At first it was a wonderful dream. He was back in his lovely Paris, well, his dream self was there. It wasn't a lucid dream and he had no control over anything, it was more like he was watching a movie of himself from a third person perspective. It was eerily familiar, and that was unsettling.

The skies were clear and free from pollution, as the industrial revolution hadn't rolled by just yet. It was also evident in the awfully paved roads and horse drawn carriages. But he knew that it was still his beautiful Paris.