Hetalia One Shots (All ships welcome!)

Fruk - Christmas Misunderstanding

Request for FrUk by @TobySpud. Starts out with Arthur and Francis a bit sad after a fight, but it gets fluffy. I'll write another more fluffy one for you if you want it since I think it didn't end up as fluffy (though it it my first one shot). Hope I didn't fail completely and you enjoy!

Arthur had been sitting down at the bar at Alfred's Christmas party, drink in hand, though he had yet to take a sip of it, or any of the drinks that had been sent his way by other nations interested in seeing what he was like when he was drunk. He couldn't take a sip, though, it would only make things worse than they already were.

Arthur Kirkland-Great Britain, England, whatever you wanted to call him-was in love, and he'd messed things up to the point of no return. The nation on the receiving end of his affections? One Francis Bonnefoy, the nation of France who had not yet arrived at the Christmas party. This was an odd occurrence since France loved the Christmas parties thrown by the American Nation, and it was that fact that secured in Arthur's mind that he had ruined his chances of having a relationship with France.

It had happened a week ago, at the most recent world meeting. It had been held in France, and England had to admit it was most beautiful around Christmas time. Unfortunately, it had to be that week that the meeting was in France that he suffered a string of misfortunes that made him feel miserable and grouchy, more so than usual.

When it was finally time for the world meeting, Francis and him had been bickering and bantering a bit like they usually did, but it was nowhere near as friendly or joking. Usually there was always an air of friendliness or fun behind the banter, but today there wasn't any sign of that from either of them. Arthur had yelled and may have said a fair few things that hurt Francis, in front of every other nation that was there.

Being rude was only meant to be a way to hide his feelings since he saw no way that France, the nation of love, could ever love him. But the look of hurt that Arthur had seen on Francis' face, the way his eyes became wet and full of sadness, he wanted to burn it from his mind. It made him hurt to know he'd been so cruel to the man he loved, and though he'd tried to apologise, France would not respond to any of the calls or texts he made. Any visits he made were stopped by Spain and Prussia, so he couldn't see him in person. And so, as a last resort, Arthur had come to Alfred's party in the hopes he would find Francis and at least be able to apologise to him. Yet, his plan hadn't seemed to be working.

He had been waiting the whole night, completely sober, yet no sign of Francis. The Brit waited a few more minutes before standing up with the gift bag that held Francis' present and heading to the door. It was already ten pm, if Francis wasn't here by now it was more than likely he wouldn't be coming. He weaved his way through the crowds of nations, head looking down, and soon made it to the dreaded doorway of mistletoe. He'd been lucky to avoid kissing anyone under the mistletoe when he came in, having come early in the hopes of finding France, but not so much when he was leaving the party.

The very nation he'd been thinking about all evening had arrived just as Arthur was leaving, and he did not look good at all. The Frenchman had bags under his eyes, his hair was less shiny and his stubble was longer than usual having not being kept at the length France liked it.

Still, mistletoe was mistletoe, and people were watching them. Arthur blushed and looked down, almost as if Francis was going to act like his usual self and kiss whoever it was that landed under the mistletoe, in this case him.

Francis didn't kiss Arthur, and instead turned around silently in the direction he came from. Arthur froze, only for a moment, and set off running after him. "Francis Bonnefoy, come back here. I'm sorry, okay!" he yelled, panting as he caught up to him and took his hand.

Francis turned around, sighing and looking down. "Oui? I didn't think you would want to talk to an annoying lustful jerk, but if you must talk..." He trailed off at the end, waiting for whatever he had to say.

"Look, I'm sorry, Francis. I was having a bad week and everything just bottled up and I took it out on you. I never meant any of those things, in fact, I feel quite the opposite. But you know how I am, I'm not good at expressing my feelings like you and I didn't think you would ever want to look at someone like me as a lover. I let everything out and it hurt you and I'm sorry," Arthur whispered, holding out the bag that held Francis' gift. "I know you probably still hate me, but do with it what you will. I tried to find something you would like."

The Brit turned away after Francis took it, shaking his head and starting to walk off. He had seen the blank look on the other's face, and knew he was going to get rejected. He thought he knew he was going to get rejected, because by turning away he had missed all the emotions flooding Francis' expression as he realised what Arthur had just said. Arthur Kirkland, Britain, England, liked him.

It took only a moment for a hand to gently capture Arthur's wrist and pull him closer. He hadn't been expecting that, nor the gentle kiss on his lips another moment after that. It wasn't like the other kisses Francis gave people, this one was soft and loving, their lips barely brushing at the beginning as one nation waited to see if the other would react.

England returned the kiss just as lovingly, it was sweet and held the same gentleness as France's kiss. He took a step closer, raising his hand to gently rest on France's cheek and brush over it with his thumb. Those moments that they shared were simply magical, and when they pulled away and looked into each other's eyes Arthur knew that what Francis was doing was from real emotions. He saw the way that the Frenchman's blue eyes were bright and happy, full of love as he looked into his own green orbs. Arthur didn't think he would ever see that look in his eyes, he'd lost hope after all the years of pining after him.

Francis saw that same look in England's eyes, the one that assured him he hadn't messed up or misread the situation, the one that assured him he was loved. And so their lips joined together again, more passionately than before, though the love that was clear through it was the same.

When they finally pulled away once again, Francis let out a happy sigh and gently whispered two important words. "Je t'aime."

Arthur blushed, but smiled gently and rested his forehead against the other's so they could stay somewhat close. "I love you too, Francis."

Said nation kissed his nose and pulled away a bit more, looking into the bag that Arthur had given him. He half expected there to be the burnt scones that were usually packed into a similar sized gift bag when England gifted those, but instead there was something quite different. There was a wooden Eiffel Tower, carved and painted by England himself with all the details, but at the top there were two people. The people were small in proportion to the tower, but if one looked close enough it could be seen that it was them two standing together. "Just like that time twenty years ago," Francis murmured, giving Arthur a bright smile and pulling him in for a hug.

Now, usually Arthur wasn't one for affection, but he couldn't seem to resist it from Francis, and especially not after he'd just heard that they shared the same feelings. He wrapped his arms around Francis, resting his head on his chest. The scene was similar to one from twenty years ago when England had visited for a world meeting. He'd had nowhere to stay since he hadn't been told about the meeting until the day before and France offered to let him stay at his house on two conditions. The first was if he didn't cook, and the second was if he would travel the city with him. They'd gone up to the Eiffel Tower and it was actually quite fun. It had been the day that Arthur stopped being dense and realised he had feelings for Francis.

"Merci beaucoup, mon amour," Arthur heard him whisper, and the name at the end still caused Arthur to blush a bit.

"It's fine, Francis. Anything to make you happy, love. Now, how about we ditch this lousy party and go back to my house. I can make pudding-"

"As much as I care about you, I haven't taught you to properly cook yet, mon cher. I would rather not be poisoned."

"Oh, bloody hell, it's not that bad."

"I'm afraid it is. Now, shush, and let's go. I have a present for you back at my home anyway, mon amour."