France, 12 years in human age, finally had the other where he wanted him, stuck against the wall with no way to escape. "Ah my dear little neighbour, what shall you do now?"

Little England, just a little younger than him in human age, crossed his arms and glared. "France, you bastard, you cheated!" 

"Did not! It seems that I'm just better at this game than you are!" 

"I really don't like this game."

"Too bad!" With that the Frenchman pressed a finger into the younger boy's chest. 

"You're it!"

-

-

France, 16 years in human age, finally had the other where he wanted him, tied to a tree and unable to kick him.

"Fuck you France." 

"Oh no mon cher! Not before marriage!" Francis joked, grinning at how flustered flirting like that seemed to get the other teen. 

"What are you talking about?! Like I would ever get married with someone like you!" 

"The feeling is mutual." Francis said inspecting his nails. 

"Although, I'm sure you would make a cute housewife." 

France profited from the other teen's situation to kiss him gently on the cheek. "If only you could learn how to cook properly. Then we could make arrangements somewhere in the future." 

England scoffed, cheeks bright red, “In your dreams Frog!”

France walked away laughing, leaving the other stuck to the tree, “we shall see!” 

-

-

France, 21 years in human age, finally had the other where he wanted him, underneath him. Sword at the other's neck, his teeth bared and eyes so full of emotion. This was incredibly exciting, he couldn't help the laugh that escaped him.

"Oh, Angleterre, what am I going to do with you?"

England grimaced. 

"Let me go and give me your weapon?"

France scoffed, "don't be ridiculous." 

Then the Frenchman suddenly considered something. "Although it doesn't all have to be so painful.” He sat back up, grinding his hips onto the other man, making his eyes widen. “You and me… We could have some fun?" 

France smirked at the man below him who seemed to actually be considering it. 

England bit his lip, before nodding.

"Okay." 

-

-

France, 26 years in human age, finally had the other where he wanted him, fighting at his side. 

“Who would have known Prussia’s baby brother would be so tenacious?” Francis rasped out with a little grin. 

A grin that quickly faded as he coughed up blood, making the country next to him curse. “France, you better shut up and keep that blood inside your body!” England made eye contact with him, eyes stone hard. He started bandaging up the wounds the Frenchman had sustained.

“Oh, Angleterre, you know I never listen,” he said smiling, slowly moving out his hand to cup the other man’s cheek.

“France, I swear to god, I won’t have you die on me. You know I’m the only one who gets to kill you.” England was pulling him by the shoulders, trying to keep him awake. France knew it was useless, nothing could be done, he was going to die. At least he wouldn’t be alone, that somehow made the pain bearable.

“You tried your best mon cher, it happens, I’ll come back. We always do.” 

“I know, but still… Francis I...” England was saying something, tears sliding down his face. 

What beautiful eyes that man had, France thought deliriously. He was quickly fading. The last thing he felt before everything went black was the other man’s lips on his own. 

They tasted saltier than expected.

-

-

France, 34 years in human age, finally had the other where he wanted him, sleeping in his bed. 

The other man was breathing softly as his head rested on France’s chest. The rising sunlight reflecting off the golden band adorning the man’s ring finger. He felt incredibly content and at peace. He moved his hand to gently weave through the Englishman’s hair, trying not to wake him up as he did so.

It seems he failed as the Englishman’s beautiful emerald eyes slowly opened. 

“Good morning, mon amour,” France whispered, heart so very full.

“Are you being sappy?” The man narrowed his eyes, voice hoarse with sleep.

“Incredibly sappy,” France replied with a laugh.

“Oh?” Arthur said, sitting up, making himself just a bit more comfortable on his husband's chest.

“I was just thinking about how I can’t remember ever being happier than I am with you now.”

“That is indeed, incredibly sappy, Frog.” 

The Frenchman kissed the top of his head, “I really don’t care.” He moved a bit so he could kiss the man on the lips, giving him a small peck before pulling back “I finally am where I’ve always wanted to be.” 

He continued down to the man’s neck, making him gasp. “And that is?” England managed, unable to hold down a curious smile, knowing the other man was about to drop one of those terribly romantic lines.

France looked up into England's eyes, seeing nothing but love reflected there.

“In your heart.” 

-

How to stop loving someone:

1. Acknowledge the truth.

2. Name your needs.

3. Distance yourself, 

Limit seeing the person you love.

Avoid all your old spots.

Take a vacation if possible.

4. Look forward, coping with the loss.

Remove reminders of them from your environment. 

Focus on their flaws instead of the good times. 

5. Tap into other bonds. Find support in your friends.

6. Go inward, give yourself space.

Make lots of changes in your life.

Exercise to improve your mood.

Go out on dates again.

7. Accept that it takes time, be patient.

Arthur laid his head on his desk for a second before sighing once more and going over the steps. Deciding that now was as good a time as any to start, he copied the steps and opened a document to brainstorm over what had and hadn’t worked and what more he could try.

Step 1: “Acknowledge the truth.”

That could mean multiple things, right? Arthur frowned. Acknowledge the truth about what? The truth that he was madly in love? The truth that the person he loved was never going to love him back? Or the truth that the only solution is to stop loving him? Did it really matter? Arthur had accepted and acknowledged all those truths. If he hadn’t he wouldn’t be pathetically googling what to do now, would he?

Step 2: Name your needs.

This one was easy. Stop loving in order to stop hurting. Although, when he thought about it… That wasn’t really what he needed. 

What he needed wasn’t for his heart to stop aching whenever the other smiled in his direction. 

What he really needed was for the other to love him back. To be there for him when he needed him. For them to spend time together and have no care for the world. He wanted to hold the other close at night and wake up in the other man’s arms. He wanted to do as they always did, except he also wanted to be able to hold his hand. That’s what Arthur really wanted. 

Alas, that’s what he was never going to get. 

Therefore, purging all emotions was the only solution.

Step 3: Distance yourself.

Now that would be a good piece of advice and Arthur had tried, god he tried! 

He had stopped answering the letters, he had stopped answering his cell phone, and blocked his number. He had taken a long long vacation away from work, a whole year travelling to different places in the world. Visiting some of his ex protegees and colonies. He had made sure to avoid the places that were so dear to the two of them. 

He had tried his very best to disappear from the world. 

But even if he didn’t show up to those world meetings, and to those other silly affairs the other nations got up to, even if he would have hidden himself into the darkest cave, somehow the other always managed to find him. 

And when he had this time, he had taken him by the shoulders and cried. “What is wrong with you, Angleterre? Talk to me, god, you bastard…” but also, softly whispered, ‘I miss you…” and Arthur had stopped running away. 

He decided that loving, but hurting in silence was better than to cause the other pain by ignoring him.

Step 4: Look forward, coping with the loss.

Now, this just made it sound like the Frenchman died. Arthur snorted to himself but read the rest of the advice. Alright, ‘removing reminders of them from your environment’ didn’t sound too bad. Then he thought about it, a lot of the things around his home that reminded him of the other man were things he got throughout history. Some of them especially in case the Frenchman came over. A tapestry of Agincourt. A replica of a ship from the battle of Trafalgar. The uniform he wore during the battle of Waterloo. You know, he could get rid of them but then he would be doing the Frenchman more of a favour than himself. The other would probably be overjoyed to hear that he got rid of them. No that was out of the question.

Another advice was to focus on their flaws instead of the good times. 

Once more Arthur wanted to bang his head against his desk. The problem with love was that, even those flaws seemed endearing. The man’s pedantic focus on fashion, the way he would tease and annoy Arthur whenever he got the chance, his annoying grating laugh… Arthur smiled when he thought back to it. Even the moments in history when power and madness got to the other’s head and he was holding a sword to his neck were moments he can’t help but look back to with fondness. They’ve grown so much since then. 

He shook himself out of these thoughts, he’s not doing what the exercise wants him to do.

Maybe he can focus on smaller habits that annoy him? He thought about it for a bit and then something suddenly popped into his mind. Smoking! He didn’t like that the man smoked anymore! He had successfully stopped in the 90s and since then every time the Frenchman smoked, it brought with it an itch under his skin. Truly a bad habit. 

Then on, he thought back to hot summer nights on a balcony under the Paris sky, both of them leaning against the railing, the other man getting out a cigarette and putting it to his lips. Making an inviting movement towards him as he lights the stick and blows out a cloud of smoke towards him. “Suit yourself, mon cher,” upon his refusal. And the way he had looked with his shirt loosely opened, cigarette in his hand, blonde hair slightly blowing in the wind... Unlike his own hair that had been sticking to his forehead. 

He had wanted to kiss France so badly. Remove the cigarette from his lips to replace them with his own. Put his hands underneath his shirt, or wave them into that blonde hair.

Arthur groaned and wiped his forehead and with it those thoughts from his mind.

Yeah this clearly wasn’t working.

Step 5: Tap into other bonds, find support in your friends.

It was complicated to find support in your friends when the one you’re complaining about is your own best friend you normally find comfort in. 

He had tried to talk about his issues to America who had just loudly claimed, “What? Dude I thought you two were married.”  Arthur had just stood up, taken his jacket and walked out.

Spain, had been a bit more comprehensive, telling him something along the lines of: “You know loving France is very easy.” Arthur had disagreed, loving France wasn’t easy at all, it was tearing him apart. Spain had just gotten a strange look in his eye and England had decided to drop the matter, instead preferring to talk about the good old days with the Spanish man. Spain and him had talked about how they missed their pirating days and somehow the discussion had moved to France, and Arthur was back to the start.

Portugal, well Portugal had been supportive. Told him he should go for it, and take his chance while he still could. Arthur had told him he was trying to spend time with other people to forget about France. Portugal had just frowned disapprovingly. “You’re just hurting yourself unnecessarily.” Arthur had a nagging feeling the man wasn’t wrong, just not in the way he thought he was.

Belgium, a woman for once, had just rolled her eyes when he came at her door. “What has Francis done now?” She had asked with a weary sigh. He had decided not to think too much about the fact he was so transparent she could immediately tell it had to do with the Frenchman. Instead, he had sat down and told her he was trying to get over his feelings for him and she had barked out a laugh. “Oh wow, this is progress!” Arthur had not understood. She had refused to clarify. After asking her what he should do, she had told him that he was being stupid and that instead of trying to “purge himself of these feelings “ he should try and take a chance. Once more Arthur had not understood. When he had prepared to leave, she had told him that if Francis and him ever figured it out she wanted to be the first person to know. He had glared at her and told her she would probably be waiting forever. She had looked at him with an unimpressed look and told him she had already been waiting forever.

The last friend he had tried talking to was Germany. Now that had been a strange choice of person to hang out with. Him and the other man weren’t exactly friends. They were closer to work acquaintances that occasionally got drunk together and bonded over their shared frustrations with the other countries. Arthur respected Ludwig a lot. So when he had turned to him for advice, and the man had told him that he was an idiot, he had been caught a little off guard. “Look, Francis is a dear friend of mine too, Arthur, trust me when I say that your feelings are not unrequited.” Arthur had just shook his head, turns out the man wasn’t as observant as the Brit thought he was and that finding support in friends was hopeless business. The man had finished his beer and rolled his eyes. 

Step 6: Go inward, give yourself space.

This was similar to the third step. Arthur sighed. He had tried to change a couple of things about his daily routine. He had tried a number of new hobbies. Well, new… It's a matter of perspective. He had started to ride horses from time to time again and taken up fencing. These were “new hobbies” but they had been taken up again out of a fit of nostalgia. It had been good exercise to keep in shape as well. 

However, when the Frenchman had found out what he had started doing he had insisted on joining him. In a way that had defeated the point. Fencing and riding horses with France had been exhilarating however, the way the sun had shone as they raced through the prairie, and the laugh the Frenchman had let out as he had him pinned to the ground with an epee pointed into his chest, albeit this time without leaving a scar… 

“Just like the good old days, right? Angleterre?” 

“Just like the good old days,” he had grinned, before swiping at the other man’s legs, making him fall to the floor as well. 

Having the Frenchman pinned under him had made him want to kiss him. 

Once more a step had been terribly counter productive.

He had forgotten the last advice related to that step though, the “going on dates again.”- advice

The problem with that one was that he could either try with a human and watch them get older as he didn’t age one bit, or he could try with another nation. The problem with the latter was that they were all either aware that he was in love with France, or under the impression the Frenchman and him had a thing going on. No nations apparently weren’t an option.

Humans weren’t either though. The one time he got drunk and found a nice blonde in a bar, he had kissed him when they both got out. It seemed to get his mind off the other man which was great.

That was until the man pulled back and said,

“Tu sais que je ne m'appelle pas Francis, hein?” /You do know my name isn’t Francis, right?/

He had apologised and excused himself before running away.

Step 7: Accept that it takes time, be patient.

Arthur frowned at the last step. 

Yeah this wasn’t going to do anything. 

The Englishman laid his head back down on the desk and groaned in frustration once again. 

He laid still for a couple of seconds, wallowing in self pity when suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, and a pair of lips really close to his ear, murmuring something in a French accent.

God, sometimes he really regretted giving the other man the key to his house. Mortified, he didn’t dare lift his head from his desk. That was until what the Frenchman had said registered into his brain.

“How about you google, “Signs he loves me back?” it might be more helpful in solving your problems.”

He lifted his head and turned around to look into the Frenchman’s deep blue eyes.

Eyes that were filled with so much love. How had he ever missed that?

“Francis, I…”

France shushed him, “I know, I love you too, I was waiting for you to realise but I didn’t know you were this oblivious dear, I would have just taken matters into my own hands.”

Arthur was bright red and his heart was beating incredibly fast, suddenly his friends’ words about taking a chance jumped back into his mind and with that he took the Frenchman by the lapels of his shirt and kissed him.

At least for that he didn’t need a google search.

The two of them had become rivals when Gilbert, who had at that point merely been an acquaintance, had challenged him to what would become the first of many competitions. 

Initially the Italian didn’t even want to be included as he preferred to be the lone wolf of the office. Somehow the German bastard had found a way to bait him into joining. When he lost that first time, in a simple game of “toss the most paper balls into the bin” the German had celebrated by taking him by the shoulders and laughing really loudly. Really rubbing it in that he lost. It was then that he mentally branded Gilbert Beilschmidt as his arch-nemesis, a rival that needed to be defeated at all cost!

He grew smug after he won “guess who is dating who,” and “steal the most pens around the office without being noticed”, but Gilbert had the upper hand again when he won “disassemble someone’s office chair before they get back from their smoke break.” Lovino was reluctantly impressed by that one. 

The man was insufferable, always hanging around him, always baiting him. Lovino hated him. He hated Gilbert so much. The man needed to be stopped! Especially as he was always doing things that messed with Lovino’s mind. 

Sometimes Gilbert brought him little snacks, likely because he thought he was unable to feed himself.

Sometimes he told him his hair looked nice today, which Lovino suspected to be an attempt to make him second guess how his hair looked. His hair hadn’t looked any different than any other day. 

One time Gilbert had even locked them outside during their break, in the middle of winter! Clearly an attempt to try and kill him with hypothermia. That the German had given him his sweater with an apologetic look was only to disguise his inability to go through with his evil, evil plans! 

Lovino had certainly not enjoyed being surrounded by the smell of the other man, he had only accepted the sweater to make sure Gilbert suffered fully from the situation he got them both stuck in. 

After that moment, his behavior became increasingly devious and evil.

Gilbert had started bringing him coffee in the morning. Everyday it was more to Lovino’s liking. The German had seemed to be figuring out what was and wasn’t too much sugar and exactly what quantity of milk he liked in his coffee. Clearly this was an attempt to at some point in the future poison him. Lovino could simply stop drinking the coffee, but that would show Gilbert that he was aware of his devious plot, something that he could simply not give away!

Then there was his most recent attack, consisting of leather pants and the tightest shirt the man probably owned.  He must have gotten an ally. Both the shirt and the pants were from expensive Italian brands. Lovino just had an eye for that sort of thing. There was no way he managed to figure that out on his own. But it was very effective. 

Lovino’s eyes fell on his brother, who noticed his staring and turned to him and gave him a thumb’s up.

The Italian was fuming, it was one thing to start this rivalry, but to sway his brother to the opposition! That was just a disgustingly dirty move. 

He could not let him get away with that!

Lovino bided his time, waiting for Gilbert to be on his way to the toilet, before pushing him off his balance and dragging him quickly into the supply closet.

There were a couple of German curses before the man realized where he was and who he was with. There was a strange silence. Lovino hadn’t really thought of what he would do now and the proximity of the other man was somehow making him forget what he wanted to complain about in the first place.

“I knew these pants would do the trick!” Gilbert said, amused.

“The trick?” 

“You know... you finally giving in and having your way with me in a supply closet.”

“What?”

This had been his plan all along! Lovino was livid! But before he could say anything Gilbert moved his fingers under his chin to lift it. 

Oh no! Oh no! Alarm bells were going off in Lovino’s head. This was a new tactic! This was a very efficient new tactic! Increased heartbeat, nerves on fire, eyes finally getting used to the darkness and being able to see the look in Gilbert’s eyes. 

He seemed to be looking for something.

Suddenly, Lovino realised that if he wanted to win, all he needed to do was use Gilbert’s own tactics against him. So with that,  he smashed his lips onto the other man’s, who stepped backwards with an “Oof!” before responding in kind. 

That’s how Lovino came to be kissing his Arch-rival. 

Whatever the term “Arch-rival” still meant to him.

When Gilbert pulled back to whisper something akin of “I really like you, Lovino,” into his ear, he was forced to concede that while he won a couple of battles, the German had won the war.

Lovino shut him up with another kiss.

If he whispered something back along the lines of, “I like you too, you bastard,” it didn’t change anything.

This just meant the start of a new form of competition.

Involving more kisses, more leather pants, or perhaps less…

In any case, this time Lovino intended to win!

-Fin