Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

New Routine

Serious emerald eyes drifted across the lines of the article in the newspaper as Arthur hummed to himself, taking a sip of tea without tearing his gaze from the piece of writing. It was routine now that the Englishman would read the newspaper in the morning, sat at the kitchen table and drinking a cup of tea that his French husband had made for him.

While he read the newspaper, Francis would busy himself with breakfast for the two of them – it used to be for four, but the boys had moved out long ago. It had taken Francis a few weeks to adjust to only cooking for two at first, but now it was second nature to him.

In an hour, Arthur would head out to his somewhat dull office job in the city, reluctantly leaving the peaceful, suburban home he and the Frenchman shared, but not before giving Francis a quick kiss goodbye. The one time he had forgotten to kiss his husband, Francis had become very upset and hadn't spoken to Arthur for two whole days. Needless to say, the Englishman had learned his lesson.

Arthur hummed again in agreement to a point that the article made, before folding the newspaper and resting it on the table as Francis presented him with a delectable golden omelette.

"Thank you, love." Arthur acknowledged, although he regrettably had come to expect Francis to wait on him in the mornings.

Francis smiled. "You're welcome, cher." He responded, as he always did, before sitting opposite the Englishman with his own omelette, eating at his own pace as he did not have to be at work for a few hours. Francis owned a five-star restaurant in the city, and as such he had a more laid back approach to getting ready for work.

The two would always eat and chat about the weather, or what they had planned that day, but sometimes there would be long, comfortable silences instead. It made quite a change from when they used to bicker and argue or flirt with each other constantly. But they had been married for almost ten years and so they had calmed down significantly.

After he had finished his breakfast, Arthur put his plate in the sink, going upstairs to get ready for work, leaving Francis to do the dishes. As Arthur tied his tie, his thoughts drifted back to the article he had been reading. Since it was close to Valentine's Day, the article had been along that theme, pointing out the flaws in the representation of love in the media. Arthur agreed wholeheartedly: it wasn't all flirting, meeting gazes and stolen kisses. Real love was messy, and stressful and painful, but Arthur's lips twitched in a smirk as he remembered how much of a nightmare he had been with Francis.

Pausing, the Englishman's mind dug up a long-lost memory of him and Francis in their teens, hot and heavy. Arthur had been going through a punk phase and Francis was the most popular boy in school, so when they screwed the entire school found out. Arguments followed, insults yelled down the corridor and screams hurled across classrooms. One time, Arthur had spilled his drink all over Francis, relishing in the fact that it ruined the Frenchman's favourite blue silk shirt. Francis had paid him back by cutting up Arthur's beloved leather jacket with a pair of fabric scissors from the textiles classroom.

They had broken up, got back together, broken up again, and then got back together so many times that Arthur began to lose track of whether they were actually dating or not. But whether they loved or hated each other, one thing remained the same: they needed each other.

Now, ten years later, everything had changed. Francis was still flirtatious but only towards Arthur, and not half as much as he used to be. Arthur was still stern but he was more open to affection (receiving it, not so much giving it). But the Englishman couldn't help feeling a pang of regret as he realised the searing passion between them was all but gone now. He couldn't really pinpoint when things had started to change, but he guessed it was for the best.

"Arthur, you're going to be late!" Francis called up from the bottom of the stairs, stirring Arthur into action again as he grabbed his briefcase and stepped quickly down the polished wooden stairs. Francis was waiting by the front door as he always did, and Arthur pecked his lips softly.

"I'll be home for dinner." The routine promise.

"Have a good day, cher~" The routine farewell.

Arthur left the house without feeling as content as he had yesterday or the day before.

XxX

All day, Arthur had not been able to shake the growing realisation that he and Francis had changed, and the more it lingered in his mind, the more other fears followed.

What if we don't even see each other in the mornings?

What if we end up sleeping in separate beds?

What if we fall out of love?

What if one of us has an affair?

What if we get divorced?

What if we end up loathing each other?

The menacing thoughts circled around and around in Arthur's mind, and he couldn't concentrate on his paperwork at all. His deepest fear was losing Francis, and he knew how much he had been taking the Frenchman for granted; expecting him to be there in the morning and be there when he gets home from work.

Arthur chewed his lip as his anxiety built up, strumming his fingers against the desk agitatedly. He wanted to do anything to prevent these horrible thoughts from becoming anything more.

…But how?

XxX

Arthur was always home at six-thirty on the dot. Francis always had dinner ready ten minutes later which gave Arthur time to shower and change out of his work clothes and into a more casual shirt and jeans. They would talk about their days over dinner, before Arthur would watch television in the living room and Francis would read in their bedroom. Francis was usually asleep by the time Arthur came to bed, and they didn't usually cuddle up to each other in the night. Then the routine would start all over again the next day.

But tonight, Arthur was late. Half an hour late, which was very unlike him. Francis was getting worried, having to keep the dinner warm in the oven as he used his phone to try and call Arthur. As he was about to call for the third time with no response, the front door opened.

"I'm home." The familiar British accented voice Francis had grown to love echoed through the house, and the Frenchman dumped his phone on the kitchen counter, coming into the hallway.

"Where have you been?" the worry and slight annoyance was not well-disguised in Francis' tone, his brow creased slightly with disapproval at Arthur's lateness.

Arthur only smiled though, and it was then that Francis noticed a bunch of colourful, beautiful roses wrapped in a bouquet. Arthur chuckled, handing the bouquet to his husband. "I just popped to the shop on my way home – I thought you would like these…"

Francis' eyes widened in surprise. Arthur rarely got him flowers, even on his birthday. He always said there was no point in spending money on something that was already wilting. "You…bought flowers for me?" he asked almost uncertainly.

Arthur nodded, kissing Francis' cheek. "Of course. I know you love flowers, especially roses."

The Frenchman narrowed his eyes in suspicion at the uncharacteristic behaviour of his husband. "What are you up to?"

Arthur blinked. "What do you mean, love?"

Francis crossed his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow. "You never get me flowers."

The Englishman only smiled, allowing his gaze to drift to his husband, humming. "You look lovely, by the way. That shirt really suits you."

This made Francis even more baffled. "You never compliment me either! Who are you, and what have you done with my husband?" he all but squeaked, feeling a faint blush spread across his cheeks though at the compliment.

Arthur still smiled. "I just realised that lately we haven't been very…romantic towards each other, and I wanted to change that."

At the confession, Francis' expression instantly softened, and he even smiled. "Oh, mon cher, that is very sweet of you~"

The Englishman felt something stir in his chest as he saw Francis' smile. It felt like all the love he had ever had for the Frenchman was rushing to the surface of his emotions all of a sudden, and in one smooth motion, he swept Francis into a strong embrace, connecting their lips in a soft but loving kiss.

"Mmph!" Francis widened his eyes, placing his hands on Arthur's shoulders as he was stunned by the swift action, but the next moment he slid his arms around the Englishman's neck, returning the kiss happily. The flowers lay forgotten on the side table in the hallway as Arthur kissed Francis more deeply, more passionately.

Francis groaned softly, as Arthur hadn't kissed him like this since they were newly-weds. They finally had to pull back for air, and Francis rested his forehead against Arthur's with a bright smile.

"Mon dieu…~" he breathed, and Arthur chuckled, reaching one hand up to caress Francis' cheek, slightly pink from a new blush.

"I love you, Francis…" he whispered, his emerald eyes meeting Francis' cerulean ones briefly, before they kissed again.

A flame of passion was reignited in both men, and soon the flame was a roaring blaze of fire as Francis dashed upstairs, Arthur stumbling after him and both were laughing as if they were teenagers again. Francis had stolen Arthur's tie, and when Arthur reached the bedroom, Francis was playing with it teasingly. Arthur grinned, closing the bedroom door softly as he lunged towards his husband.

XxX

The next morning, the two had a new routine. Arthur woke up with Francis' head against his shoulder, and he kissed the sleeping Frenchman awake. Francis hummed and smiled as he opened his eyes to his English husband, and he leaned up to kiss him once, twice, three times before Arthur begrudgingly pulled away.

"I have to get ready for work, love…" he mumbled as Francis' lips kissed the corner of his mouth, and the Englishman fought the urge not to pounce on his husband again like he had last night.

Francis didn't want to let him get up, but after another few sweet kisses he relented, rolling over to the other side of the bed. Arthur climbed out of bed, his gaze lingering on Francis though as the Frenchman's movement had exposed a lot more of him, and Francis didn't both trying to hide it again.

Arthur internally prayed for the strength to resist his gorgeous husband, but Francis interrupted his request as he sat up, kneeling on the bed and pulling Arthur into another kiss. Arthur was painfully aware that Francis was completely naked, and he so desperately wanted to rejoin him in their bed.

Arthur knew he should go to work. He knew he had to get dressed. He knew he needed to leave.

But he didn't.

Instead he wrapped his arms around Francis, kissing him again more passionately as he crawled back onto the bed, leaning over the Frenchman and letting himself become completely absorbed by his husband's touch.

So maybe their new routine wasn't as practical as the old one, but Arthur definitely preferred the new one.

Definitely.

A/N: Just a little idea I had.

Did you like the calmer aspect of their relationship, or the rekindled passion?

Please review and let me know what you thought!