A/N: Wow, it's been a long time since I've updated.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or this song.

"...So if you feel like I feel, please let me know that it's real..."

Arthur is six years old the first time he meets Francis.

Francis is seven, older by only three months, and smells like pastries. He has long, girly hair, and thinks he's better than everyone else because he "knows how to dress". He puffs out his chest and gloats about his silky red cape, making a rude comment about Arthur's "caterpillar" eyebrows when Arthur doesn't seem impressed.

Arthur shoves him in the dirt, making sure to get as much grass in Francis's hair as he possibly can.

"You're mean." Arthur tells him matter of factly, "I don't like mean people."

Francis scowls at him, throwing a clump of dirt in his face.

The beginning of a beautiful relationship.

Francis watches with an amused smile as Alfred waves cheerily at Arthur, shouting goodbye with a dopey grin in place. Arthur smiles tightly as he replies in kind, glaring at Francis, who seems entirely too entertained by Arthur's situation. Alfred has been pursuing Arthur for about a month, to no avail. Arthur shows no interest in Alfred, feigning ignorance whenever an advance is made because, despite his sometimes harsh attitude towards Alfred, he doesn't want to hurt his feelings. He bids Alfred farewell in a way he hopes comes off only as friendly, and begins to walk towards Francis.

"And you haven't threatened him once. I'm very proud, sourcils."

Arthur rolls his eyes, falling into step with Francis, "I'm not the barbarian you seem to think I am, Francis. Alfred has a crush; it'll fade with time." He gives Francis a sideways glance, "Besides, not having your feelings returned must be very difficult, and I don't want to hurt his feelings."

Francis quirks a brow, "The heartless Arthur Kirkland is not as heartless as he seems."

Arthur frowns, "Whoever said I was heartless?"

"You laughed when we witnessed that elderly woman run over a pigeon, cher." Francis reminds him, "And you smiled when other cars ran it over."

Arthur gives Francis a look, "You're well aware of the hatred I hold for pigeons: they are rats with wings and should be treated accordingly. Of course I reacted that way!" Arthur glances around, ensuring that no one but them can hear what is said next, "I cry when I watch sad movies; how is that heartless?"

Francis chuckles, "I had forgotten about your weeping when we watch P.S. I Love You." Arthur's heart flutters at the words, but he doesn't react outwardly, "Désolé, Arthur; you were never heartless to begin with."

Arthur nods imperiously, sticking his nose into the air, "Very well, I accept your apology."

"I would not have been able to sleep without it." Francis replies sardonically.

'...I love you, Francis.'

"Why are you so upset?" Francis asks him softly, cradling Arthur's face in his hands. It's pouring, and the rain is bleeding through their clothes and chilling them, but neither of them care.

"Because you were snogging that bint in front of my nephew, you sod!" Arthur snarls, his fists clenched, "He's an impressionable boy, and I don't want him having that kind of an influence!"

That's not why.

He's upset because he's been in love with Francis for years and can't move on. He's upset because Francis doesn't seem to see him in the same light and he's afraid there will never be another for him. He's upset because stupid bloody Peter could tell he is in love with Francis, who claims to be an expert in matters of the heart and has no bloody clue. He's upset because Francis will never touch him like this with romantic feelings behind it and because it's raining like it does in a bloody chick flick before the big kiss when nothing of the sort will occur.

Francis shakes his head, azure eyes studying Arthur's face intensely as he says, "Don't lie to me, lapin." They're both silent for a moment, rain plastering their clothes to their bodies, "I didn't kiss her."

"Really?" Arthur drawls, attempting to come off as sarcastic, but only managing a doubtful tone, "Because it certainly looked like you were doing just that."

He's trying not to sound crushed, but some of his sadness and disappointment bleed through. Arthur curses himself, hoping that Francis will be dull for once and not pick up on it.

"She came onto me." Francis tells him, "Honestly, cher, there's really only one person I want to kiss, and it isn't her."

Arthur can't bear to ask who it is.

Francis stares at Arthur for a moment, brushing some hair off of his face before rolling his eyes and muttering a fond, "Oh, sourcils."

He leans in, tilting Arthur's chin up and pressing their lips together. Arthur is smiling softly when they separate, scarcely able to believe what has just happened.

"I never thought..." Arthur trails off, thinking of all of the uncertainty he has dealt with, the longing, "Have you always felt this way?"

Francis nods, "Oui. Ever since you shoved me into a pile of mud."

Arthur huffs, but cannot bring himself to frown, "It was dirt, Francis." He shoves Francis lightly, "And why couldn't you have told me sooner?"

Long fingers trace patterns on Arthur's cheek as Francis replies, "I am not as confident as you seem to think; how could I have known that you returned my feelings?"

Arthur laughs, feeling very much like a character in a movie as he answers, "I shoved you in the dirt, didn't I?"

"You said you didn't like me." Francis reminds him.

"Your hair was like gold and you smelled sweeter than anyone I had ever met; I liked you as much as a six year old could."

Francis kisses Arthur's nose, "Haughtiness and all?"

Arthur laughs, "Of course, frog."

A/N: Very short. Please review!