Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Just something I needed to get out of my system.

Arthur paused as he heard muffled sobbing coming from behind the bedroom door, and frowned. Knocking twice, he tried the door handle, but it was locked.

"Francis?" he called through the door, and heard a futile attempt to try and quieten the sobs, but he was otherwise ignored. He knocked again, a little more impatiently. "Francis open the – "

"Go away…" he heard faintly, the voice on the other side of the door sounding almost broken, making Arthur feel a stab of immediate concern for the Frenchman. He rattled the door handle again.

"Francis, let me in." his voice was commanding, and he heard a pause, as if France was debating his words, before he only replied with a repetition of "Go away."

France's voice sounded so hurt and fragile that Arthur felt utterly helpless on the other side of the door. The Englishman placed one hand on the polished wood of the door, as if that would help convince Francis to let him in.

"…Won't you at least tell me what's wrong?" Arthur attempted, his own voice softer and quieter, listening to the sobs on the other side of the door. Francis didn't reply for a few moments, before there was the sound of shuffling, and a small, white note was slid under the door. Arthur picked it up curiously, before turning it over and instantly stiffening.

No, oh God. The note seemed innocent enough, but upon turning it over, there were a few words that could be identified easily. This was the reason Francis was crying in the bedroom.

Rapist. Pervert.

I bet you molest all the other nations.

You take advantage of England when he's drunk, don't you?

You probably even raped Canada when he was younger.

You should just go and die, you fucking French whore.

Arthur was overwhelmed with fury and clenched the note in his fist, crewing it up. He tried the handle again, this time putting such force into it that he broke the latch, but he didn't care. Francis was hugging his knees, leaning against the bed with tear tracks running down his cheeks. His hair was dishevelled from the Frenchman pulling at it in his state, and half of the room was trashed completely. Arthur rushed over to him quickly, shocked at the state he was in. Francis lifted his head a little, his wet, cerulean eyes meeting Arthur's emerald, enraged ones a moment, before the Frenchman burst into fresh tears. Without hesitation, Arthur knelt down beside Francis and pulled him into a hug, which the Frenchman was grateful for, clinging to Arthur and burying his face in the Englishman's neatly pressed shirt. Arthur cradled Francis' head against him, stroking his wavy blonde hair soothingly.

"…I know you never did any of the things they said you did…" Arthur began, speaking quietly, after waiting for Francis' sobs to quieten a little.

"You would never lay a finger on Matthew for one; you adore him, and you have always been such a great father to him…" he felt Francis press himself against Arthur a little more, and the Englishman placed a kiss on his head.

"And I know you have never once taken advantage of me, either…" Francis had quietened more, listening to Arthur with his eyes closed, feeling safe and protected in his arms.

"You said yourself that 'love should never be forced upon anyone', and you have remained true to that your entire life, haven't you?" Francis didn't respond, only sniffling a little. Gently, Arthur pulled back and used his index finger and thumb to tilt Francis' head towards him, coaxing the Frenchman to look at him. Francis did so, and Arthur brushed away his tears with one caressing hand.

"Don't listen to them, love." Arthur gave a smile, and when Francis looked down again sadly, Arthur tilted his head upwards again and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. After a moment, Francis returned the kiss, but he felt undeserving of such affection. He had received notes like this before, always anonymous, but always hurtful. However, he had kept them a secret from Arthur until now, convincing himself that they would go away eventually.

"You're beautiful, Francis." Arthur whispered, and Francis' eyes widened, looking at Arthur with a querying glance. Arthur was not in the habit of saying such things to him, and only did so if he was drunk or really felt that Francis needed to hear it. Arthur smiled kindly, continuing. "You're kind and friendly to everyone around you. You're the best father, brother, friend…and lover anyone could ever hope for." Arthur poured every ounce of love he had for the Frenchman into those words, meaning every syllable. Francis was stunned into silence, but this time reacted more quickly when Arthur kissed him again. He held the Frenchman close, wanting to keep him protected from such unnecessary, spiteful thoughts. They stayed like that until both of them lost track of time, Francis closing his eyes again and resting his head on Arthur's chest, thanking God for the wonderful Englishman he loved, who loved him back just as much.

A/N: Don't hate France and accuse him of such horrible things, okay? Good.