# FrUk 01 #

Le Jump-off-the-balcony

DARoma; To be fair...I wrote this a very long time ago. Then deleted the first two chapters. It became le oneshot, and I added a start onto it, and that was it. It's terrible; I know.

S. Korea: But it was made in Korea!

China: It was not, aru! What is up with you and your immaturity?

: Aniki...

China: *sigh* Yes, what is it?

: I just have to grope you! *pounce*

DARoma: This is FRUK! Jesus!

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France was bored with life. Every day, the same thing, endless. He was walking around in a circle of death and mediocrity. Not to mention he had to live with the knowledge the person he had feelings for would never return them because of all their fighting, their problems, their arguing. Not to mention said person was drunk in a room a few doors away, probably getting his brains fucked out by Amerique, while he himself was standing by himself in the cold.

He was the nation of romance, and this was pathetic.

He wandered out of the balcony of his room, dark, expressionless eyes scanning the ground below. His waved golden hair was swept away from his face by the gentle breeze. It was nice. France leaned a little further over the railing, closing his eyes to take a deep breath.

Suddenly, he was nearly bowled over by a small blonde. England's arms were wrapped around his waist tightly, and worry hit the Frenchman that he was clinging to. He couldn't see the Brit's face, so he wasn't quite sure what was going on.

"...Arthur?"

"Don't jump."

France raised an eyebrow, glad England couldn't see his derisive look.

"Angleterre...I wasn't-"

"You can't jump! You can't...you can't leave me, you dumb git."

France was more than a little tempted to tell England he was being selfish, but he could hear tears in the other's voice. It was a bit late to admit he'd never planned on jumping in the first place. Mon dieu.

"I...I can't..."

"Mon Cher, wha-"

"Shut up!"

France soon gave up on trying to detach himself from the Brit (mostly he just wanted to see what he could just tell would be a nosebleed-worthy expression on the other blonde's face, he didn't mind the close proximity of England) and noticed the British nation was shaking. Small, imperceptible tremors that the Frenchman could only tell were real because of the closeness of their bodies. England let out a breath, and began to talk in a small, shaking voice that had none of the fiery determination he normally had in it.

"You...you can't leave me because I...I can't...I can't live without you!"

France had to turn around now. He did it gently, and as soon as he did he found England standing there, his hair messed up, his green eyes staring down at the ground, cheeks burning a bright red. "Mon amour...I-" he started, but he was cut off. "It doesn't matter what you think, frog," he snapped. It was only when he raised his head to glare through the spiky blonde fringe that France saw tears dripping down his pale face.

"Arthur, I-"

But England didn't wait for an answer and whirled around, clearly intending to leave this time.

A flash of frustration flowed through the Frenchman's mind, clouding what would be called his sanity, and his patience shattered. He'd waited long enough for the snobbish nation. France wasn't letting him go this time, he would not allow him to escape again. He followed the other into the bedroom and abruptly pushed him back onto the bed. England's eyes went wide as he was roughly pinned against the white sheets. Cold midnight blue eyes stared down at him with an expression the Brit couldn't begin to name.

"Francis, what're you-"

Today was clearly the day where no one got the chance to finish their sentence, as England found his lips covered by France's own. He instantly melted into the contact, all of his thoughts flying away like a flying mint bunny, and when the blonde above him deigned to move a few inches away, he somehow felt even more bewildered than he had before. "You should've just let me speak, Arthur," France said softly, not really scolding him but still getting a reaction from the other. England felt embarrassment flood him and tried to look away, only to be foiled by his captor yet again as France used one delicate hand movement to force him to look back at those dark, amused blue eyes.

"You can't live without me, Arthur? Could you not just admit your love like everyone else?"

"...Shut up, frog."

"Onhonhon~ I don't see you denying it."

"What?!"

"Je t'aime, Arthur," he breathed in England's ear.

"That's how you tell someone you love them."

The Brit was silent for a few seconds, and France worried he'd got it all wrong. Just his luck, he thought the idiot had finally given in to all his efforts and then he just ended up making a fool of himself-

"Okay. Fine."

"...Fine what?"

Now France was really confused. England's face was even redder than it had been before, and he shifted slightly under the other blonde before he spoke again.

"I give up. I...I love you too."

The bombstruck look on France's face made England blush harder, his acid green eyes lit by the sunlight and giving them a gold glow. France let out a stream of French words that sounded suspiciously like a prayer. The Brit below him frowned. "Stop with the stupid froggy language," he said. France pouted. "But, mon amour..."

"No. Shut up or I'll make you."

"But-"

This time England took the initiative and pulled the other down for another kiss by his shirt. This one was wilder, less controlled than before. When they broke it off they simply stared at each other for a few seconds, either in shock at each other or something else entirely. France grinned at England as he rolled off the Brit to lay beside him. Green eyes flashed at him as a middle finger was raised. A pout replaced the grin immediately.

"Is it really so hard to say 'I love you' instead of being mean?"

"Shut. Up."

"Make me."

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Finis~

Or close enough to.