COUNTRYHUMANS ONESHOTS | Completed ✔️

Burn | France x Britain

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ LATE MERRY CHRISTMAS  ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ I CAN'T GET ENOUGH OF THIS SHIP NOBODY CAN STOP ME 

both are male btw

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xx. xx. xxxx

"dearest france,

remember last week? when you took my last name, and we had rings to wear on our fingers? it was difficult to find such a place to hold a wedding. 

france, i promise to keep this. i swear i will always remain loyal to you.

this letter is quite short, but i am in a hurry and i have put my heart into this. thank you.

my husband.

—britain"

yellow and dusty. the letter was from years ago. france held the paper in front of him, staring back at the promise britain had made written in black ink.

there were more of these kinds of letters. hundreds of them. maybe even thousands. some kept in a secure place, some on the desk to remind france of his love everyday.

most of them, however, were in the trashcan.

france took a look at the ground, scattered with torn papers, on the desk crumpled papers, and resumed staring at the letter he was holding, before tearing it in half and tossing it onto the ground.

papers laid everywhere, begging to be picked up and reread. all of them were from britain, of course, but not all of them were written to france.

some letters got torn in multiple tiny pieces. they were from britain, but sent to someone else. sentences written with words like "he isn't home tonight. you can come."

france was sure he heard britain say a name in his sleep that wasn't his. he was sure the bedsheets were messy because of someone else. sure that britain's lips laid on someone else's.

france knew that he was dumb, helplessly in love with britain. falling and thinking he would catch him.

the man britain was with was surely not france. he never spoke like him, kissed like him, laughed like him, loved like him. tea tasted different with him. with france, there were new and unique positions in bed. unlike the other.

tearing those letters wasn't enough. crumpling them. throwing them in the trash with rotten vegetables or whatever wasn't enough. 

in the midst of all the torn and crumpled letters was a single candle on the desk, illuminating the room. the flame on the white candle danced with every deep breath france took.

he picked up a letter on the floor, one with sweet talk from britain inviting france for afternoon tea. he rolled it up and took a single step with his foot buried in torn papers to the desk, and let the flame come in touch with the paper.

the fire spread faster than he expected. not a few minutes later he found himself throwing all the letters he could find and let the flames engulf and burn them until only ashes remained from britain's love talk.

the room was on fire. the house was on fire. france didn't want to get his ass out of the room and find some water to put it out. he liked it. he liked seeing all the years of when britain was his, all burn. france stared at the ring on his finger, before throwing it into the flames.

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this is terrible, but like i listened to burn from hamilton which is a masterpiece compared to this old piece of trash D: my new chapters are better ew