The "L" Word ~ {FrUK}

You Bloody Frog!

A man walked out of the radio station, clad in his normal button-up shirt and jeans, his sapphire eyes gleaming. The breezy spring air whipped his hair about, causing him to smile his million dollar smile. Like this, Francis looked like he was absolutley satisfied with his place in life. Well, sort of.

"5 new songs recorded! Probably all soon to be radio hits, knowing my amazing skill," he boasted to no one in particular as he combed back his perfect blonde hair with his long fingers. Today seemed legitimately perfect; the birds were chirping, the sun was shining, and there wasn't a single cloud in the sky. But it soon began raining out of nowhere; Francis quickly discovered why.

Turning at the corner of Lafayette and 43rd Street was no other than the notorious black sheep of Europe, Arthur Kirkland. He was on his phone babbling to Alfred about all the reasons fast food should be banned from their national conventions.

"You GIT! I fucking told you, you're going to die all fat and --- You're telling me to shut up! Well fine then! YOU'RE SUCH A PAIN IN THE ARSE!" he yelled. It was impossible to concentrate on anything with him screaming like that, especially in public. Angrily, he hung up his phone and crammed it in his peacoat's pocket. He looked up to see a soaking wet Francis frozen on the bustling street across from him.

Francis had no idea what had overcame him. Normally, Arthur's fighting was none of his concern, but today changed that. Before he knew it, Francis was storming up to Arthur, cursing at him in French.

"What makes you think you have the right to hurt MY little Amérique, eh?" Francis questioned, his voice seething with anger.

"You bloody frog! You were eavesdropping on me again, now, were you?!" bellowed Arthur, his eyebrows almost completely covering his ivy green orbs. 

Francis scoffed. "Eavesdropping? Mon ami, you were screaming your whole conversation throughout the street."

The Brit rolled his eyes in pure annoyance, ignoring the point the French country made. "I'm fucking brassed up with your shit, you no-good bastard!"

"Ohonhon! Now I'M the connard?" he objected. "Says the one who didn't let Alfred leave you!"

"This isn't about him anymore, you wanker! It's about you! You make fun of me for never getting a girl when you can't even get one!"

"I never said I wanted one, Angleterre!"

"Well, neither did I! So can you just clear off before I mention everything else you've done," Arthur cried. "You pathetic frog!"

"Fine!" Francis wailed.

"I HATE YOU!" they both screamed at the top of their lungs, each of them marching off to opposite sides of town.

~~~~~~~~~~

Francis slammed the door shut as soon as he got in his quaint apartment. The whole place seemed to tremble in fear; they sensed Francis was deeply enraged.

"I've had it! Arthur has to respect me but how?" he questioned himself. Francis isn't good at thinking when it comes to revenge, so he slumped down onto the comfortable rug given to him on his 50th birthday/anniversary of France's existence. 'Maybe a nap will clear my head, oui?' he thought to himself as he walked towards his room and plopped himself on the bed. Slowly, he closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.