First Hetalia fic I wrote. I made it out of my feels. Sorry if I butchered the characters.

"Hmm. You seem rather engrossed in that fairy tale, Seychelles."

The brunette heaved a heavy sigh as she recognized whose voice that was. Closing the book she was reading, her vibrant brown hues narrowed the moment they met his emerald orbs.

"What are you doing here?"

"Rude." England clicked his tongue and crossed his arms. "Can't you just greet me properly for once?"

Seychelles rolled her eyes. "Bonjour, Mr. Fuzzy Brows."

He shook his head, an arrogant smirk slowly stretching across his face. The lass knew all too well that this rude and mean exchange of words were all normal to him. "Well, anyway. To answer your question, I was just here for a little vacation. I dropped by your house earlier, but you weren't there, so I thought that you might be here."

"Mmm." She simply dipped her head in response, and went back to reading the last few pages of the fairy tale she's been reading. The Brit sighed and proceeded to sit beside her.

The two of them were seated on a large boulder near the shores of Seychelles. The thick clouds covered the harsh sun, making the afternoon weather nice and comfortable. The summer breeze was soothing too, and the sound of the small waves added to that relaxing atmosphere.

"The Little Mermaid." England raised a thick brow as his emerald eyes followed the trail of her finger on the page.

"It's a nice story," The brunette giggled, not taking off her eager eyes from the book. "I'm almost done reading it."

"Heh, Disney." He snorted. "Its ending is entirely different from the original version, tuna girl. Do you want me to tell you?"

The Seychellois shot him an icy glare. "Non. You may leave now, bushy brows."

"So rude and harsh." He muttered under his breath. His emerald hues curiously scanned the beach, but he couldn't find a certain blond man anywhere. "Frog-face isn't around?"

She returned to reading the last page of the story and answered with a faint yet loving smile. "Mmm. He left for France last week. I think he's going to arrive here later in the evening."

His emerald eyes softened at the sight of her gentle smile, his lips curling into a small smile as well. He patted her head and whispered, "With that mild expression of yours when you speak of him… You really do love that frog, don't you?"

A soft giggle escaped from her lips as she shook her head. "I really don't need to answer that."

England suppressed a chuckle and focused back on the story. "And so, the prince and the mermaid married, and they lived happily ever after."

She closed the book at his words, letting out a satisfied sigh. "Sometimes, I feel like a mermaid."

"Aren't you? You're so skilled in swimming and you have sea creatures as friends." The Englishman pointed out.

"Oh ho~" Seychelles was pleased with that response, revealing a childlike grin. "And of course, France is my prince! Someday… it'll be a happy ever after for us… I hope..."

"Frog prince."

She smacked his shoulder with the book. "Shut up, bushy brows. But… n-nevermind."

"What is it? Did you fight again?" He pressed.

"N-No, it's nothing." She shook her head stiffly. "Besides, arguments naturally happen in relationships, right?" What's important is that France loves me… He does…

The Brit furrowed his thick brows and eyed her intently. "But I've heard you've fought more often over some matters… Like how he forgets your dates and such."

"It's really nothing." The brunette tried to assure him.

To live happily ever after was all she wanted to have with France, after all.

There had been a tugging feeling within her that started ever since she and France got together. And every time it bothers her, she tried to nail it to the back of her mind and sealed it away, so it won't ruin her happiness.

But problems aren't meant for us to run away from.

Twilight came swiftly, and Seychelles wasn't finished preparing dinner. The lass swiftly trotted here and there, from the kitchen counter back to the table and then to the sink.

"Fish curry and rice, fish curry and rice." She mumbled to herself, scooping heaps of warm, white rice to a neat porcelain plate. Beads of sweat began to trickle down her face as she quickly skittered to the stove with a pan of unfinished fish curry.

It was when two, strong and slender arms hugged her from behind, taking her by surprise. "Eep!"

"You seem so busy, ma cherie. Don't stress out on cooking too much." A smooth voice of thick French accent whispered in her ear, making her blush.

"Y-You're here already?" Her face quickly turned to meet his. "Eh… I'm not even done making dinner."

"Let me help." France released her from his embrace and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He strolled to the stove and examined the dish. "Just to simmer this, isn't it?

"Oui!" She exclaimed gleefully. "I'm glad you're back. I missed you!"

The Frenchman smiled gently, and planted a soft kiss on her forehead before turning to cook. "Tu me manques aussi."

Dinner was served in a few minutes, and the couple sat around the small, wooden table. The salty summer wind was gentle as it breezed in through the open, glass sliding doors. The vast ocean could be seen in a not too far distance. Seychelles began to tell him random stories from the time he left to go back to France. Nodding while eating quietly, France enjoyed the brunette's cheeriness and tales.

"Oh, I was with England earlier." She chirped and afterwards took the last spoonful of her curry.

"Really? Rosbif was here? What did he want?" France questioned. He then wiped his mouth with a napkin and proceeded to get a bottle of wine.

"He was just here for a short vacation, I guess. Speaking of which, how was your vacation?"

He took a glass and solemnly poured red wine into it, his light blue eyes seemingly smiling with contentment and at the same time, nostalgia. "Ah, France…" the blonde strolled back to the dining table, sipping from his wine. "C'est beau, comme d'habitude. I had a nice experience yesterday afternoon."

"Please do tell." Seychelles smiled warmly as the French sat back down.

And for once in a long while, she saw that rare, sincere gleam in his eyes. France was blissful, you can tell; the way his smiling blue eyes sparkled, the tenderness and genuineness of the smile on his handsome face.

"There was this woman," He started. His eyes looked into the distant shore behind the brunette. "Who I approached when I noticed her taking a picture of moi. Upon seeing her face, I was very surprised. She was an exact resemblance of her."

"Her being….?" The Seychellois trailed off; her large, brown eyes glancing up quietly at her companion.

"Jeanne," He smiled gently. "It's as if the brunette I met yesterday was her reincarnation."

"Oh, I s-see." She nodded, feeling a little uneasy. Nonetheless, her lips curled into a kind smile and motioned for him to carry on.

France did continue. "Her name was Lisa. I stared at her features for long minutes—examining her hair, he eyes, her nose, her lips and her actions. For a second there, I thought it was actually Jeanne. But then again, her eyes seemed to question who I was.

"I spoke to her, and toured her around Mont Saint-Michel. Every time she would be busy looking at the scenery or take a picture, I would end up gazing at her—thinking that she is the very one who fought in the Hundred Years war's peak of confusion… Je suis tres heureux, ma cherie. I was so happy that I told her everything about the time of the war and about Jeanne.

"I told her, 'All the people that get tossed by history… I always hope they'll be reborn into a normal life, fall in love and end up living happily somewhere. When I saw you, I thought God does wonderful things. Be happy this time.' And I walked away immediately. I didn't want her to see me cry."

"Why… did you cry, anyway?" The pigtailed belle asked in a faint voice.

France shrugged his shoulders and sipped from his glass. "Perhaps I am glad, because I really did hope that one day Jeanne will have a normal life and live happily. I believe that Lisa is… S-Seychelles? Are you crying, mon amour?"

Her soft eyes brimmed with tears at their corners, and she could not stop herself. She knew very well why he was happy. France may or may not be aware of his reason, but Seychelles had known it ever since. In a rather hushed voice, the lass croaked out, "You've never gotten over her death, isn't it? E-Ever since I was a child… I knew… When I fell in love with you, I knew…"

Alarmed by her reaction, Francis quickly went behind her and draped his arms around her petite body. "Shush, Seychelles, amour," he almost crooned, nuzzling his face on her shoulder. "Non. Please don't say such things. Did I make you feel bad for telling such a tale? Desole. I'm truly sorry…"

She shook her head stiffly as she wiped away her tears. "I c-can't be blind anymore, right? The way you looked so happy while telling me your experience in France… The way how you still sweetly address Jeanne… I know, France. I've always known…"

"It's not—"

Abruptly standing up from the chair, Seychelles faced him. "It is." A small, feeble smile appeared on her face as she spoke. "I know I'm jealous… But France, it's the truth, is it not? You have always loved Jeanne, and that is the fact I've always tried to seal away. I thought… I thought you could love me like the way you love her, but…" She shook her head once again.

"Seychelles," France held her shoulders firmly. "Je'taime. I love you. Please don't say such things. Jeanne is not here anymore…"

"Yeah, she is not here anymore. Exactly. But your feelings remain the same, don't they?" Her misty brown eyes glanced up at his worried face, her lips in a weak smile. "You love me… I never doubted that, France. I know you do."

"Then what is the point of this?" He pressed, confused by her words. France knew in himself that he loves the Seychellois, but the latter knew better.

"You love her more… Isn't it?"

The blonde paused for a long while, pained baby blue eyes staring straight at her dreary, brown optics. His hands eventually softened their grip on her shoulders, and soon fell back to his sides.

"Maybe I should've opened this up long ago," Seychelles started, nodding her head. "I tried to suppress this, so it won't interfere what we have. But it's a wrong move."

"Non…" France exhaled, finally speaking after moments of dreaded silence. "Seychelles, cherie, this little argument is going nowhere…" He closed the distance between them with an embrace. Resting his head lightly on her head, he patted her back and said, "If I knew from the start that Jeanne's passing away would bring us problems, I should've talked to you about it. And I shouldn't have told you that story. I'm sorry, mon amour."

Seychelles laid her head snuggly in his chest, yet her eyes had gone dull from her crying. Her arms simply fell limp on her sides. "It doesn't change the fact… You still do love her more than me. I'm just like those what you call "rebound" who—"

"Shush," the Frenchman cut her off as he squeezed her tighter, closing shut his eyes and murmuring, "Non, Seychelles… Please, not a word of the topic anymore."

But she knew that it was the last of their happy days. Until he doesn't learn to let go of the past, they might as well part ways. They needed to grow apart, and search for what truly makes them happy.

"France… If either Jeanne or Lisa was here, and then there's me… Who would you choose to follow…?"

Seychelles felt the hold of his embrace loosened a little after that little question. France fell silent, his eyes seemingly distant.

"It's clear, isn't it?" Seychelles pulled away from him, managing to smile a little wider now. "It may be a little too late for this, but please do learn to move on from the past if you want to be in a new phase… I should've thought of telling you that months ago."

He could only stare at her. She continued to talk, wiping her tears away. France refused to believe her—but her words struck him so much. Memories of the Jeanne started flooding in his mind—from the time that they met to her death. Not one image he could ever forget even after so many years.

Yet he knew in himself that he loved Seychelles. She was the sun the lit his dark world when he found the brunette in the islands as a little child. He raised her up so well until she was twelve and gave her everything. They met almost eight years after, and the little girl he once found had blossomed into a beautiful woman. But why… Why did his mind immediately answer Jeanne instead of Seychelles at the question?

"Maybe we really should have talked about this way back, so we didn't enter hastily in this kind of relationship. The first few months were really nice for us… But things have changed after a while." She shrugged. "I guess… I could never really make you happy for that long, compared to those years you spent with her. I knew that, but I tried my best and attempted to get rid of the fact that I'm nothing compared to her in my mind."

"I'm sorry, Seychelles…" The soft words escaped from his shaking lips.

"We're both at fault, I guess… And France…" She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry… for ruining everything tonight. I'm sorry for nagging you about this, I'm sorry if I was very jealous… But this… this isn't the t-time for us t-to be together… Maybe we shouldn't c-continue this. I won't… hold you b-back anymore."

The last words broke her walls again. She couldn't help but feel so shattered by her own words—words that she never wanted to hear nor say. All she ever wanted was a happy ending with her prince. With her trembling hands, she covered her face, muffling her sobs.

"Seychelles…" He pulled her back in a hug, and whispered in her ear. "I… never knew anything of my feelings… I've never sorted them out… And I'm sorry if this has caused our little happiness to end. I'm sorry… for being blinded. I never intended to hurt you…"

"I know…" the brunette sniffled, still covering her face. "Good byes are painful, anyways…"

"Is this really…?"

"Oui, France…. Let's not… continue this while one of us is still not sure of his feelings…" She glanced up, eyes still teary and crestfallen. "I'm sorry; I'll just go out of the house for some air…" The belle excused herself as she rushed out of the house.

As the Seychellois left for the shore, France slowly traced his fingers on the edge of the table, his mind in a little chaos. Just a while ago they were okay, but now everything has ended in just one night.

"Truly, life is unpredictable…" he murmured to himself, settling down on his chair and sipped from his wine. He took out his long, black wallet from his pocket and pulled out one faded picture of a couple. Gently, he traced the outlines of the woman's delicate, gentle face and sighed.

"Is this why I never removed this photo of us here?" He asked, talking to the short-haired brunette in the image. "Jeanne… Maybe I never really did recover from your death…"

He continued to gaze wistfully at the picture as his fingers lightly outlined their smiles.

"I should do what I really want, then…"

It's been about three hours then.

A few lights from the nearby huts and the moon illuminated the girl's place. She sat by the boulder near the shore again. Seychelles was in a daze; there was no sign of cheerfulness in her weary eyes.

She simply rested herself there, watching the gentle waves come and crash serenely to the coast. "No prince for the mermaid…" She mumbled quietly. "I don't want to go home…"

"Oh, there you are."

"Huh?" Seychelles quickly turned to see the figure walking towards her.

"Well, I was headed to your house to have a late night chitchat, but France was leaving when I got to your doorstep." The lights revealed the Englishman's face as he drew nearer. "He told me that you were somewhere here. Quite odd, he didn't seem like himself. And you, as well..."

"Oh, he left, huh?" The brunette sighed.

"He said he will buy a ticket to fly back to France soon." England answered, sitting down beside the disheartened lass. "What's happened? Just this afternoon, you were so eager to see him."

"Let's just say… The mermaid thought he was her prince, but he wasn't." She faced him, a small smile on her face. "It's over, England… I always knew that he still loved Jeanne all this time, but I refused to let go. And finally today…" She trailed off, shaking her head.

"Oh…" Was all he could ever say.

The atmosphere fell silent and a little awkward as minutes passed. Only the rolling waves could be heard. Seychelles' face remained emotionless, while England was mentally panicking as his worried emerald eyes flick to the belle from time to time.

"Say England," Seychelles finally spoke, startling the Brit beside her even though it was just a soft murmur. "How did The Little Mermaid actually go? You know, the original version you were talking about."

"A-Ah, that…" England nodded. "Well, the prince thought another woman had saved her, so she fell in love with that woman and not the mermaid. But she begged the witch to give her human legs, and the mermaid exchanged her voice for those pair of legs just to be with the prince. The hag gave her a warning though, if the prince were to marry another woman, the mermaid will become a sea foam by dawn."

"And then…?"

"When she was enjoying her time with the prince despite the inability to speak, the latter had proposed to the unknown woman, and got married. Everyone went on the prince's ship to celebrate, including her. She wept day and night when no one would see, but her sisters came to her and gave her a knife. They said they sold their hair to the witch in exchange of her life. And all the little mermaid must do is kill the prince and she will become a mermaid once more." England nodded, as if in question if he should go on.

Seychelles motioned for him to continue.

"So she went in the bedroom of the newlyweds, carrying the knife in her shaking hands. But upon meeting the sleeping prince, the mermaid couldn't bring herself to plunge in the knife and kill her beloved. She went out of the ship's deck and threw away the knife in the ocean. And as the sun rose, her body had faded into a sea foam…" He exhaled heavily, concluding his story.

"Oh… So it was tragic, huh? The mermaid was a martyr then… Giving up her own happiness for the prince…" Seychelles giggled, though her eyes remained sad.

"Quite indeed…" the blonde agreed, staring at her face. When their eyes met, he quickly turned away and hid his flustered face.

"Is there something wrong?" She asked.

"Well… I just… d-don't like seeing you s-sad." He stuttered nervously, then quickly contradicting his words as he faced her again. "B-But that doesn't mean I'm really that concerned though!"

She shot the Brit an icy glare. "I don't need your concern!" Folding her arms, she looked away from him and watched the waves. "Sheesh England, I don't need you bullying me at this kind of mood. Maybe next time."

"N-No, it's…" He sighed in defeat. "I'm sorry Seychelles. I just don't know how I can comfort you… Maybe let's just dwell on other matters. Uh, would you like to alter that Little Mermaid story?"

"Alter?" She faced him, raising a curious brow.

"Yes… So let's see, what if the mermaid didn't kill herself?" England started, staring off at the sea as his mind summed up for ideas. "What if she just didn't accept the witch's offer, moved on and just continued living peacefully?"

"… That's boring."

England frowned at her comment and grunted. "Tsk, fine. Let's see… All right. What if the mermaid didn't accept the offer, and then while she was sulking, a huge storm raged in the sea, and she was injured?"

The brunette straightened up herself, thinking of a continuation to England's idea. "Then… the mermaid struggled as she swam, looking for help… And then saw a ship nearby."

"… Ship?"

"Yeah, a pirate ship." Seychelles nodded, already getting absorbed in the story.

"P-Pirate…?"

"Then unlike the other pirates, the one on the ship were nice guys and saw her. The captain himself lunged in the ocean to save the wounded mermaid and—hey England, are you listening to me?"

He certainly was listening to this "The Little Mermaid and The Pirate" story they ended up inventing. That is why his face was as red and warm as it could be. England fidgeted uncomfortably in his place as he imagined himself in his old pirate days.

"Y-Yes, I am Seychelles!" He stammered, facing away from her. "J-Just carry on, d-dammit!"

"If you're really listening, you have to look at the one talking!" The other demanded, furrowing her brows.

"No need for that! Just continue! I promise I'm listening!"

"No."

"Ugh."

"I'm tired of talking. You continue it."

"Me?" England glanced back at her, still flustered.

"Oui. Hey, why are you blushing?" Noticing the bright red tints dusted on his cheeks, she drew her face closer to the Brit's, squinting her eyes.

"G-Get away dammit!" He quickly faced away and said, "Fine, I'll continue our little story, but don't laugh, all right?"

"Yeah, but why are you—"

"So where were we…? Ah, right. S-So, the captain dove in the water to save the injured mermaid from the rampaging storm." He slowly grinned to himself as he continued with his little imagination, already picturing himself in the story. "The captain was a handsome pirate with a well-built body, shaggy, smooth blonde hair, alluring emerald eyes and thick yet magnificent eyebrows. He was glorious, good-looking and attractive. He took the mermaid aboard and healed her wounds. Then the captain fell in love with her, and not soon after, the mermaid felt the same for him. How could she not come to hi—"

He was cut off mid-sentence by the protesting girl beside him. "H-Hey! What makes you think you're the pirate! And you're describing yourself wrong too!"

"Bloody! T-That's rude! And what makes you think you're the m-mermaid?"

"You said so this afterno—Oh, I get it… So that's why you're blushing when I said a pirate saved the mermaid!" She concluded with a small, triumphant chuckle. Shaking her head, she said, "England… You shouldn't be hitting on a girl when she's heartbroken."

"That's n-not it, tuna g-girl! What makes you think I'm hitting on you?" He retorted, his face heating up even more.

"W-Well, you just are!" Seychelles shot back.

"I am bloody not!"

"Hmph." She turned her back and crossed her arms again.

Everything became silent again, and only the crashing of the waves being heard throughout. The two had stopped bickering and ended up staring at the vast ocean. It was already getting late, and it has gotten a little colder already. Soon enough, Seychelles rubbed her hands for warmth.

Noticing this, England sighed and stood up. "Let me walk you home." He stretched out a hand.

The brunette nodded and held his hand as she carefully jumped off the rock. "Merci…"

Walking in awkward silence, England felt that he needed to say something—anything to keep her mind from thinking of France. He just wanted to see her smile again, even just for tonight.

Before he could say anything, Seychelles said, "England…"

"Yes?" He asked in return, trying to peek at her face.

"Thank you for tonight. I feel better." The Seychellois slowly turned to him with a gentle smile.

Seeing her lips curled into the smile he has always admired, England's cheeks became rosy. He tried to hide his face from her as he replied in a rather soft voice. "You're welcome. It's what friends are for."

Finally, they reached the brunette's quiet, lonely house. She shook off the grains of sand in her sandals and peeped in through the glass doors. France seemed to have washed the dishes and clean the house before he left. England walked to her side and took a look inside the house as well.

"At least I don't need to tidy up anything…" She sighed. "It sure will be quiet for a few days."

"Will you be okay alone?" The blonde asked, then became a little uneasy and flustered the next. "I c-can stay w-with you for the night though… B-But don't worry, I won't do anything to you. It's n-not that I really care that much!"

Seychelles gave him a deadpan look. "I'll be okay, but it'd be nice to have someone to talk to. And yeah, I trust you, don't worry. You can go sleep on the sofa, if that's fine with you."

"Ah, that's perfectly f-fine." He swallowed hard and nodded stiffly.

She started to unfastened the straps of her sandals. "I'm glad to have a friend like you… Thank you so much." the lass whispered in a very soft voice as both of them were busy removing their footwear.

"Hmm? Did you say anything Seychelles?" England questioned.

Seychelles slid open the glass doors, and looked back at the Englishman. "I said stop hitting on me while I'm still in devastation."

"I told you I'm not hitting on y-you!"

"Yeah right, pirate." She shook her head and smiled knowingly. "Come on in, let's finish the altered Little Mermaid story."