Happy Birthday iTorchic~! Like I have said—I would write you a special FrUK story just for you on your birthday! :D *chuckles nervously* I apologize for not having your contest oneshot finished…there was a lot going on in that story and it really took a lot out of me *scratches back of head* ^^;; BUT! It is almost done! It's just this one part of the story needs a lot of explaining and detail and all that jazz ^^;;

Happy Birthday again and I hope you like this little something something! ^^

(Disclaimer/ I do not own Hetalia. It is owned by its creator Hidekaz Himaruya. )

The Joys of Cooking

SMASH! "Angleterre what was that?"

"Nothing! I have everything under control!"

At the moment—Arthur is over and Francis' house for a visit. That itself is something rare—having the said Englishman visit a certain Frenchman. Arthur just came out of the blue and decided that he will cook Francis dinner. Now honestly—the French country didn't mind having the Englishman over or having the same person cook for him.

He was flattered that Arthur, in his own free will, wanted to see him—and to cook for him also? It was just precious in France's eyes. Even as Francis thought that—doesn't mean that this visit will be any less difficult.

England had dropped the most beautiful plate France had owned, but he honestly didn't mean to. The plate had just slipped from his hands. He swore underneath his breath—guilt rising from dropping such beautiful and delicate fine china and having it belong to France didn't help the matter.

Francis had shot up from his seat in the dining room after hearing something smash on the ground. His eyes wide with worry at all the commotion going on in his kitchen, "I'm going in there." France called out towards the kitchen where the commotion was located.

"Really Francis just sit back down and relax! I told you I have everything under contro—" Arthur slips on the soup that splattered on the kitchen floor when he had dropped the plate. He fell forward, bringing his hands out to stop his fall.

Smart choice, but it resulted having his hands ripped by broken ceramic. Although most can agree that it's better your hands than your face if you were to fall face first into pointed shards.

"Fuck!" Arthur swore as softly as he can as he quickly sat up. It hurt him even more getting up considering how he has to push himself up with his hands—with them, obviously, being wounded and bleeding. He quickly looked around to see if Francis was around or if he heard him fall and curse out the pain rising from his hands.

No sign of Francis. That's good. Now it's all the matter of keeping it that way. I can't let him see that I have broken his plate.

Soon the shear sting and pain made itself known through Arthur's arms. He winced at the feeling as he nervously looked down at his hands. His eyes widen in shock at how serious his palms looked—shards of glass were pierced through his skin and blood painted on his hands.

Arthur resisted his urge to cry out at how much it hurt, but also resisted even harder at his urge to cover his mouth with his hands to cry out softly—knowing that it wouldn't be smart to smack an injured hand on your mouth lest it make the pain even worse.

Now the Englishman's mind hadn't a clue what to do—he knew that the chances are high having Francis find out about this little incident. If he were to see the injuries, France would surely fins out that he had broken something. Arthur thought hard—making the pain slightly less as he thought of a plan. I'll just wear gloves! There's no time to wrap my hands so it will have to do for now.

Acting quickly—Arthur quickly snuck out of the kitchen without being noticed by Francis in the dining room and shuffled his way towards the nearest bathroom. Arthur tired turning the door knob, but instantly retracting his hand back to his side at the immediate pain that surfaced as soon as he had grasped the golden knob. "Damn…! That really hurt..!" He swore softly with tiny tears slightly forming from corners of his eyes from the sting.

After a couple of minutes standing in front of a closed bathroom door, thinking of what to do next—Arthur's mind flurried in panic and hadn't noticed how much time actually passed along with a certain Frenchman getting up from his seat at the dining room and walking irritated to the kitchen, wondering what was keeping Arthur.

"Arthur—are you alright in there?" France asked while walking into the kitchen only to be greeted by—no one? "Arthur?" Francis walked in the kitchen further— looking through the entire area for his missing Englishman.

Walking inside even more—Francis stepped unknowingly stepped on the broken plate pieces, having the pieces make a cracking sound as Francis' shoe placed its pressure on top of them. He blinked—his eyes widening from curiosity before looking down to see what he had stepped on. "Wh..what is this..?"

The French lifted his foot of from the broken plate pieces to take a better look—eyes widening especially more at the color red dripped and smeared around the area of the shattered dish. Francis glared at the sight of the broken porcelain plate—his hands turning into two tight fists.

"Arthur!" Francis yelled angrily—his voice instantly ordering the presence of a certain Brit.

From in front of the closed bathroom door—Arthur jumped at the sudden sound of Francis' voice, being startled even more from hearing his name being called so demandingly. "Shit…" Arthur cursed underneath his breath. His hands still hurt tremendously, but now France was mad at him—that was the last thing he wanted to do. He tried so hard to get along with Francis, but alas, it was all in vain.

"Arthur!" Francis yelled once again louder and more commanding—the Englishman knew he was really mad at him.

England sighed sadly—forming his hands into two tight fists and hiding them behind his back. He winced vividly at the pain in his hands—groaning softly at the feeling as he walked slowly to the kitchen. Discouragement and shame lingered above him as he walked—not wanting to face France, not wanting to fight with France.

He hates me. He completely hate me now.. Arthur tightened his hands even more as he sulked—ignoring the pain and ignoring the feeling of blood seeping out of the cuts on his palms little by little, making the hurt worsen.

Arthur had walked near the kitchen, but not enough to be seen by Francis. He took in a deep breath then let it out as a sad sigh before bowing his head to not see the other and walking into the kitchen. "Yes..?" The Englishman asked—his voice soft and his head still looking down in shame.

He could hear shuffling drawing near, coming from the other country and the sound of impatient tapping. Arthur lifted his eyes just a bit to see through his bangs—seeing Francis had crossed his arms and had begun tapping his foot. The Frenchman looked really mad, his eyes were practically on fire—just how England had thought France would be at him.

Francis scoffed, "Yes..? Is that all you have to say for yourself?" He exclaimed—raising his hands to the air for emphasis. He took a hand and pointed at the broken plate on the floor, "Look at that! I can't believe you! Mon Dieu Arthur do you really despise me that much?"

England shot his head up—his eyes wide with panic at Francis, "No! That's not it!" he tried to explain.

Francis ran a hand through his hair in irritation—with the emotion clearly shown on his face along with anger hinting from the corners of his eyes. He shot a disappointed look at the Englishman who quickly looked back down at his feet and bit his lower lip sheepishly. "Then why did this happen Angleterre? Tell me why!" France demanded—using his hand to point again at the wrecked dish.

Arthur slowly moved his head to look back at Francis—he flinched slightly at the look the French was giving him, not wanting to be receiving that look. "I told you I'm sorry! I didn't mean to drop your plate!" He frowned angrily at the other—but came out more as an upset glare, hot tears welling up in his eyes. England blinked them away—keeping his sad glare.

Sighing loudly and being more irritated than before—Francis stepped in front of Arthur whom looked away to anywhere, but at the country before him. All of a sudden, the Frenchman grabbed behind Arthur's back and pulled out the Englishman's wrists to see them formed into two fists.

Still looking to the side—England's face changed into an annoyed scowl, "Look! I told you I'm sorry for breaking your damn plate! Now let me go!" He exclaimed—fighting slightly under the grasp to be set free.

"Open your hands Arthur." Francis ignored the other's demand. His voice was hard and serious—he wasn't playing around nor was he in the mood for it either. He held onto Arthur's wrist firmly, but not tightly—just enough to keep his hold on the other and not enough to hurt him unintentionally.

Arthur's head involuntarily looked at Francis. He didn't want the Frenchman to see his injuries from a trifle little accident. "I don't have to listen to you! I can have my hands in two unnecessary grips if I choose!" He ranted and even more so about unrelated matter just so he would prevent Francis from seeing his hurt palms.

"And you should be sitting down and relaxing! I told you I have everything under control! I told you I'm sorry I broke your stupid plat—"

"You're the one who is stupid Arthur!" Francis yelled—interrupting the Englishman's ranting. He pulled on Arthur's wrists lightly to make his point of why he said what he said, "I know you are hurt! You're blood is on the floor! Now open your hands so I can see how bad it is! I don't care about the plate! I don't care that it's broken! It's not important!"

Francis looked deep into emerald eyes with his watery blues tearing up from the waves of hurt that washed over them. He was hurt and angry—that Arthur wouldn't let him help him. And even more so angry and hurt that Arthur had thought that he was mad because of a silly little tableware. "I care about you! You are important! And you—" He moved his hands up to gently use them to cover the other's hands—making sure he did it lightly to not put any more pain he knew Arthur was feeling from the cuts. "are hurt..."

Arthur's eyes widen to what he had just heard the other say—his body starting to tremble slightly at the words and from the gentle hold on him. "You...You care about me..?" Arthur said softly—just in case he had heard wrong and did not want to go through the embarrassing notions. "You don't hate me..?"

"Non. I do not hate you, but I hate what you do!" Francis scolded harshly—his own hands began to tremble around Arthur's. "You always do this..! Why do you always have to do everything yourself? Ask for help once in a while—it won't hurt to ask! But you don't and you end up becoming injured afterwards..!"

With no words to say and being left speechless, but with mouth slightly agape—Arthur could only stare into oceanic eyes that showed so much emotion, it overwhelmed him to see every single one of them glistening over. "Franci—"

"Please open your hands Arthur. Let me see…so I can help you." Francis asked softly—his eyes begged the Englishman to do so.

Arthur swallowed hard—trying to loosen his constricted throat, but was unable to when he choked out to speak, "Do..Don't overreact when you see it… It's nothing really."

The Frenchman nodded, his eyes still fixated with Arthur's evergreen forest—searching for any sign that the Englishman is actually thinking over what Francis had said and hoping, that Arthur will finally see that he has people who care about him. He loosened his grip on the other's wrist to have him be able to move his hands more easily.

Taking a nervous deep breath then letting it all out in a huff—England opened his hands and twisted his wrists over to have his palms face up.

Francis looked down, his eyes widen from the sight. Arthur's hands being covered in crimson and visible deep gashes on tender skin. His eyes began to water—his Arthur was cut up and hurt. He couldn't stand seeing Arthur hurt.

"This—is not nothing Arthur!" France scolded—he couldn't take his eyes off of the cuts and blood that was painting vibrantly on England's palms. He blinked away the hot tears that were forming to prevent any from falling. Quickly Francis started off to the bathroom—taking Arthur along behind him by holding onto England by the wrists. The Frenchman was careful not to pull too hard though whilst he pulled.

Making their way to the bathroom, the exact one that England had attempted to go through—Francis burst through the door, switching on the light and swiftly led Arthur to the sink. He brought England's hands to the sink and turned on the faucet to hot-warm temperature for the water to pout out.

The sink hadn't been used for a few hours—the water would not be warm at first when turned on. England flinched at the sudden contact on his palms, "Ah..! It's bloody cold!" He winced at both the icy water and the pain it caused landing on his wounded hands. Arthur groaned in pain—shutting his eyes tightly to bare with the feeling.

"Shh…Just a little bit longer—it will turn warmer. We need to wash off the blood." France buried his nose into England's hair, "Just a little bit longer."

Arthur nodded slowly—his body tensing and shutting his eyes even more and letting his mind process any kind of distraction for him to pay attention to as the cold water kept falling and falling on him and gradually changing to warm streams. England's expression softened along with his body—having the warm water now soothe his wounds. His eyes fluttered open—looking down at his palms underneath the running faucet.

France felt the other's body relax and moved his head to look in the sink. Seeing how Arthur's hands were now washed away of red—the bluey eyed nation switched off the valve and led England to sit on the rim of the bathtub. After a long while—Francis finally let go of Arthur's wrists to dig through the cabinets on the wall next to the sink.

Pulling out several antibiotics and bandage wrappings—the Frenchman went over back to England sitting patiently with his head turned slightly to the side in shame. France got down to his knees in front of England—and placed all the aid supplies on the floor next to him. Ripping open one of the antibiotics packets and gently taking one of England's hands—France squeezed out enough ointment on his fingertips and began rubbing it gently on cut palms.

The antibiotics didn't hurt Arthur; he was relieved that it didn't. The two remained quiet as Francis treated the Englishman while he just watched—making the atmosphere very tense and awkward, though not as much as it could be considering how one of them was currently busy. It gave England more time to think to himself about everything that's happened.

Of course nothing serious happened, but to Francis it was everything but. Nothing really went on today—it's not like they were at an all out war in the kitchen or burglars came to rob France of his paintings. Nope—nothing. All that happened was: Arthur came over to Francis' house, started to cook for him, dropped a plate of soup, slipped and maimed his hands. See? Nothing completely horrid happened. Really now—Francis shouldn't fret over such trifle things!

England frowned lightly—turning his head to look at the different types of soaps, shampoos, and conditioners all neatly placed in a ribbon tied basket on a shelf next to the tub. There's so many..! Does he actually use all of them? He cocked an eyebrow up—pondering over his thought and of other things that no relevance what so ever just for the sake of killing time and the still air around them.

Ah, I have to clean up the mess I made in the kitchen. Arthur realized, nodding slightly at what he had to do after this had all blown over. "I also have to re cook something..." He mumbled to himself absentmindedly—unaware of him speaking out loud for France to hear even just a little bit.

"Arthur—I have finished."

England looked up to see France had stood up—his hands on his hips with a disappointed look adorning his face. The Englishman looked back down—seeing the bandages wrapped around his palms and halfway up around his fingers. He hadn't noticed France even begun wrapping him up.

Looking again back up at the standing nation before him—Arthur smiled sheepishly, "Ah...thank you." He said, shifting his weight on the tub slightly as if to become more comfortable, but was really trying to get used to the awkward atmosphere between them.

Francis didn't return the smile—his expression blank and upset. He continued to only stare down the English nation—staring intently into forest green eyes to let himself become lost in them. He began to think. Thinking about how his beloved became hurt, thinking about what could have happen.

Arthur could have fallen on his head on those sharp pieces—piercing right through him! And I wouldn't have known because I would be in the dining room and he hadn't called for help...because he wouldn't be able to!

Or he could have hit his head on the cold hard ground and get a concussion..! And I still wouldn't have known because he did not want any assistance!

France kept staring at England whilst he stayed deep in his worried thoughts—though his facial expression could have said otherwise considering how much seriousness there was. Though—the other was unaware of France's thoughts.

Arthur blinked—raising an eyebrow up in confusion to why Francis was just looking at him with a seriousness that was uncommon on him, "Francis..? Are you mad at me..?" He asked softly.

And the Frenchman just kept staring—himself, being unaware of his behavior from being too lost in his own mind. Moving his sight slightly to look at the top of Arthur head—Francis' thoughts began again to fill him with necessary worry, eyes widening at a possibility. Did he hit his head when he fell? No he didn't, I didn't see anything when I was cleaning his hands—thank heavens! He could have bled to death! Arthur could have been severely injured!

"Franci—" Arthur began, but was interrupted by the other suddenly taking him into a longing embrace. England's eyes widen from shock of France hugging him so unexpectedly. England's head began to spin—completely going haywire at this kind of embrace he never thought he would receive from the French. "F..Francis..?" England choked out as the other continued to hold him. He could feel France's arms tighten slightly around his body.

The ocean blue eye country started to mumble underneath his breath—saying incoherent words that Arthur could not hear. "W-what..?"

"I said I love you Arthur...and I do not want you to be hurt—it causes my heart to weep seeing you in pain." Francis confessed. He tightened his hold around England a little bit more—not wanting to let the other go to do anymore damage to himself. Tears threatened to escape from his eyes—restraining them from falling, but decided to let a few drops trail down. His chest constricted at his feelings of concern, "You worry me sometimes Arthur—it scares me of what can happen to you."

England's cheeks turn a soft shade of red from what he had heard—slowly wrapping his arms around the French country to hug back, "I..I love you too." dug his face into France's shoulder, "I'm sorry for making you worry... I only wanted to show you a wonderful evening."

France chuckled, "Just having you be here with me will make my whole day wonderful." He used a hand to brush away the remaining tears from his face then wrapping it back around the other country. "You can make me worry less by asking me for help when you need it." He slowly broke the hug to look fondly at his dearest face to face. "And you can start by asking me to help with dinner." He smiled cheerfully—tilting his head slightly to the side.

Arthur rolled his eyes teasingly, "Alright alright." He stood up off the tub—gently taking hold of both of France's hands with his own and turning his head a bit to the side from the small embarrassment he felt, "Would you...help me with dinner..?"

Francis beamed happily—taking the other into another big warm embrace then tenderly locking hands once again afterwards. "Of course I will help you~!" He leaned in close to England's face—smiling lightly before placing a short, but sweet kiss on Arthur's lips then pulling back to beam cheerfully.

"Wh..wha..?" Arthur sputtered—his face flushed with a bright red. He tightened his hands with Francis' while staring in wide eyed at the chipper country.

Chuckling—Francis pulled the stunned English nation out of the bathroom and the two walked hand in hand back to the kitchen before Arthur had a chance to ask what had just happened.

"Hey what was that back there..?" England demanded as soon as the stopped at the kitchen.

Francis just smiled lovingly at Arthur—pulling up one of England's bandaged hands up to his lips to kiss the knuckles affectionately then lowering them back down. "A kiss~! What else could it be?" He smirked teasingly.

"Yes I know it was a kiss..!" England exclaimed—his face still very red, but was lightening albeit very slowly.

Francis chuckled, "Just relax and let's get dinner ready." With his hand still intertwined with the Englishman's as he led him to the house phone on the wall. Using his free hand to take the receiver from off the wall and keeping his other hand together with England's—the crisp blue eyed man held the phone set in between his ear and shoulder and dialed a specific number. After he had done so, the Frenchman held the receiver again and listened to the ringing of waiting.

Arthur kept his hold with Francis as he looked at the country who was currently waiting for the one he had called to pick up, "Who are you calling? Wait.. why are you calling? I thought we were going to prepare dinner." Arthur asked suspiciously—his eyes narrowed as the surveyed the other man.

Francis smiled fondly at Arthur—leaning in to place a quick kiss on England's unsuspecting lips, "I'm ordering take out. China told me this merveilleux restaurant he had just opened here." He turned his attention back to his call as soon as heard a Chinese accent talk through the phone.

"Bonsoir! I would like to order the two specials si vous plait...Oui! Merci beaucoup!" And France hung up the phone. He looked back at England and smiled.

Arthur frowned—not understanding why the other had to order take out. "Why order? Surely just the two of us can't finish all the food including the one's we're going to make."

"Oui. I know, but you have done so much already so I ordered us our dinner." Francis pulled Arthur close to him—giving the Englishman an endearing embrace. "Right now I just want to hold you in my arms." He held adoringly at Arthur—kissing lovingly at his forehead.

Fin.

And there you have it my dear~! :D Tell me how you al like it by giving wonderful reviews...! And wish iTorchic a Happy Birthday! :D