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“England! You have a visitor.”
Scotland’s voice was harsh and nonchalant, but the very fact that his brother’s been staying at the main house showed he at least cared a little. Not that it stopped England from yelling back a profanity-filled answer.
“It’s France,” Scotland replied from somewhere near the stairs. “I’m sending him up.”
England groaned. Trust Scotland to just let France in without a second thought.
It’s only been a few days since the vote that split the country apart was confirmed and England was still feeling ill from the effects. The people were a mix of shocked, elated and regretful and England was still feeling the stinging pain across his entire body.
He’d barely moved out of bed. Thankfully his bosses had mostly left him alone to recover from the momentous vote.
Footsteps sounded along carpet floor. England tried his best to sit up. He quickly realised it was a lost cause and slumped back against his pillow.
“You’re looking rather peaky, mon cher,” France’s melodious baritone itched at his ears.
“Fuck you, I’m not in the mood,” England growled. “Are you here to pressure me about triggering article 50?”
“Non, I’m off duty,” France said. He reached into a bag England hadn’t noticed and pulled out a bottle. “I brought some red wine.”
“To celebrate me leaving the EU?” England scowled, shuffling onto his side so his back was to France. “No thanks, and that’s a low blow, even for you.”
“You presume too much,” France said, sitting down on England’s bed. There were a clink of glasses onto the nightside table. “It’ll make you feel better. Or at least numb the pain a little.”
England hesitated, but eventually eased himself up to a sitting position. They’ve both lived long enough to understand the pain of a divided nation.
“Besides,” France continued when they’ve both taken a few sips of the annoyingly good wine. “If Marine had her way, a Frexit might be next. Netherlands too. You might finally have started a trend, mon cher.”
“Yeah, for bringing about a second recession. Great trend that will be.”
“You don’t know that. BHL’s been saying the EU was on the verge of collapse. You’ve just...helped that along by leaving.”
If there was one thing weirder than having France give him great wine without prompting, it was France trying to comfort him. It spoke volumes of the instability and unknown of the future.
England grimaced and downed his glass, ignoring France’s tittering about savouring the flavour. He needed to get drunk. Right now.
“You always waste the good stuff,” France sighed.
“Shut up.”
He held out his glass, noting with gratitude that there was no hesitation as France poured him another glass.