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Fanfiction: autumn days fem!fruk

Disclaimer: characters do not belong to me
France is able to ignore the longing looks England throws out of the window for the first hour and a half but after the third sigh, barely held under the island nations breath she puts the magazine she is reading on her lap.
"Something bothering you Cherie?"
England straightens self consciously, and France realises she didn’t expect to be caught out. Stiff upper lip and all.
"No," she replies quickly and settles back down onto the sofa and takes up her knitting.
The process absorbs her and France takes the time to watch her companion.
England hates being cooped up indoors unless the weather is truly atrocious, their views on bad weather diverge drastically. Unlike most of her people England remembers when the weather was much harsher.
The only weather England dislikes is the hot weather, her darling English rose wilts in the intense heat.
France glances outside, mist has settled over her house, although pinpricks of sunshine peek through the blanket of almost white. It will be what England calls ‘bracing’ weather, a sharp frost beginning to chill the air. She’ll have to wear her thick coat France muses.
But then she has been wanting to break in the new boots she bought the other day. Internet shopping is an amazing invention that France had embraced fully, although there is nothing better than a tiny little boutique hidden away in Paris, the internet has it’s advantages.
Namely England is much more willing to participate from the comfort of the couch or their bed. It amazes France that England would jump at the chance to go walking with her sisters in all weathers but a shopping trip fills her with dread.
France waits until England is half way through a row before she carefully stretches her legs and announces that perhaps it’s a little stuffy in here and a short walk would be beneficial.
England brightens instantly, her enthusiasm lighting up her features the same way it had done as a child. It makes France’s heart ache a little to see how much of that little girl still lives in England and how often she hides her away.
France dresses as England finishes her row. England is standing by the door her own coat and boots on with a gorgeous soft grey beret she knitted herself over her blonde head when France finally emerges.
England grins at her, wide and open as the door opens and they step into the autumn air.
It’s not winter just yet but it’s definitely settling in and France can feel it in her bones, it makes her sleepy and languid while England seems energised. She startles as England laces their fingers together and puts them in her pocket.
The warmth of the pocket and England’s hand in hers sends a burst of warmth through her. England isn’t the most demonstrative person but all her touches, however small have meaning.
England squeezes her hand briefly, “I’m just making sure you don’t break an ankle in those ridiculous boots.” England says but there is a tint to her cheeks that has nothing to do with the weather.
They walk with no specific destination in mind. It’s rare these quiet moments between them although they have more of then than anyone would think. Most of the animosity between them is for show, although France loves teasing England to keep her on her toes, to ignite the passion England was far too good at hiding.
Besides England was such an easy target and it wasn’t like England didn’t know how to press her buttons as well.
But it was these moments France loves, the tiny little concessions they both make each day even if they are not together. The way England will buy tickets for the opera despite the fact she prefers ballet just because a night at the opera is an indulgence France adores and England loves to see the joy on her face or the way France will go walking with England despite the fact there’s hot cocoa and a fire and a gossip magazine at home, because England has never quite shrugged off her desire to simply be outside, to connect with nature, even here in France, close to her own land but not quite.
France sees the childlike enthusiasm England has for the wonders of the natural world despite the hundreds of years she has walked this world. France herself had lost that wonder a long time ago but she can almost feel it when she looks at England.
Her thoughts are interrupted as England takes her hand back and in their place England puts a flask in her empty hands.
France unscrewed the top and breathed in and the warm warm scent of cocoa greeted her. France sighed in pleasure as she took a sip, letting the warmth spread throughout her chest.
It was beautiful.
When she looked at England questionably the younger nation shrugged. “You were taking so bloody long getting changed I needed something to do, besides I knew you’d only complain if you didn’t have anything warm.”
France snuggled closer, wrapping her arm through England’s. The other nation frowned but it lacked any true annoyance, and when France laid her head on England’s shoulder, the blonde rested her head against hers.