Work Text:
The late afternoon air in the orchard was thick with summer heat. It clung stubbornly to Arthur’s skin beneath his dark cloak as bees drifted lazily between flowers along the stone wall, and from afar he could hear maids laughing as they hung up clothes. Everything seemed alive today, from the plants to the animals to the people, bright and warm.
It irritated Arthur to no end.
Mostly because Francis was ignoring him.
Arthur sat miserably atop the stone wall surrounding the orchard, one boot kicking irritably against the rocks as he stared at the apple he had picked earlier. It was bright red and shiny, his favorite kind. It was perfect!
And that only served to irritate him more. Everything today was perfect, wasn’t it? And he was still left in a foul mood.
Across the field, Francis stood beneath an apple tree surrounded by several maids and children, laughing brightly. The sun caught his long hair, and he looked entirely at ease, gesturing with his hands and smiling, clearly telling a story. Everyone seemed invested.
One of the girls beside Francis covered her mouth while giggling at whatever ridiculous thing he had said, and Francis bowed in response, pleased. Even from across the orchard, Arthur could practically taste the smugness radiating off of him.
Stupid French idiot.
Arthur took an aggressive bite out of his apple, and juice immediately dripped onto his fingers. How wonderful. He only scowled harder as he wiped his hands against his cloak. The apple suddenly tasted much worse than usual now that Francis wasn’t paying attention to him. Not once in the past 20 minutes had the older boy even looked his way!
…It wasn’t like Arthur needed Francis’s attention to be in a better mood. No, he could feel better by himself! He didn’t need that…frog. God, what was he thinking?! He wasn’t some little girl thinking about her crush. As if Francis would ever be his love interest anyway.
That was…wrong. And it would never happen.
Because it was wrong.
Boys don’t love boys, He thought, but the concept filled him with dread nevertheless. Get yourself together. Right.
Francis had arrived earlier at the orchard full of energy, talking Arthur’s ear off about his favorite flowers, dresses that he had recently worn, and some random noblewoman who had pinched his cheek earlier, and then he had suddenly found everyone else much more interesting than the Brit.
…As much as Arthur hated to admit it, he desperately tried to avoid being forgotten. It only served as a reminder of how incompetent and rude he really was, and it was certainly a blow to his ego. However, it usually ended up happening anyway, whether it be by his horrid brothers or by someone else.
He hated the feeling. Truly, if he ever grew up and had a family (although the thought was not at all pleasing to him), he would make sure his children were never forgotten.
Arthur didn’t want to be ignored, especially by him.
Another burst of laughter echoed across the orchard, that idiotic “Hon hon hon~” that was always heard from the older nation. Arthur’s grip tightened on his apple.
What was so interesting over there anyway? They were probably discussing something stupid. Boring French things. Of course Francis was just showing off again like he always did whenever people paid attention to him. Arthur’s chest tightened unpleasantly at the thought, for some reason.
Francis looked…well, happy.
The sun hitting his pale hair made him seem like something straight out of a dream, beautiful and bright like always. Francis glowed under attention—he always became louder around groups, more charming and theatrical. He loved to impress others.
Arthur looked away, suddenly wanting to throw his apple directly at the back of Francis’s head.
“You’re making a scary face again.”
Arthur nearly jumped off the wall.
His head snapped up to find Francis standing in front of him, arms folded loosely behind his back while amusement sparkled in his eyes. The younger nation felt his face burn red.
“I was not!”
Francis tilted his head. “Mm. Then tell me, Angleterre, why were you glaring at me like you wished for my tragic death?” He hummed. “Which will never happen, by the way.”
Arthur huffed. “Don’t I always wish for your tragic death?
The older boy grinned. “Ah, so this is normal then.” Arthur looked away.
Without invitation, Francis climbed up onto the stone wall next to him, balancing on it easily despite the narrow space. Up close, Arthur could smell lavender soap clinging to his clothes. A flower petal had caught itself in his hair somewhere along the way.
Arthur noticed immediately.
Which was irritating.
Arthur muttered under his breath, not meaning to be heard, “You left me.”
Unfortunately, Francis had better hearing than he thought. He blinked once, then slowly smiled—not mocking this time.
Soft.
“Oh, I see.” He said quietly. Arthur immediately regretted speaking.
“I didn’t mean—”
“You were lonely, weren’t you?”
“NO!”
Francis laughed brightly at his outburst, shoulders shaking while Arthur’s embarrassment worsened catastrophically.
“You’re impossible! Why would I be lonely without a monkey douchebag like you?!” Arthur snapped.
“I am impossible, and you are jealous,” Francis snickered. Arthur looked horrified. “You were glaring holes into everyone near me.”
“Well, that’s because they were being loud and annoying…and French.”
At that, Francis burst into another fit of laughter so dramatic he nearly tipped sideways off the wall entirely. Arthur crossed his arms and scowled harder, though the sound still made warmth curl traitorously through his chest.
“It is cute,” Francis informed him cheerfully after his laughing fit, wiping a stray tear from his eye.
Arthur nearly choked. “Cute?!”
“Yes.” Francis leaned slightly closer, grin widening mischievously. “You’re like an angry little guard dog.” Arthur hissed at the comparison. The idiot Frenchman was so rude.
“I hate you."
“No, you do not.”
“What are you talking about, idiot? I’ve always hated you.”
Francis hummed thoughtfully. “Then why were you watching me the entire time I was there?”
Arthur froze, cheeks reddening. He scowled harder, glancing away with a “tch” under his breath. Francis, to his credit, didn’t tease him this time. He leaned his shoulder lightly against Arthur’s. The small touch made Arthur’s heartbeat stumble.
“I would rather talk to you anyway,” Francis said simply.
Arthur looked back at him suspiciously. “Liar.”
“It is true!”
“You like attention too much.”
Francis hesitated before sighing. “Yes…” He smiled. “But you make better faces.” Arthur let out an offended noise while Francis dissolved into laughter again. And there they sat for some time, watching the sun as it slowly set. Francis’s shoulder remained pressed against Arthur’s, something that Arthur noticed enough for the both of them.
“...You’re still annoying,” he muttered after a while.
Francis smiled softly at the horizon ahead. “Of course.” He hesitated for a second before adding, “Hey, Angleterre?”
“What do you want?”
The older boy looked down at him and smiled, eyes crinkling. “Je t’aime.”
Arthur blinked. That was a new word, he’d never heard it from Francis before. Of course, he assumed that Francis was insulting him, and his eyes narrowed, wary.
“...Yeah. Whatever that means. What did you just call me?”
Francis slung a hand around Arthur’s shoulders. “Don’t worry about it, herrison.” Arthur huffed at the touch. The words felt different than what Francis normally called him, like herrison and petit, but there was no need to fuss about it now. Next time Francis visited, he would ask.
For now, Francis was comfortable...and Arthur was too tired to disturb him. At least, that's what he told himself as he glanced up at Francis's face.
...Yes. He'd fight with the bastard about his dumb language another day.