-Canada's house, a few days later-

France started to walk up the steps to Canada's house for the millionth time. For no apparent reason, he had suddenly gotten nervous every time he went up to the door. But this time he was going to ring the doorbell. He was.

Ding, dong!

France heard a cry of "I'm coming," that sounded kind of like it was said by someone who had spent that last hour sneezing. Or crying.

Canada opened the door, about to say something, when he stopped when he noticed it was France.

"France?" Canada asked.

"Salut, Cana- have you been crying?" France asked, stepping into the house without asking Canada if he could come in. Not that Canada wasn't used to that coming from America or someone of that sort.

France cupped Canada's chin in his hand and looked at his face. It was tear streaked. France started to wipe some of the tears off, when he noticed that it looked like Canada was having trouble breathing, and his face was red.

"Mattieu, are you OK? Your face is red, do you have a fever? Here, come sit down," France said, half pulling, half dragging Canada to the couch.

"I'm not sick. For someone who is supposed to be a romantic, you sure are oblivious," Canada stated, though the last part was muttered so that France could barely catch it.

Oh.

"Do you want to tell me why you are crying?" France asked, changing the subject slightly.

"I-I guess," Canada said, "The person I like doesn't seem to know I exist. I don't think he'll ever like me."

Oh how wrong you are, France thought.

"I don't see why he wouldn't like you. You're sweet and kind. You think more about others than yourself. You think everything out, and are very in tune to other people's emotions. And to beat it all, you don't look half bad," France told Canada, who was now sitting in a curled up position up against the arm of the couch, facing away from France. France couldn't see Canada's face, but he knew that he was blushing by the way he held himself.

"Well...I...he can't seem to forget his last girlfriend," Canada attempted to continue without falling apart.

"Well, maybe he needs to move on. Maybe you should help him with that," France said, moving closer, stroking his hair like he had when Canada was a little kid. From this new position, France could see Canada's face was even redder than before.

"I..." Canada didn't seem to know what else to say. "I think that he doesn't care for me."

"Now we both know that you are reaching a bit for that," France commented, still stroking Canada's hair.

"What?" Canada asked.

"I'm pretty sure you know that that's not right," France continued, looking into his face. If possible, Canada blushed harder.

"You know who I am talking about?" Canada asked, turning to look at France. France smiled a crooked smile at him.

"Of course, mon cheri," France answered.

"But-I, um, well," Canada stuttered. He turned away. "What do you think?"

"You know my answer," France answered.

"N-no, I don't," Canada stuttered out. France found his embarrassment cute. He pulled Canada into a hug, resting his head on Canada's shoulder.

"Je t'aime, mon cheri," France whispered into Canada's ear. France heard Canada's breath hitch.

"J-je t'aime a-aussi," Canada stuttered.

"We need to work on your French," France commented.

"Why?"

"You need to be able to say that without stuttering," France told him, hugging him tighter.

"Je t'aime aussi," Canada said again.

"That's better, Mathieu," France said.

"How did you figure out?" Canada asked France.

"You should thank Spain and England, though mostly Jeanne," France said, nuzzling him. Canada blushed.

"Merci beaucoup, Jeanne," Canada said to the air in front of him.

"Is she there?" France asked.

"Yes. She says that she is happy that you have managed to move on, though she thinks it rather odd you managed to do so so fast," Canada explained for Jeanne, who couldn't speak to France.

"I've been on the path of healing for a long time now. The fact that you say it is OK for me to let you go is what made me be able to do so so fast," France started, then finished, "it doesn't hurt that I always had a soft spot for you, Mathieu." Canada blushed again. "You would think that you'd be unable to do that anymore."

"Do what?"

"Blush like a tomato," France stated simply. Then he grabbed Canada's chin and gave him a short kiss on the mouth. Canada looked away, his face having reached a fantastic red color.

"That's more like the Francis I know," France heard this as though the wind spoke it, though he knew that Jeanne had said it.

"Merci beaucoup, Jeanne," France whispered. That was when he noticed that Canada seemed to have fallen asleep.

"He didn't get that much sleep last night. He was worried that you had figured out that he liked you, and didn't want to see him. He thought that the hint I gave you was so obvious that it would not take you very long to figure it out. So when you took as long as you did, he was sure that you were avoiding him," Jeanne whisper-spoke to France.

"I'm sorry, Mathieu. I did not mean to make you worry," France told the sleeping man who was currently laying in his arms, sleeping like he did when he was a baby, cradling one of France's arms.

"Adieu, Francis," Jeanne's whisper came to France's ears.

"Adieu, Jeanne."

A/n: Translations:

Je t'aime-I love you

Je t'aime aussi-I love you too

Merci beaucoup-Thanks a lot

Adieu-Goodbye (Used mostly when the person doesn't plan on seeing the other person again)

I added this even though the first chapter didn't get many reviews, because I was anxious and wanted to post this. I think that this chapter is better, though it is shorter. It ends the twoshot, so I hope you liked it... please R&R!