Rating: T or mostly PG
Characters: France, England. FrUk
Summery: Little Arthur doesn't know what to do about the bubbling feeling inside his stomach. And he certainly doesn't understand how a stupid flower for a stupid frog is supposed to help! But a funny thing about promises is they tend to last... A story of a Frenchman, and Englishman, and a special flower.
The weather in France was pleasantly warm, clear blue skies and comforting summer breezes hushing through the grasses. But despite the temperatures, that didn't keep Arthur from pulling his evergreen cloak closer around his, admittedly, small shoulders as he walked down a long dirt road. In his hand he clutched a single white lily.
Arthur knew that Francis' house was at the end of the road. He knew that he hated the Frenchman's existence after that horrible haircut that nullified all of his hard work within the few strokes of his scissors. Self-consciously he put a hand to his head, tugging at the choppy locks that refused to lie flat. A scowl, one that his face would grow accustomed to wearing, crossed his features as he came to the crest of a hill and looked down into the valley. Francis' house was just in view, gaudy red roses visible even from so far away. For a moment Arthur considered turning back. But looking at the flower in his hand he took a deep breath and continued his trek.
Because he knew that house belonged to Francis. And he knew that he was supposed to detest Francis to any and all extent.
But he also knew that he hadn't been able to get the frog's face out of his head ever since the day of the haircut.
"Hey frog face!" he called past the gate, not wanting to venture farther at the moment, "Are you home?"
"Well if it isn't le petit Angleterre. What are you doing in this lovely land?"
Jumping he hid the flower behind his back and looked up into the tree where Francis was lounging, "You bastard! What are you doing in a tree?"
"What? Cannot one appreciate the beauty of nature?" Francis replied, smirking down at him.
"Well I don't care what you're doing! Get down here!" he demanded.
Francis laughed, "I will when I feel like it. How's the haircut?"
Face flushing Arthur pulled the hood over his head, hiding his hair from view, "You damn French frog!"
"Now don't be like that, Angleterre," swinging down from the tree
Francis landed lightly on his feet, walking over and flipping the hood back again, "I cannot see your adorable face if you do that~"
His cheeks bright red he glared at Francis, "Shut up."
"But why should I-"
"I said shut up!" And with that he shoved the flower into his face.
Francis took it gingerly in his fingers, azure eyes widening. Arthur looked away, crossing his arms over his chest and biting his lower lip.
"Shut up! Sodding bastard! Git! Bloody wanker!"
"Francis, on a good day," the Frenchman replied with a smirk.
"Well maybe I just don't think you deserve to have a proper name!" And with that he turned on his heel, stomping down the path again, "I'm leaving!"
"Arthur, hold on," Francis caught up to him easily, putting a hand on his shoulder and crouching down, the hem of his tunic swishing around his ankles, "You must have given this to me for a reason, oui?"
"It is quite a lovely flower," he twirled the stem between long fingers, "Don't I get to know why I am to receive such a lovely gift?"
Arthur crossed his arms again, frowning at him, "No."
"Pretty please, Arthur?"
He chewed over his lips, thinking, "... My stomach hurts."
And then it all came out, like a river that had burst its banks, "My stomach feels all funny when I'm around you! Like something is bubbling up! And my face gets all hot sometimes and my chest hurts and it only happens when I'm around you or think of you-not that I think of you much so don't get any ideas! So I must have caught some kind of stupid froggy disease! And when I asked one of the maids about it she said that giving the person it happened around a present would make it better so here I am! Okay?" With a huff he plopped down on the road, tucking his knees under his chin and curling up, "But my stomach still feels all bubbly so I don't know why I even bothered!"
Throughout his rant, Francis had remained silent, just watching him. After a few moments of not a sound between them Arthur looked up, impressive brows knitting together, "Aren't you going to say anything? This is obviously all your fault after-!"
Francis had leaned forward, cutting off his voice and sealing the two young pairs of lips together. The exchange was brief, nothing more than a press of skin against skin, but it was still enough to render the young boy speechless, the breath stolen from his chest. Instantly his face went red, "Wh-wh-what was that?"
"Hm..." Francis replied, a smile flitting over his mouth, "Let's call it... A promise, Angleterre."
"A promise of what? You bloody kissed me!"
Once again Francis' laughter filled the air, "Maybe I'll tell you when you're older. And a bit more mature~"
"I'm mature!" He leapt to his feet, coming up to his full height. Unfortunately it didn't have the effect he was hoping as he only came up to the Frenchman's waist. Damn frog, "Tell me now!"
Francis only shook his head, grinning, "When you're older, Arthur. Be patient, mon petit. Now," a hand was offered to him, inviting, "Come inside and have some lunch? You must be starving after coming such a long way."
Arthur stuck his lip out, taking his hand despite the bubbling feeling that rose up again. That maid was going to pay for lying to him, "Fine. But if you try to poison me with your frog food I'll… I'll never come here again!"
"With a threat like that I wouldn't dare," Francis chuckled, leading them inside.
While Francis puttered around the kitchen collecting bread and cheese for their meal, Arthur watched him from the table, head in his hands, when a brilliant idea came to him in a flash, "Hey frog! If I guess what the promise is you'll have to tell me, right?"
Setting two plates on the table Francis sat down as well, nodding, "Oui, I supposed I would have to."
Arthur smirked, popping a grape into his mouth. He really had the upper hand now! "Is it a promise to never visit me again?"
"A promise to… give me anything I want from now on?"
A shake of his head, "Non."
Arthur frowned, thinking, "A promise to... Um... Does it have anything to do with the bubbling feeling in my stomach?"
At this Francis simply smiled, popping a grape from the centerpiece into his mouth, "Perhaps, Angleterre. Perhaps."