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It would have been a usual bar night with a certain trio of friends, but this time England is drinking with them. Both France and Spain think it is they who have succeeded in convincing the prickly island nation to join them and neither Prussia nor England find it a priority to enlighten them into thinking otherwise. They’re all a few drinks in and Prussia wonders how many more Spain and France will need before he can slip an arm around England’s waist or even shoulders without either of them noticing. One more drink and they should be able to hold hands under the table without France somehow becoming inexplicably aware of it. It’s not like they had anything to hide, their relationship was merely an open secret, simple as that. If nobody asks, we won’t tell. It was just amusing to see how long it would take before somebody noticed.
‘So,’ France says as he finishes his drink, with an unscrupulous smile and glint in his eyes. ‘What are the some of the stupidest things you’ve done in your youth?’
The question is directed towards the entire group but France’s eyes flickering towards England and the infinitesimal widening of his smile are not missed by Prussia.
‘I once gave an injured pirate sanctuary from his very angry pursuers in my church,’ he offers. ‘The pursuers left two days later without him, they never suspected he was hiding beneath the altar when they searched the church, or that a priest would lie to them about not harbouring a criminal.’
There was nothing unbelievable or particularly remarkable about his story when told on its own and with his guileless delivery it sounds like the punchline of a joke. Spain guffaws and claps Prussia on the back, even as he shakes his head. France nods with restrained amusement, knowing that Prussia’s stories will grow ever wilder as the night progresses.
‘What about you?’ He asks England whilst lazily waving for a new drink. ‘You can’t stay out of our conversations if you’re going to drink with us.’
England takes a swig of his drink to avoid answering immediately. He glances at Prussia over the glass and see the almost imperceptible nod. Good, he’s free to continue. Slowly, he lowers his glass onto the table and grins wickedly, drumming his finger against it as he watches Spain and France’s faces fill with anticipation. Neither of them notice the way Prussia sits back with a faint smirk, like he’s waiting for a good show to begin.
‘Well then, gentlemen, I suppose I must tell,’ England drawls, his voice bored, as if all this is of the least concern to him. ‘Once, I stole the first kiss of a priest who’d offered me sanctuary from some people who really would’ve liked to have seen a notorious privateer captured in his church. At that time, I was surprised when he immediately ran away and locked himself in a confession booth, endearing as it was, but now I see I could have acted with a little more tact back then.’
He doesn’t dare to make eye contact with Prussia, as soon as he does the game would be up, it had been hard enough to keep his tone nonchalant as it was. Instead he holds the gazes of his audience and waits. It clicks for France first. He looks from England to Prussia, then a multitude of expressions flash across his face as he puts it all together, what they both just said and all the seemingly insignificant things that had never quite added up before. Finally, he’s expression settles on incredulity.
‘You...’ he splutters, his tone one of accusing disbelief. ‘The two of you...’
Spain’s confused frown turns to realisation and he too looks at Prussia, whose mocking, too-wide grin says it all.
‘You two...’ Spain’s tone and expression mirrors France’s, both of them wondering how they’d ever missed it.
Prussia can’t take it anymore and bursts into raucous laughter and within moments England meets his eyes and joins in.
‘Mon dieu,’ France takes a lengthy gulp of his drink as magnitude of the joke his two most formidable enemies of the past have played on them continues to dawn on him.
Spain nods in commiseration, still dumbfounded by this new revelation. He lifts his glass at France and proceeds to down the rest of its contents.
‘Have you two always...?’ France asks as the laughter dies down, he can’t finish the question and instead takes another drink.
‘Not always,’ England says seriously, the mirth from earlier vanishing from his eyes.
He sighs and shares an emotionally charged glance at Prussia. A wordless conversation that makes France and Spain wonder how they’d never noticed anything between them before.
‘But when it counted,’ Prussia finishes for England, and their smiles return. Challenging, too reminiscent of past battles for the comfort of their companions.
‘I really shouldn’t have convinced England to come,’ Spain mutters, wishing that the glass before him was full.
France would have agreed with that sentiment if not for the suspicion that it wouldn’t have mattered. Somehow, this feels like just the beginning of yet another punchline.