I think I'm in love

The seagulls squealed from above, as the sun started to set: a mixture of orange and blue painted wonderfully on the skies above. What an utterly breathtaking sight, how blessed are we to be alive and exist to see such a sight! France leaned against the railways, listening to the hymns of the sea below, watching the tides hit against the British docks. The English channel may seem cruel but sometimes beauty can be found in the most dangerous of places. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, that's how the saying usually goes. “There you bloody are!” Someone yelled from afar. France didn't bother to turn, instead he continued to observe the painted masterpiece that mother nature seemed to give him; he couldn't help but wonder in awe at its beauty. Such elegance and divine work of art, how could he ever ignore such a sight? The rapid footsteps went to a decline as his companion halted beside him. Taking heavy breaths, wheezing as if the abundance of air is scarce as the desert. “How many times did the nurses—doctors—even I—have to tell you!” He yelled between his shaky breaths, “you can't just run away—you’re barely walking on two legs!” But alas, the British man’s stern has fallen onto deaf ears as France didn't even flinch from the latter's cries. Choosing to bask at the sight before him. Like a slow waltz, as the sun swiftly walks down from its mighty throne; the clouds acted as its gown, flowing with their eloquent movements. Who knew the sun could be such a divine woman? And one who could elegantly dance like a fair debutante, waiting for her suitor to come and collect her. It would be soon until her vibrancy soon be gone as the dark blue overwhelmed the skies, as if mourning for her departure with the only evidence of her existence was her gown made out of clouds but it too will soon disperse when the cold wind blows on them. Their soft whispers would soon blow them away, for the wind are heralds for the moon who will soon arrive in its own carriages. “What's up with this ding-bat?” the US arrived, hands in his pockets, surveying the sight before him. Britain shrugged in response, “Probably from the morphines we’ve been pumping him up” The US took a close look at France’s face; an amusing thoughtless yet thoughtful looking expression, his eyes so afar it seemed as if he was looking at his own nation across the channel. He then took a look at the sight France's facing. Watching the sunset, basking the world in the darkness of its absence. It's a peculiar sight, the American has to admit. “If I have to take a gander…” the US taking a step back to properly assess his companion, “I bet this guy got the good ol’ cabin-fever” Britain gave him a doe-eyed look, “what does that mean?” “Got bored of laying on the bed for hours and decided to have a short stroll, that's what it means” the American explained, “I would to, if I were to be honest” “If you were” Britain scoffs. The wind howls like trumpets, the tides getting more violent but this isn't the time for the storm—far from it. This is the arrival of the moon. Rising from the sea like a flower blooming its petals after years of preparation and growing. “By the way, where is his cane?” The US asked. “The fool left it in the room. God knows how he even got here” the Britishman sighed. The US raised a brow, “and you didn't bring it?” The British laughed in response, “and give him dignity? Of course not” he rolls his eyes. The moon flowed in such a magnificent way, she was tender and shy, yet found herself with confidence to show her full glory similar to a sheltered young maiden, excited to explore the outside world when her father allows her to. And explore she did. Her radiance may not control the sky but she made it as her dress, dancing with its dark blue silk cloth, using the leftover clouds from her sun sister as her own and made it better. Her audience cheered for her performance, the cold breeze made the clouds follow her every command and the waters from the English Channel made sure their waves are in perfect unison to reflect better with the moon as she dances. The sight made France wonder, a feeling suddenly enveloped his entire being, in a way he has never felt before. Suddenly the cold wind didn't bother him, something warm was stirring within him; how can he explain such unnerving yet fascinating emotions. He began to desire the impossible, he wished to lend a hand and ask the moon for a dance—whether it would be short or not. This elegant being he has witnessed between his eyes—oh, how did he not notice such beauty in his entire lifetime!—he wished to be a part of her side until his collapse. His hand reached up to the moon; a desperate plea for her attention but alas, for she is too far to notice his own insignificant existence. How could he be noticed by such a cosmic beauty such as her? What a puzzling sight to witness for his two spectators. France took a moment to reflect, he had almost forgotten their existence but he cannot let these new emotions vanish and forgotten when it made his heart beat with the rhythm of her dance. He must profess his feelings. “I…” France, who has been silent for the last few hours, finally spoke. “I think I’m in love” he has a thoughtful look on his face. The US and Britain look at each other, concerned. It was an awkward silence between the three of them, they let the cold wind scatter through the air as the moon glows elegantly in the sky. The two observers are oblivious to the Frenchman's romanticized desire for the moon. Without any further context, they think he has finally gone mad. The American was the first to take the initiative, turning the Frenchman in front of him and internally whispering in the crevices of his confusing mind an apology for what he will do to him. He began to violently shake him like a ragdoll. The US was much bigger—and stronger—than his french companion, it made the poor fellow’s body convulsed by the sheer and utter power from the American. “Are you out of your goddamn mind!?” he yelled, “keep spouting anymore bull and the looney-bin is what we're sending you instead!” Yet even with the rapid shake, France’s expression hasn't changed; he looks as if he was in another plane of existence. “She's gorgeous—Une œuvre d'art divine absolue!” He sang in praise, his voice sounded wistful. The US irked and let him go. This is uncharacteristic for the Frenchman; since when did he ever fallen in love? France dropped to the floor, uncaring for the sudden hiss pain of his broken leg (given to him during the Great War) for his mind is filled with romantic desire. Only for him to get picked up again by Britain, who slapped him across the face. “Pull yourself together!” The Britishman yelled, “the deuce you're talking about!?” France widened his smile “Elle!” “Elle tournoie avec une grâce infinie!” He clasped both of his hands together, “Quel spectacle éblouissant! La voilà qui se dévoile à nos yeux!” He expressed such intimate emotions. However, France was never known to be quite an expressive person—dramatic? Yes. Theatrical? Of course—but expressive? He must've gone insane, lost a few screws in his mind that you can even see smoke from his malfunction. France grabbed Britain by the shoulder and leaned in closer to him, “I need to confess my feelings to her!” He said with such urgency, his manic eyes unease his companion. Britain screamed and pushed the Frenchman off of him. “This man has gone insane!” Britain cried out. The US picks France up, “No, can't be—must’ve been the morphine” “I could imagine our children together!” France let out. The US drops France down, “Nevermind, he's possessed” The two sober-minded gentlemen stood around the intoxicated-minded French on the ground, pondering their next step of action. The moon danced gracefully as she slowly reached higher to the sky, departed from her ocean carriage, she reached high, showing off her elegance. France can't help but let out a light, amused chuckle by her naive confidence. “He's laughing to himself” Britain uttered, “he's insane” “I need a long drag” the US grunted, already done with whatever situation he got himself into, “This might be one expensive trip, that's for sure” Britain lightly tap his foot at France's shoulder, who didn't even react to the touch. Which is not easing the the Britishman’s discomfort, he lets out an uneasy sound. “So what should we do now?” The US asked, lighting his cigarette, placing them between his lips. Smoke exhaled from his mouth. His companion lifts his hand towards the American, which he gave another cigarette (before that he lights it), Britain took it and puff out a smoke of his own. “Thanks” “My pleasure” the American nodded. They both continued to watch as the French madman continues to laugh to himself. “Gorgeous! I could I ever reach her?” He smiled, his eyes full of that unsettling desire that made the US disturbed and Britain shudder. Britain cough out the smoke, “Who is she?” He finally questioned, “what is this women he keeps on fantasizing about?” “An unlucky one” the US replied. France realized he could hardly see the moon and wonders if it's because she's being distant, focusing on her performance. Oblivious by the fact that the smoke already surrounding the men, like thick curtains closing his view. The US releases smoke for a moment before pulling out to see his watch, “It’s getting late. I don't want to stay here until dinner” Britain hummed in agreement, the cigarette on his fingers, breathing out smoke from his mouth. He stood thoughtfully, “you should carry him” It was replied by a series of sharp coughs, after composing himself the American glare at his companion “Why should I?” “Because you’re a hulking fellow” The US was taken aback, “Sorry?” “Well-defined muscle, taller, bigger, stronger—what else do I mean by hulking?” Britain rolled his eyes, “with your size, we’ll have a much easier time getting him back” Can't deny that logic. Dropping his cigarette to the ground and grinding until it's unusable, the American replied with a curt “fine” before standing above France. Mustering the courage to even pick him up. The US kneeled down and lifts France over the shoulder with casual ease, he sighed in relief that there hasn't been much of an incident. Then Britain threw his cigar to the sea before he walks beside his companions. As they walked further from the dock, France notice how far he was to the moon, watching as he was dragged away from her. Even if it's for a short time, he hasn't yet reached her hand for a dance. But as if it was destined that they cannot be together; they're never meant to be, that's how the usual saying goes. He reached his hand towards the moon one last time, “Ma chérie” he muttered under his breath. Relishing her beauty one last time. Britain blinks and then turns to the moon, the realization hitting him like a train “The moon!?” he exclaimed. “You fallen in love with the moon?” Britain turns to France. France's face lits up when he names the moon which didn't help his bafflement. The frenchman chuckles “Perhaps one day, I would have a chance to ask her for a dance” The US groaned, “Sure, bud—” “And then we can start a wonderful family—” The doctor looked worryingly at his patient and their freshly bandaged head. “France is in good condition, nothing too serious, fortunately” he explained to the two men sitting across from him, “I’m making sure… Where did you say he go that head injury?” “He fell” Britain said. “He hit his head” The US said. They conflicted with eachother. The doctor was suspicious however with the look the two men are giving him, he decided that he likes to be alive and be with his wife and two daughters who are waiting for him at home, so he didn't press on. Nodding on and exchanging pleasantries, he quickly exited the room. “At least drop him nicely” Britain scolded. “You would too. I can't stop imagining France having a family” The US irks, “made my skin crawl” Britain rolled his eyes, “Stop being sensitive. It's not the worst” he says, “nor would it be the last. You just get used to it” “I'm never going to further interact with any of you after this”