La Tristesse

Chapter 7

     Arthur didn't even try to contain his scowl. That idiot Frog had made it on time. He'd come in with Prussia, laughing and chirping in his sissy accent like he'd no knowledge of misery. Now the bloody baguette-sucker was sitting in the seat next to him, smelling sweet and smiling dreamily as Germany barked orders like a cat hacking on a hairball. 
      What the hell was this meeting even for? The last seven had all been completely useless. Italy was jabbering on about pasta, Russia was basking in his weird aura and Spain hadn't even bothered to show up. Japan was flipping through images on his camera while China dozed shamelessly on his panda. Prussia was whispering things that made Canada blush and that damned Alfred was throwing hand-signals at him from across the table. Whatever the American was trying to say, he was certain he didn't care.
         After Germany had one final, futile shouting spree the meeting came to an end. Arthur spared no time in leaving. Usually he'd stay to bicker with Francis for a while, but it wouldn't be the same now. He'd never admit it, but the fact that France was just as weak as he was disappointed him. Every since he was small he'd looked up to the other nation. Of course the guy blubbered and begged once and a while and had that phase with the dresses, but Arthur had never really believed he was as fragile as he acted. Now he didn't know how to handle him. He'd been cruel before, thrown hateful comments like javelins and brandished insults like a rapier. But that was because he thought Francis could take it. He enjoyed hurting him because he also secretly enjoyed being hurt back. He liked the attention, the playfulness of it.
"Iggy!" Alfred called out from behind him and he just managed to duck before the other nation threw his arm around his shoulder.
"Not now. I'm already missing tea time." He dismissed, picking up his pace.
"Oh come on." The American sighed, "What happened last night dude? Peter said you didn't come home."
         "Bugger off."
         "France sure cheered up. Did you guys finally do it?"
          He saw red. "Excuse me? What the bloody hell are you talking about? There's no way that me and that wussy rose-smelling pervert would ever do that! You've been spending too much time with Japan!"
          "Woah, bro, no need to get your brows in a twist. Let's go get drunk tonight!"
"No."
"Come on man, you'll stay the night with France but you can't go out with me for a few hours?"
His temper sent his senses fleeing. He grabbed hold of the lapels of that stupid bomber jacket and slammed the obnoxious country against the wall. He raised a fist and Alfred's eyes flashed with hurt. In the back of his mind he heard himself shouting to stop but all his pent up frustrations had finally sent him over. His knuckles rocketed forward only to be stopped mere centimeters from Alfred's nose.
          Long fingers roped his wrist and pulled him a few steps back. "It'z a bit too late to spank 'im now, mon cher." France intervened in a friendly tone. "It's about tea time, oui?"
          Again France had stopped him from striking America. He pulled away. "Wanker." It was all he could say, even when he should be saying 'thank you'. Just like that time, Francis had stopped him from doing something he'd have regretted later. Still, it didn't take the sting out of the wound. His pride did not forgive so easily.
           "Wait bro,"
           Francis snagged Alfred from by the shoulders as he retreated. "Onhonhon~ Amérique did I hear you say you we're going out tonight?"
           He didn't stay to hear the end of the conversation.