Author's Notes: I am so fucking sorry I went off the rails. I had a hard year and I'm not sure what happened to my motivation. I'm not going to abandon this, though. I'm going to try and update it more often because I miss it and I want to make you guys happy.

Thank you to everyone who read, followed, favorited, and/or reviewed. You are all fabulous people and are my motivation for continuing this story

Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters are property of Himaruya. All books mentioned are property of their respective authors.

~X~

It was a Tuesday. Arthur had no idea why he would later remember this fact, but it was a damn Tuesday in the middle of the school semester, and Arthur was just about done with everything and everyone. And the Frenchman had decided to lock his door, which only made everything worse since he had to juggle his bag, a bunch of papers, and try and find his keys only to find that Francis was lounging about like he paid rent. And didn't give him even a basic 'hello'.

"You were wrong."

Arthur glanced up, brows drawn together as he appraised the Frenchman leaning against the kitchen counter. For the first time in a very long time, there was no book in sight. "What?" he asked, not able to find any other words to elaborate.

A quick grin curved Francis' lips as he shrugged. "'The Great Gatsby'. You were wrong about what I would think about it."

He frowned, setting his bag down. Francis had finished that book last week; why was he now bringing this up? "Did you like it then?"

"I absolutely hated it," he said, that smile still in place. He rested his chin against his intertwined fingers, brows raised as an unspoken challenge.

The Brit stared at him, not understanding. He could finally say that the two of them were getting closer to their special brand of 'normal', which meant that Francis had gone back to being the most nonsensical person in the world when the mood struck. Which was probably just to get on Arthur's nerves.

And he hated himself for realizing that he had missed it.

"I told you that you wouldn't like it," Arthur reminded him. "So I was right and you're just trying to make up some sort of bullshit argument just to argue with me."

"No, you're still wrong."

He huffed, nearly throwing his hands up in frustration. Logic, apparently, had gone out the window once more. "How the hell am I wrong if I said that you weren't going to like it? That doesn't make any sort of sense."

That grin turned almost catlike, a full-on smirk. "You said I wouldn't find the characters 'destitute' enough. I found the opposite to be true, however. There were entirely too many miserable characters; it wasn't exactly believable." Francis shrugged, pushing himself away from the counter.

Arthur frowned. That made even less sense. "You don't think everyone has that sort of misery with them?" he rephrased, trying to clarify.

Francis hummed thoughtfully, walking over to where the other stood. "I think it was all overdramatic misery. For instance, Gatsby? He was a stereotypically hopeless romantic, but taken up about thirty notches. And if it was just him who acted that way, I would understand, but five different people? No. People don't act like that."

He thought about that for a moment. At face value, Arthur was inclined to agree. But then… "I've been known to act like that. You have as well. God knows that Alfred overreacts to the little things… That's three people already."

Francis stopped maybe a foot in front of him, head tilting as he examined the librarian. "You don't act like that; in fact, you barely even react at all."

Arthur jolted at that, nearly taking a step back. Not only the words that the Frenchman chose, but the proximity startled him. There was a brief moment where he internally chastised himself for being skittish before he answered. "Remember the day when I wouldn't let you read 'Les Misérables'?"

His delicate brows drew together, a frown pursing his lips. "You didn't move from the floor at all that day," Francis replied slowly, his words unusually measured. "But I'm not sure how that's entirely relevant, considering that was more 'shutting down' than 'overreacting'."

Arthur grimaced; tugging on the sleeves of his sweater. "And when I slammed the door in your face the first time you came over?" he continued, trying to think of specific times that he had been over the top in Francis' presence.

Looking back, there weren't terribly many instances of it. Most of his dramatic tendencies were in his younger days, years before he knew the Frenchman. Thank god for that; Francis would never have let him live any of it down.

"I'll give you that, I suppose," Francis conceded. "But one moment of losing your composure is different than running over your husband's lover in a bright yellow car."

That grimace softened into a frown as Arthur returned the appraising gaze. "You're just adamant on the opinion that I don't overreact, aren't you?" he asked, head tilting slightly. "You realize that despite everything we don't actually know each other terribly well right? There's no room to actually judge what the other is like."

Now Francis' lips quirked down a bit, sighing softly. "I know enough. But, I suppose that's neither here nor there, is it?" The smile reappeared, looking a little more strained than before.

An odd silence fell between them for several moments, and Arthur had no idea how to fill it, unsure if he even wanted to right now. Francis, it seemed, was more than content to just let it linger as he stood before the Brit. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but it certainly wasn't awkward either.

Eventually, Arthur took a small step back, putting just a little more distance between them and kicking his full bag in the process. "You're not reading today," he said, deciding to point out the obvious. In the months that they had known each other, there were very few instances where Francis didn't have some book in front of him, crystal blue eyes scanning over the printed words of some novel or another.

The smile seemed to relax, and Arthur instinctively did the same. It wasn't a sore topic like he half-speculated. That was good. Just another step back towards being normal.

"I was before you came back. I just wanted to chat with you for a few moments without a distraction." Francis chuckled, tucking his hair behind his ear before continuing. "I won't be here for a week or so. Matthew wants me to meet his roommate; supposedly we'll get along."

Arthur's brows furrowed, trying to figure out why something that small would require even more than a day or two. He had run a handful of light novels to the boy not even a month ago, in keeping with his regular reading schedule. But then, was it his place to ask? They were finally back on solid ground, and he didn't want to jeopardize that. In the end, he decided that curiosity outweighed the risk. "Why for so long?"

"He moved out of state; didn't he tell you?" Francis' delicate brows drew together for a brief moment. "He and someone from Eastern Europe. Never said where specifically they were from and I still don't have a name, but I thought he would have told you."

Arthur stood there with his lips parted for several seconds. Matthew had two of his books. Why the hell hadn't he said anything sooner? "I would have thought he'd returned Fitzgerald's work before leaving," he muttered, a grimace curling his lips. That got on his nerves. It had happened before, and then Arthur had no way to get his books back and had to buy new copies. His budget wasn't all that good to begin with; he couldn't afford too many new books at the moment.

"I'll bring them back. He probably forgot he still had them; what with the transferring about. Something went wrong with his credits."

Arthur huffed, but it was honestly better than some pitying drivel. Even if it was still a probably bullshit excuse. "Yeah, fine. Just don't forget as well; understand? I'll make you pay me back if you don't return them." It was a mostly idle threat. The Brit would definitely pester Francis about it once or twice, but there was a small chance he would actually force the man to pay.

He was pretending not to think about why that was and would chalk it up to being bad at confrontation.

Which was bullshit.

Francis' answer was a cheeky grin and a dismissive flick of the wrist. Prat. "I'm a man of my word, Arthur. You can trust me with anything." And then he had the nerve to fucking wink.

Arthur pretended that he wasn't blushing and left the room before Francis started laughing his ass off.