HetaliaxReader - Meeting Them (Ch. 27)

Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Only Rose

“Alright, so what is this ‘special meal’ you’ve been talking about?” said _____ as she sat down at the dining table.

Francis smiled, placing a large covered platter on the table. “One moment, si’l vous plaît,” he replied. “When everyone is seated.”

She scanned the room; Yao was already sitting down, and Alfred was just taking a seat. Arthur grumpily walked into the kitchen and sat down, apparently still irritated about what happened that afternoon. But there was someone missing.

“Where’s Ivan?”

“Mm?” Francis looked up and searched the room, then stuck his head into the hallway and looked there. “I don’t know, ma chère,” he said as he came back to the dining table.

A thought popped into _____’s mind. “I think I know.” She stood up and headed out the back door. She turned her head to look at the recently planted sunflower garden, and smiled. “Ivan, it’s getting dark. Why don’t you come inside for supper?”

The Russian didn’t answer her; he continued to squat close to the ground and look down, his back to her.

The smile disappeared from _____’s lips, and she slowly stepped off the back porch and onto the dirt. “Ivan?”

Ivan let his fingers hover above the dirt, and he and _____ could both already see little sprouts trying to emerge from the earth. He let out a soft sigh. “Look, Mama. Your little rebenok is taking care of your flowers all by himself.” His hand began to shake, and he rested his fingers on the dirt. “Ya lyublyu tebya, Mama. . .”

“Ivan?” _____ said quietly, placing her hand gently on the man’s shoulder. Ivan grabbed her hand, gripping it tightly. _____ flinched at the pain. “Ivan, you’re hurting me. . . !”

Having heard her, Ivan released her hand. He still had his head downcast, but he lifted it at the sound of her voice. “Mama?”

_____ felt her heart break at the innocent childishness in his tone. She knelt down beside him, careful not to touch him again. “Ivan? It’s time for supper.”

Ivan’s head quickly turned to look at her, and he blinked a few times. “Oh, devushka. . .” He cleared his throat. “What did you say? I didn’t hear you.”

“I said it’s time for supper,” she repeated slowly. “It’s getting dark, Ivan. You should come inside.” She noticed him glancing at the garden, and patted his back gently. “Don’t worry. They’ll be fine till tomorrow.”

He nodded, slowly standing up and going inside, _____ following. They both made their way to the kitchen and sat down at the dining table. “Okay, Francis,” said _____. “Now that everyone’s here, what’s the ‘special meal’?”

Francis smirked, reaching out and lifting the cover off the platter. Everyone automatically grimaced at the sight of it.

“What the hell is that?” said _____.

He raised an eyebrow. “Escargot.” He put the cover on a countertop nearby. “What’s the matter?”

_____ took her fork and poked one of the ground-up snails. She scrunched up her nose and suddenly felt the urge to gag. “It looks like Canadian goose poop,” she commented, causing the others at the table to snicker.

Francis scoffed, clearly offended. “Pardon moi?! What is that supposed to mean?!”

“I think she means it looks like shit,” said Arthur.

Anger visibly rose in the Frenchman, and, flustered, he scoffed again and stomped out of the kitchen. A short and awkward silence followed.

“I think we hurt his feelings,” said _____.

Arthur let out a short laugh. “Oh, well.”

_____ pursed her lips. Feeling obligated to do something, she stood up and said, “I think I’ll go talk to him.”

“Why?” said the Englishman still at the table. “I don’t think he needs a ‘pep talk’.”

Ignoring him, she continued out the kitchen and down the hallway. She spent a moment thinking of places the Frenchman would go, and started off out the front door. As soon as the door was opened, she spotted the man on the front porch by the railing, and he jumped slightly when the door quickly creaked open. He furrowed his brows at her and looked away.

_____ sighed. “Look, Francis. . .I’m sorry that I said that. . .”

Francis’s shoulders drooped a bit as he continued to look out past the front yard. He sighed softly. “Non, ma chère. It’s alright. I. . .suppose I should have asked before making it. . .”

Still not convinced, _____ stepped beside him, leaning on the railing and looking out as well. “Y’know,” she said. “Sometimes, when I couldn’t sleep or when I was upset, I’d come out here and just watch the fireflies.” She grinned. “I did it when I was at everyone else’s houses too, though.” She pushed herself up and sat down on the railing. “They’re pretty, aren’t they?”

Francis’s features relaxed, then he looked at _____, a shocked expression covering his face. He furrowed his brows. “Mon Dieu. . .I never realized how much you’re like her. . .”

“What?”

“N-Nothing.” He turned his head back toward the yard, his eyes following the fireflies’ evanescent glow. He felt his heart ache as he remembered a time not so long ago.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

“Mm. Oui.” Francis leaned against the railing of the small bridge, a bit unimpressed.

Jeanne smiled, sensing the mood. She looked out at the scene before her once again; the city lights reflected gently off the water surrounding them and shone on the Eiffel Tower, which was on the other side of the water. Having lived in southern France her whole life, Jeanne was excited about seeing every little thing in Paris, unlike Francis, who was a native to Paris.

She relaxed as she gazed at the gentle waves of the lake cradling the reflection of the lights. She sighed softly. “Je suis désolé, mon amour. I know that seeing this all your life, it may be boring.” She smiled warmly at him. “But. . .this is a very special time for me. I’m glad I was able to come here.” She lifted her face to kiss his cheek. “And I’m glad I could see it with you,” she whispered into his ear.

Francis returned her smile, and he turned his head so that their lips met. She wrapped her arms around his neck, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. He held her face in his hands and kissed her harder.  “Je t’aime, Jeanne,” he breathed against her lips.

Jeanne was the first to pull away, panting slightly along with her partner. She looked him in the eye and smiled. “Je t’aime aussi, Francis.” She kissed him one more time before turning back to look at the water. “Still. . .They are beautiful, aren’t they?”

Francis smiled, wrapping his arm around her waist. “Oui.”

Francis now looked at the girl before him in a bittersweet gaze. Very slowly, he lifted his hand and cupped it around her shoulder, bending down and planting a soft kiss on her cheek. “Merci, _____. I will make something else. Is that alright?”

“Eh?” _____ blinked at him, then blushed. “N-No, that’s okay! I can still eat what you made! Just. . .”

“As Alfred would say, ‘Get me a barf bag’?” He chuckled. “I understand that eating snail is beyond foreign for you. It’s alright if you choose not to eat it.”

She pursed her lips, then nodded. “Okay. . .”

==========

After dinner, which was prolonged by several complications, _____ decided to go to her room to get some sleep. On her way through the upstairs hallway, she ran into Arthur. “Oh, hey, Arthur.”

The Englishman half-smiled at her and nodded. “How did you like your ‘dinner’ tonight?”

_____ shrugged. “It was okay, I guess. . .”

“Well, I’m glad you went to go talk to him. If not, he wouldn’t have made extra food, and we would have had to eat that rubbish he calls a delicacy.”

She paused a moment in thought, then looked at him. “Arthur?”

“Yes, love?”

She pursed her lips. “When I went to go talk to Francis, he said that I was like ‘her’. . .Do you know who ‘her’ is?”

Arthur blinked at her, then sighed softly. “Her name was Jeanne. She was Francis’s girlfriend. . .One of them. . .”

“Did he like her?”

“Oh, yes. They were inseparable. They went everywhere together. They really loved each other.”

“. . .What happened?”

Arthur paused, then said quietly, “She was killed in a hit-and-run not far from this campus.”

_____ froze, her eyes locked on the man in front of her.

“When she died, well. . .Francis didn’t take it very well. He refused to eat or speak to anyone or even come out of his room for weeks.” He looked down at the floor. “I suppose her death led to what he is now. He had real love, and then it was cruelly taken away from him. Now––”

“He’s trying to find it all over again,” _____ finished for him. “But he won’t be able to find it, because he already did once.”

Arthur looked at her and pursed his lips. “Yes.” After a short silence, he said, “Well, I suppose I’ll be going to bed now. Good night, _____.”

“Night, Arthur,” she said as he went into his room, leaving her alone in the hallway. She sighed, then went into her room.

==========

Francis sighed as he made his way to his room. He removed his shoes, tossing them onto the floor by the foot of his bed, when something caught his eye. He looked on his nightstand, and there by the lamp was a small bouquet of roses. Next to the roses was a slip of paper. He picked up the note and began to read it.

Feli wasn’t the only one I never had a chance to give flowers to.

_____

Francis smiled softly at the note, then turned his attention back to the roses. They were a brilliantly deep shade of red, his favorite, and he held them to his face to smell them. He let out a quiet sigh. “Merci beaucoup, _____.”