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England was bored. He had nothing to do and no one to meet with. His government was too busy trying to figure out any new legislations and guidelines for the new lockdown regime and they didn’t need nor want his help. He had been fine with that at first, it wasn’t like he wanted to be stuck in a room with pretentious politicians if he could help it. Now? He regretted his decision. He was immensely bored.
So bored in fact that he had decided to clear out his attic. Something he hadn’t done in a few decades. Pulling down the overhead ladders, England takes a deep breath before slowly climbing up the rickety steps, praying that they would hold his weight.
Peaking his head over the edge of the trapdoor, his eyes widened in surprise at the amount of stuff he had collected over the decades. He hadn’t realised how sentimental he could be until his gaze scanned over the number of boxes, trunks, bags, and containers piled high. Some looking in serious trouble of falling at any given moment. It was a hodgepodge of disorder and chaos. He had to do something about it and quickly otherwise he would be getting no sleep.
Pulling himself into the attic, Arthur runs a hand through his hair and makes his way to the far corner, figuring if he could make his way systematically around the room then it would make the job go that much quicker. He pulls the first box out of its pile, placing it on the floor he slowly peels back the tape and takes a shuddering breath. His eyes tear up at the sight before him.
The box is filled to the brim with small white robes, some with blue ribbons threaded through the collar and others with small light purple. He hadn’t realised he had kept these. Pulling out two outfits he can feel his throat burning and his chest tightening as his mind conjures up images of two happy, giggly little boys with blond hair. They had been the light of his life back when he had been ruling the world. The twins had meant everything to him, they had been his little brothers. People who, for the first time in his life, needed him, depended on him and looked up to him.
Then he had ruined it all. He had become a tyrant in his own right. Too big-headed for his own power to control. He had driven his brothers away with no way of ever getting them back. Without a chance to ever reconcile with them properly.
Well, not with America in any case. He understood why America had decided to leave him. It may have taken him a few decades, but he knew that he had done the right thing by fighting for his country’s independence and Arthur couldn’t have been prouder of his little brother. He truly had come a long way from the small child Finland had found wandering alone in that field.
Canada, on the other hand, had decided for some reason to stick by his side. To keep the family name Kirkland, even after he had gained his own independence and Arthur couldn’t have been happier. Though he did try to convince the young boy otherwise. Canada would not budge. He had told England that he was the man he is today because of him and he couldn’t thank him enough. England hadn’t abandoned him. Or called him a baren, useless wasteland like France had done. Even if he did still love Francis, Arthur was the one to raise him. To love him and nurture him into the Country he was.
He strokes a hand down the old fabric, folding them back up he places them back in their boxes. Maybe he could change one of his spare rooms into a storage room to place all his memorabilia. He places the box to the side and reaches for another one. This one holds items which bring more tears to his eyes. He draws out a small and all too familiar little green cloak and laughs tearfully.
His old cloak was still, surprisingly intact, a few patches sewn in here and there but still recognisable. Unwrapping the cloak, he smiles. His very first bow and quiver, the one Scotland had carved for him was battered, with a few scratches on the surface from where he had dropped it a multitude of times when he was running through the woods. He holds up the bow, wiping tears off his cheeks. His brothers hadn’t always been kind to him; they used to bully him quite a lot, but they had always been there for him when he needed them. They had taught him to hunt, make clothes, and get by on his own. Scotland and Wales had especially been there for him after their Mother, Britannia had passed away. They had been the ones to teach him how to run his country and had fully supported him representing the United Kingdom.
He puts the cloak and bow into the box with America and Canada’s old outfits, he could display them in his study. A lovely mount on the wall behind his desk would not go amiss. He takes a deep shuddering breath, at least now he knows why he always put off going through his attic. His emotions were almost too much for him to handle but he knew he needed to push on. He had to get through this. Letting out a deep sigh England pulls another box towards him and slowly peels the flaps back. His breath stutters.
There staring up at him is a small black and white teddy bear wearing a deep burgundy duangua with dark brown trousers and he can’t stop the near silent sob from escaping. He had crafted the Panda teddy for Hong Kong when he had come to live with him, a small reminder of his home country. Picking up the bear Arthur hugs it close to his chest. He had never wanted Hong to forget where he was from, who his Mother (Father) was and so he remembered sitting at the table with a young Hong Kong, teaching him both English and Chinese. Granted it hadn’t been the traditional Mandarin that China spoke, but it was pretty close.
He hadn’t been prouder of any of his colonies than he had been of Hong. He had grown up to be such a great country, the perfect mix of Westernised and Eastern cultures. He reminded England so much of China that it made him rethink his actions against the man. It had taken a while, but England had finally gathered up enough courage to apologise to China, to beg the other man for forgiveness. Relief rushed through him when he had been pulled into a tight embrace by the shorted nation. They hadn’t rekindled their relationship; China had moved on and found someone new and England was happy for him.
Besides, he had also belatedly realised his own feelings for a fellow European nation. One he hadn’t realised had been there for him from the very beginning, who had stood by his side through most of his wars. Had had his back when his brothers had gotten too much for young Albion to handle. The person who despite all their insults and arguments had been a perfect constant in his life from the very beginning and he couldn’t help but fall in love with the man. He was just afraid that he had lost his chance with the other nation. That his feelings would go unnoticed or unreciprocated.
Shaking his head, he places the teddy beside his old bow and smiles. Maybe he could give it back to Hong Kong on his next visit. He wasn’t sure how he would respond to such an old present but if Hong didn’t want it, maybe China would like to keep it. He did own a rather impressive collection of Panda plushies around his home.
As he pushes the box to the side a small envelope catches his attention. It must have fallen down the back of the pile while he was shuffling them around. Reaching out he glances at the yellowed paper and flips the envelope over. His breath stutters in his chest. It was unopened with the French governmental seal holding it closed. How long had the letter been here? And how come he hadn’t opened it when it had first been delivered? He always opened his letters, even if they were from a nation he was at conflict with. How had he missed one from his French neighbour?
With shaking hands, Arthur slips a finger under the seal and pulls the envelope open. He stares at the letter inside for a moment before slowly pulling it free of its confinement. Unfolding the piece of paper, England stares at France’s elegant cursive writing without really seeing it for a couple of minutes.
Steeling his nerves England takes another breath before forcing his eyes to focus on the words written on the page.
My Dearest Arthur,
I am writing you this letter because I have something important to tell you and I don’t have the confidence to say it to your face. Not at this moment in time, Mon Petite Lapin.
Angleterre. Arthur, you have always been the one for me. Have always been my most favourite person in the world. I loved how cute you were when we were younger and no matter how many arguments we had; no matter how many fights we got into and no matter how many wars we fought against each other, I have never once hated you. It is impossible for me to hate anything about you, Mon Cher.
I have always professed my love for you but because of your tendency to always shut me down and scoff at my affections, I became embarrassed and began offering compliments, gifts and roses to all nations. It may have damaged my reputation in your eyes but I was too embarrassed to face more rejections from you and so, I did the only thing I could think of and that was spreading my love around the world. I never meant for you to feel unwanted or underappreciated, Arthur.
You were, and still are the greatest friend I could have ever asked for and if you ever change your mind in accepting my feelings then you know where to find me. However, if there really is no chance for there to be something solid between us then please tell me. I cannot stand this limbo and would much prefer to know where I stand with you.
J’adore, Mon Petite Lapin. I love you, Arthur. I always have and I always will. Please give me a chance, mon Cher and I will prove my love for you. I will wait for you, dear. As long as you need me to, and I am never going to go anywhere unless you want me to.
Forever yours,
Francis.
Arthur drops the letter into his lap and covers his face with his hands. He doesn’t know how long this letter had been hidden in his attic and he doesn’t know if he can fully comprehend what he had just read but he desperately wants it to be true. Glancing surreptitiously back down at the letter, Arthur makes a snapshot decision.
Jumping to his feet, Arthur grabs the letter climbs down the ladders and throws on his coat as he runs out the door. He tightens his grip on the note and runs through the streets of London, heading towards Luton Airport when he orders his private jet to prepare for a last-minute overseas trip. He re-reads the letter as he impatiently waits for his plane to land in Paris.
Running the familiar route to Francis’ house he hammers on the door, his eyes still shining with unshed tears. His mind is a flurry of thoughts as he stands waiting for the front door to be opened. His adrenaline fades and anxiety begins to creep in. Arthur starts to fear the other nation’s reaction to his unexpected and most likely unwelcome visitation. He worries that the letter had been a joke from long ago or that France had actually moved on and didn’t feel that same way anymore.
He wants to turn around and flee back to the safety of his own nation and he moves to turn around when the click of a lock sounds and the large white door is thrown open. Arthur sucks in a deep breath, a tear escaping his eye as he stares like a deer in headlights at a half-dressed Francis. His heart hammers in his chest, a light flush dusting his cheeks and his mouth goes dry as he stares.
“Angleterre? What are you doing here?”
“Francis, I’m sorry.”
France stands to his full height at the apology, his eyes taking in England’s dishevelled appearance, the tears threatening to spill over and his shaking frame. He is surprised. Arthur hadn’t looked this unsure in decades.
“Arthur? Has something happened? Come on, come in. I will make you some tea.”
Arthur allows France to gently lead him into the living room and sits down on the comfortable sofa while Francis walks into the kitchen to prepare the tea. England glances down at the letter, fists clenching around the note as his worry begins to increase, he jumps a little when a tray is placed on the coffee table before him and quickly tries to hide the letter.
“Now, Arthur, what is wrong?”
“I… well I… I wanted to… I mean…”
France smiles gently at his long-term friend and fixes the man a cup of camomile tea, handing it over to England he watches in satisfaction as the warm liquid calms him down minutely. He sits down next to Arthur, eyes trailing his frame before fixing himself a cup.
“Mon Petite Lapin, it is okay. You can tell me anything, you know this. I will always be here for you Arthur, no matter what.”
England nods his head. He does know that. France has been by his side for as long as he can remember, and he doesn’t want that to change. He doesn’t want to lose the Frenchman’s companionship. Taking a deep breath, Arthur slowly brings the crumpled letter out, holding it on his lap he glances up at Francis for a moment before casting his eyes back down.
“Is that…”
France asks quietly, his own nerves building at the familiar writing on the paper in Arthur’s tight grip. England nods his head.
“I was clearing out my attic today. I had nothing else to do and thought that it was long overdue. As I was going through some of the boxes, I found an envelope that hadn’t been opened and thought it was strange because I always opened my mail. I didn’t believe what I was reading at first. I thought it may have been a joke you were playing on me decades ago. Then I thought what if…”
England trails off, silent tears making tracks down his cheeks as he glances back up at France, anxiety clouding his gaze. Francis slowly reaches over and brushes the pad of his thumb over England’s cheek wiping away his tears.
“What if?”
He questions hesitantly, his own heart racing at the hope flaring in his chest.
“What if it wasn’t a joke? What if you meant every word you had written and were still waiting for me? As soon as those thoughts entered my head, I couldn’t stop myself. I jumped on a plane a flew straight here. I needed to see you, Francis. I needed to know if you meant it.”
France could feel his chest warming at Arthur’s confession and he couldn’t help the smile growing on his lips even if he wanted to. He cups England’s cheek with his hand. Blue eyes meeting green.
“I meant every word, Angleterre. You have always been the one for me. I have always and will always love you, mon cher. I love everything about you, from your strange obsession with tea to your old grandpa jumpers. I love your stubbornness, your strength and how sensitive you can be. I adore how you deny how much of a romantic you really are. You are the one I love Arthur and I will spend the rest of my days proving it to you if you will give me a chance.”
Arthur laughs softly, tears falling rapidly down his face as he throws his arms around Francis dropping the note in the process. He tucks his face into the crook of France’s neck breathing deeply when strong arms wrap around his waist in response. He feels France gently stroking a hand down his spine and relaxes.
“I love you too, Francis. I have for centuries but I was always worried that you didn’t love me back. I didn’t think you would want to be with a nation as dull as me.”
France tightens his arms around England, he places a soft kiss on the side of his head.
“Arthur, mon lapin. You are the only nation I have ever felt like this for. You are not dull or boring. You are an amazing nation, strong, and powerful, you have such a unique culture and despite everyone always putting you down and making fun of you or isolating you; you never give up. You always fight for what you believe in and I am always in awe of you for that.”
“Really?”
“Truly, mon Cher. I love you with all my heart.”
“I love you so much, Francis. I adore how you always go out of your way to make everyone else feel loved and appreciated. I love how good you are at cooking and how you always try to brighten everyone’s day. You are an amazing person Francis, and I don’t know what I would do without you.”
France pulls away gently, hands coming up to cup the sides of Arthur’s face. He stares into England's eyes for a moment, an adoring smile on his lips before he slowly, carefully leans in. His gaze flickers from mesmerising green eyes to luscious pink lips. He pauses for a second before lightly brushing his lips against England’s.
Arthur sighs, lips tingling at the sensation. His eyes flutter closed his hand trailing around Francis’ neck until his fingers sift through his hair holding his head close. He increases the pressure of their kiss and smiles when France reciprocates. It is only a chaste kiss, nothing too intense. Just an innocent press of lips but Arthur hadn’t felt so wanted and so loved in centuries. He feels a fire spreading through his chest and the ice around his heart melting.
France once again pulls away, dropping a kiss to Arthur’s forehead before the pair burst into soft laughter large smiles stretching across their faces.
“Would you do me the honour of becoming my boyfriend, Arthur?”
The Frenchman whispers, his eyes sparkling with adoration.
“The honour would be mine, Francis.”
-----
France and England walk into the meeting room the following day, their fingers interlaced as they take their seats before any other nations arrive. They share a soft exchange before watching in silence as their fellow countries begin to arrive, each taking their seats in wait for the meeting to begin.
“Morning, Iggy!”
America shouts as he bounces into the meeting room, his younger twin following behind at a more sedate pace, bowing his head in greeting towards his past caretakers. England smiles lightly at his boys.
“Good morning, Alfred, Mathieu. How are you doing?”
The twins stare at Arthur for a moment, wondering why he had used to French version of Canada’s name and why he hadn’t snapped at America for using the nickname he despises. The one he had told Kiku off for inspiring. They glance at England for a second before snapping themselves out of their surprise.
“We are fine, England. Thank you for asking. How have you been doing?”
Canada questions softly, clutching Kumajiro close to his chest.
“I am very well, thank you, Mathieu.”
As soon as everyone is present and in their assigned seats Germany stands up to begin the meeting, he calls the first speaker to the podium and the nations settle down to take notes and share their ideas about the newest pandemic spreading through the world.
The first half of the meeting goes smoothly with no major arguments or fights breaking out and it is starting to put the rest of the nations on edge. They begin with subtly glances towards England and France watching to see when they will begin to throw insults at each other, but nothing happens. In fact, the two were being oddly civil with each other, talking through their disagreements with calm statements and logical discussions.
Then comes the stares, the long glances which make England and France fight against the smirks wishing to break out as they continue to listen to the implementations and guidelines of the various nations.
Germany warily stands up after the final speaker of the morning and, not taking his gaze off England and France, calls the meeting for an interval. He allows people an hour to go get food and drinks and to take a break from the conference room. He watches as almost every country jumps to their feet, practically running out of the room in order to escape the meeting hall and he can’t blame them. It was unnerving to see the two nations normally at each other’s throats getting along so well.
He makes his way out of the room, pausing in the doorway to glance one last time at England and France. His eyes widen in shock when he sees France place a swift, chaste kiss on England’s forehead as he stands up. Shaking his head, he chuckles to himself. Nah, he couldn’t have seen that. It wouldn’t make sense, the two nations hated each other with a passion. They couldn’t be in a relationship.
-----
England smiles to himself as France drops a gentle kiss on his forehead, whispering a promise to be back soon with a cup of tea and a plate of scones for him to snack on during their break.
His smile widens when the man reaches over his shoulders from behind to place his stuff down on the table before wrapping his arms around him in a tight embrace. England lifts a hand up and covers France’s own, lightly kissing his knuckles in thanks.
“Thank you, Love.”
“Anything for you, mon cher.”
“Do you think anyone suspects anything yet?”
England mutters around a mouthful of jam and cream-filled scone, his eyes lighting up with mischief as he glances around at the empty conference hall. France chuckles, his breath brushing England’s ear causing a shiver to rush through the other’s spine.
“I am sure they do, my dear. Did you not notice the stares we were receiving?”
Arthur snorts.
“If only they knew the meaning of the word subtlety.”
He agrees, taking a sip of his tea and sighing when it is perfect. He didn’t realise France knew exactly how he took his drink but was thankful for the man for finding it important enough to learn. England leans further into France’s embrace, tilting his head back to glance up at the man. He smiles lovingly.
“I think they would have a heart attack if they knew.”
Dropping a kiss to England’s lips he licks his own humming at the taste of jam and cream coming from the younger nation.
“Especially, America.”
England and France laugh at that, the younger nation's reaction would be worth watching. France sighs in thought, releasing Arthur he sits down in his seat, intertwining his fingers with England’s. He stares down at their hands for a moment.
“Do you want to keep our relationship a secret, Mon Cher?”
He questions, missing England’s look of disbelief.
“Of course not, I don’t want to announce it to the entire world obviously, but I will not hide our relationship, Francis. If I want to hold your hand, I will. If I want to kiss you then I am going to, I am not ashamed of our feelings for each other, love.”
“Okay, that is good, Mon Cher. I do not wish to hide our love for each other either, you are the best thing that has happened to me and I will not allow anyone to make us feel ashamed of that. I will not announce it but if they figure it out then I will accept that.”
Arthur smiles, his gaze softening. He lifts their conjoined hands up and drops a tender kiss on France’s knuckles before leaning over and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. He is still in mild disbelief that he is finally in a relationship with the man of his dreams, but he wouldn’t change anything for the world.
“J’adore, Francis.”
France flushes lightly at hearing his language slip off Arthur’s tongue and knows that he wishes to hear more. His fingers tighten around England’s.
“I love you too, Mon Petite Lapin.”
The pair settle into their seat when nations begin to trickle back into the conference hall. France goes to pull his hand away when England tightens his grip. Turning to glance at his partner, Francis smiles when Arthur shakes his head a little. He squeezes the other’s hand in response and they both relax, hands held loosely as France brings them to rest lightly on his knee. England’s face flushes lightly.
“Alright, the second half of this meeting is called into order. May the first speaker please come forward and deliver their speech.” Germany begins, gesturing for China to come up to the podium. England and France watched the proceedings in anticipation, their turn was coming up and they couldn’t wait to get it over with, wishing the meeting to be over soon.
-----
Finally, it was France’s turn, Germany called him forward and he slipped his hand out of England’s grip smirking down at his partner.
“You’ve got this Love,” England says, not keeping his voice down and France chuckles at the gasps of shock coming from the nations within hearing range. His eyes twinkle as he glances down at England, spotting the challenging expression shaping the other's features. He leans down slowly, placing a soft kiss on England’s lips before strutting towards the podium.
“Thank you, mon Petite Lapin.”
The entire room freezes at the gesture, eyes wide as they sit in wait, watching for England’s explosive reaction to the French nation’s bold actions. He always slapped France when he tried something like that in the past, so they were baffled when England just smirked at Francis and settled down to listen to his speech.
While France is giving his speech, he has to fight back his chuckles at the conflicted glances he and England are receiving from their fellow nations. He catches sight of the hopeful gaze of Canada and he subtly nods his head in his Son’s direction smile widening at Canada’s joyful look. He glances at England and gestures towards the Canadian nation. England furrows his eyebrows but turns to look at his Son. His smile returns when he catches the overjoyed look.
He had felt incredibly guilty when Canada had asked him if his Papa and Dad were ever going to get married so they could become a real family. He had told the young nation that they weren’t, and it broke his heart to be the cause behind such a downtrodden expression. He had hoped that one day he could give the Canadian nation the family he had always wanted and now he could: despite him gaining his full independence. Though he didn’t suppose America would be for the idea.
France’s speech ended and England stood up, as they walked past each other, England pulled his partner into another brief kiss. Cheeks flushing at initiating such a public display of affection. France chuckles at his partner and moves to take his seat. The pair continue to act as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, they sit through the rest of the meeting listening to speeches, making notes and ignoring the mutterings spreading through the room at every little affectionate gesture they exchange.
They knew it wouldn’t last forever, as soon as Germany was fed up with the lack of attention from the majority of countries he stood up and called the meeting to a close. In an instant, England and France find themselves surrounded by nations, mostly England’s commonwealth and ex-colonies.
“Dad! What gives?”
“You didn’t tell us you were in a relationship with France.”
“I thought you hated each other?”
“Mum! Come on, you can’t do this to us!”
“What’s going on?”
“Is France our new dad? Or Mum? Or Papa? Or whatever?”
England holds his hands up, standing from his seat he smiles up at France when an arm wraps around his waist in silent support. He gestures for his commonwealth to calm down for a moment and can’t help but notice the rest of his fellow nations gathering behind them wanting to know what is going on. He sighs deeply, running a hand through his hair.
“Yes, Francis and I are in a relationship. We confessed to each other yesterday and decided to enter into a romantic partnership. You guys know that I love you all. You are my family, my children even if you have gained your independence and I don’t want any of you to feel uncomfortable with this new development, but I love Francis and wish to be with him. Do not feel obliged to call him dad or papa or… mum if you do not want to. Though I do have one thing to say…”
England smirks widely, slowly pulling away from France’s embrace he leaps onto Australia, pinning the burly nation in a headlock ruffling his hair and laughing along with the other.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me mum.”
“Ah but you are our mum, you used to cook and clean, you always helped us when we were injured or upset and sang to us when we couldn’t sleep. You told us that is what a mother did, so technically you are our mum.”
“I thought China was mum?”
Hong Kong questions drawing chuckles from the other ex-colonies, and a distant shout of ‘hey!’ from the Asian nation. England ruffles Hong Kong’s hair, dropping a kiss on the boy’s hair and drawing him into his side. He had missed his Son.
“Hong has a point guys, China did become mum when Hong came along.”
“Our family is so messed up,” India muttered with a shy smile and the others nodded in agreement.
“But we wouldn’t have it any other way. Especially when Uncle Scot, Wales, Ireland and Aunt North are here as well.” New Zealand puts in, his lamb held tightly in his arms as he is pulled into Australia’s side.
“India does have a point… if China is mum; England is dad… then France must be Papa, right?”
England laughs at his commonwealth pleased that they were taking the news so well, he glances over at his partner and his laughter picks up a little at the look of bafflement. He offers his free hand to France and as soon as it is taken, he pulls the man back to his side. They share a brief smile.
“So how do you feel, Love? We have been dating for less than 24 hours and you have already gained 53 adopted children.”
France blanches at that, his eyes wide as he stares around at the small collection of Commonwealth nations standing in front of him. He had thought this was all of them. Australia, New Zealand, Seychelles, Hong Kong, India, Wy, Sealand and Canada. He thought they were the only ones who saw England as their parental figure. England chuckles at France's expression.
“Yea, Papa, you don’t mind, do you?” Singapore puts in, face pulling into a smirk as he stares up at the European nation.
“We only want to have a proper family,” Kenya adds, sticking his lower lip out in an exaggerated pout.
“Not that we weren’t a real family with just England,” Nigeria adds in hastily, slapping Kenya on the arm and making England smile at his Commonwealth.
“Yea Papa, we are a family now, right?” Canada adds quietly, his arms tightening around Kumajiro. France looks down at his son and smiles at the hopeful gleam in his violet eyes, he pulls the young nation into his side, hugging him tight.
“Of course, we are Mathieu. We are and always will be a family.” He responds glancing around at all the gathered ex-colonies and smiles at their joyful expressions.
“54…”
The group jumped in surprise at the unexpected voice. They turn around to find America standing beside them, his eyes downcast and a pale blush dusting his cheeks as his fingers tie in knots.
“What?” England questions, voice low. He holds his breath thinking America couldn’t be hinting at what he thought he was. America rubs the back of his neck, glancing up at England nervous energy coming off him in waves.
“54 children… I never actually got rid of the Kirkland name. I still go by Alfred. Franklin. Jones-Kirkland. I just didn’t think you would want me after everything I put you through.”
England stares at America for a moment, before he walks over to the young nation and pulls him into a tight embrace. He shudders as he fights back tears of joy and relief. America wraps his arms around England in return, all but collapsing against the older country.
“You will always be welcome, America. Just because we had a few disagreements doesn’t mean I would love you any less. You were my colony; my boy and I will never throw you away. You are always part of this family, with or without the name Kirkland.”
“Yea, burger-boy. You were always the favourite.” Australia calls with a grin, drawing laughter from the other nations. England turns around to glare playfully at one of his oldest children.
“That is untrue, I loved you all equally. I never had favourites.”
“Yeah, you did, Dad.”
New Zealand puts in with a snigger and England pouts.
“Yeah, Australia and New Zealand are right, Dad. America was your favourite.”
India adds, and England's pout deepens at his sons ganging up against him. His eyes are alight with amusement though as he watches his children.
“Hey! What do you mean was? I still am!” America joins in, jumping on Australia’s back in retaliation. Australia laughs.
“Nah you ain’t mate, sorry.”
“Who is then? If the awesome me, isn’t?”
“I am obviously.” Hong Kong answers, flicking his fringe out of his face dramatically, he smirks at America and winks at his brothers. England rolls his eyes at his antics; he swears he could see more and more of his Mother in the boy every day.
“I can’t argue with you there…” England announces dropping a kiss on Hong Kong’s forehead and pulling the boy into his arms. Hong’s smirk widens at the playful outrage on his siblings' faces at the easy admission. France chuckles at the hodgepodge family.
“You aren’t supposed to agree, Dad. I thought parents didn’t have favourites?” Seychelles giggles at England’s smothering of Hong Kong; her laughter increases at the look of utter contentment on the young boy’s face as he cuddles closer wrapping his arms around his dad in response. England smirks.
“I don’t have a favourite…” His commonwealth turns to look at him expectantly, looking at Hong Kong who is still enclosed in their father’s grasp, quite happy not to move any time soon. He really was a hugger, more so than Australia and Seychelles.
“I have two,” England answers, tugging Canada into his arms as well, laughing at the bright blush that dusts across Mathieu’s cheeks at his words. However, he does relax back against his chest, wrapping one of his arms around his waist in return. The rest of his children break out into argument claiming to also be one of his favourites and France laughs at the complete chaos in front of him.
He sneaks up behind his partner and wraps his arms around England and by extension, Hong Kong and Canada; he drops a soft kiss to England’s cheek.
“Our family is now complete, Mon Petite Lapin.”
“It is, indeed, Love.”
The Commonwealth nations cheer, all stepping forward to embrace their ‘new’ parents in a tight Kirkland family hug, laughter dancing in the air as the rest of the world watches on with small smiles playing on their lips at the touching scene. They were happy for England and France; the two nations deserved to find some happiness in their lives.