Disclaimer: Okay I'll admit it, I do not own Hetalia, okay? :'(

England found lots of things beautiful, despite what people might think of him. So he scowled whenever Japan tried to show him pictures of 'Kitties' and he didn't understand why America found his planes so pretty, but he still saw beauty.

England liked it when it snowed and the sky at night was a dirty pink colour. He liked the swirls and twisting patterns of milk on hot chocolate and plane vapours crossing in the sky. Ink stains on the pads of fingers and uneven cobbles that pressed into the arch of your feet on old English roads. Asingle street lamp stuttering out the first red light of the evening.

Most of all, England found beauty in the irritating, smug, arrogant man opposite him. Even if he did need a haircut.

"Arthur," the Frenchman crooned, leaning across the table. "Why are you staring at me so?"

The Englishman blushed, startled out of his daydreaming.

"I am not! It's not my fault your head is big enough to occupy the entire room!"

"Oh Angleterre, you do wound me so." France clutched his chest and smirked. "It's so cute when you blush, I cannot blame you, everybody is consumed by my beauty." He whipped his blonde locks over his shoulder and laughed lightly, making Canada flinch slightly next to him.

"Is England blushing?" A loud, American voice brought everyone's attention to the red-faced Englishman.

"Do not worry about Angleterre, he is simply captivated by me."

"Shut up frog face! Who would be captivated by you?"

France just wiggled his eyebrows and England had to stop himself from launching at the smug git.

"I think we should ignore England's obvious love for France and get on with the meeting, da?" Russia smiled serenely at England, who suppressed a shudder.

"I am not-"

"Do not deny it Angleterre, it is understandable."

There was a bang and loud clatter as England's last thread of sanity snapped and he pounced at France. The two rolled about on the floor for a bit, trying to land punches and pull hair.

"Angleterre loves me!"

"Shut up!"

"Angleterre wants to marry me!"

"Shut up!"

"SILENCE"

Germany slammed his hand against the table. England froze mid hair-pull.

"If you two don't stop squabbling like kleine children I will take drastic measures. Can't you see everyone is bored by your antics?"

Arthur looked up. The other nations seemed far from bored, in his defence. The majority of them had been mind-numbed by America's dwindling rant about spaceships defending the earth from this ozone thing and the fighting blondes were the first sign of excitement so far.

"It is not my fault Angleterre is so overwhelmed by my-"

"Shut it!"

That seemed to be the last straw for the German, who wrenched them up by their shirt collars and threw them out of the room. The civil servants milling in the corridors weren't too pleased to see them either, before they knew it they had been locked out of the UN building altogether.

"Oh well done Angleterre." The Frenchman's tone had gone from mocking to genuinely annoyed. "Why is it you always manage to get us thrown out of buildings!"

"That's not true." England shot back, but there wasn't any real sting in it, the anger of the past few minutes had already dulled.

"Oh yes it is, we were thrown out of that pub when you did those obscene movements on the bar."

"Morris dancing is not obscene!"

The Frenchman paused in his tirade, blinking.

"That was dancing?"

"Shut up."

As it turned out, the "short" meeting was anything but. The two fuming nations had been left outside for over an hour now, and rain clouds were moving in.

"I hope you drown." England sneered, half heartedly.

"At least I can swim." The other man replied, idly fiddling with his hair. "It's an embarrassment really, the biggest naval power in history and you can't swim."

"Our sailors were taught it was better to drown than surrender, something you wouldn't understand."

"No, I wouldn't." The Frenchman growled, now waging a full-blow glare on the smaller nation. "I would rather my people live than carry on in vain."

England snorted. "Well that explains a lot, never carry anything through do you?"

"Don't I?" France hissed.

"No, always running out when things get too difficult."

"Hah! That's rich coming from the emotionally repressed ex-punk!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You've never approached your feelings, you run from them like a little boy."

"Nonsense." England spat, shaking slightly as the first raindrops fell on their heads.

"Is it? Have you ever told someone you loved them? Have you Arthur?"

"Why should I, what would they care?"

Blue eyes softened slightly and the Frenchman lent back to regard the shaking blonde. "Do you not think it would be nice for them to hear?"

"I don't see why."

"Well. It would encourage them."

"To do what?"

"Say it back."

England laughed humourlessly, drawing his knees up to his chest as the cold wetness seeped through to his body. "Like that would ever happen."

The silence drew out as the clouds rumbled overhead. It was definitely getting heavier. Raindrops were falling thick and heavy on the two shivering men. England looked over at France when he was sure the older nation was turned partially away. Raindrops had gathered on his lashes, giving the impression of small jewels balancing precariously on the ends, before he blinked and the jewels cascaded onto his hands, shrouding them in sparkling threads. England made a mental note to add that to his list of beautiful things. That was, once France was far enough away. The slight tremors travelling through the Frenchman's body made him look like a shivering leaf caught in a downpour, struggling to hold itself up under the strength of the rain.

"Angleterre." He said softly "You are staring again."

England wanted to snap something back, something that would light the fire in the other man's eyes and turn him from calm to furious in mere seconds. Then he thought, if he did that France would possibly turn his back on him. He wouldn't be able to watch his face. The cold must have addled his brain slightly, because these thoughts took far too long to process. In the meantime, France was watching him carefully, eyes flickering across his face before settling on his lips.

Before England could form words, soft lips brushed his. It wasn't an aggressive kiss, like he expected of France. In fact they barely touched, almost a whisper of pink against his, leaving tiny sparks in its wake. Looking up, he found himself lost in gentle blue.

"I would say it back, Arthur."