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“Why is the snow so cold?!”
Alfred’s whiny voice pierces through the silence between the few countries, as he hugs his coat close with his scarf covering most, if not all, of his face. He had severely under wore, not being accustomed to snow as he always shuts himself inside whenever the sky of Florida dares to drop the horrible ice. Arthur did not respond, only sighing, while Ivan silently gives Alfred his gloves and beanie; they’re both used to the freezing cold weather that snow brings, and aren’t at all bothered. Heracles trudges behind silently beside Matthew, both wearing only a jacket as their countries snow excessively. Raivis is even further behind, even if he’s supposed to be walking with Ivan.
Francis wasn’t going to complain, but he didn’t live where it snowed. The south often had wet winter, which is definitely not as cold as the snow that reaches his knees. He felt incredibly stupid with how much he had to lift his legs up. The only positive side to this is that Yao would be unable to walk and would need to be carried by him, oh, he couldn’t wait!!
“It’s not that cold, mon ami.”
He teases lightly, despite shivering. As he’s about to add on, he trips over the mass of snow, having not lifted his leg high enough, and falls face first into the snow. Alfred and Arthur burst out laughing, and Ivan (thank the lord for him) helps him up, though he also laughs a little. Heracles, Matthew and Raivis stand apart from them, only travelling with them because they have no one else.
Francis groans, as he takes Ivan’s hand, the front of his clothes soaked and his hair dirty. He looks and feels filthy.
“Don’t say a single word you bastards.”
He grumbles, walking off in the direction to Yao’s house, the others following as conversation picks up.
- -
“Welcome slowpokes!~ You six are the last to arrive, dry off and get on in.”
Yao welcomes them in his usual manner, ushering them in as to not let the meeting run over time. He stops at Francis however, halting him with a hand and instructing Im Yong Soo something in a language the Frenchman did not understand - he could not understand the difference between all the South-East Asian languages, as Yao and his family spoke all of them. The Korean man grabbed a towel, and when Yao was given it, he started drying Francis’s hair.
While staring him dead in the eyes.
“What did you do, go acorn hunting like a squirrel? You are filthy, is this how you want to present yourself?”
Yao goes on nagging Francis, who struggles to look the former in the eyes. He’s pretty enough to stare at from a distance, but close, his heart could explode. No, as romantic as Francis was, this beautiful man was too much for him. He was almost disappointed when Yao decided he was finished, and gave him a light shove towards the meeting room.
“Now come on, we’re going to be late!”
Francis follows Yao and Yong Soo, ignoring the suspicious look from the Korean man. He can be incredibly laidback, free-spirited, adventurous, and a handful for Yao, but as soon as any of the Western countries enter the picture, he goes dead silent and cold. It freaks Francis out, and a lot of the other Westerners too.
Once they enter, the meeting picks up quickly, everyone talking over each other as usual. In fact, this goes on for hours, with nothing getting done despite both Arthur’s and Yao’s attempts.
So when one of the large windows is broken, no one bats an eye other than the South-East Asian countries, for various reasons.
Kiku slinks away from the meeting to inspect, placing a hand over the sword in his belt as he approaches cautiously. His eyebrows furrow, and he takes just long enough for Alfred to notice and announce it to the whole room.
“Yo Kiku, what’cha doing?!”
He sounds as excited and irritating as usual, grinning widely as everyone looks to the serious man. Kiku is about to answer, when a gunshot fires from behind him and chaos erupts.
-
Francis was the first to take cover under the table, alongside Raivis, Tolys, Feliks, and some others he couldn’t recognise in the frenzy. He didn’t want to be apart of whatever was going on, clutching his damp coat close as he watches others follow underneath, though the yelling and gunshots never cease.
After what felt like forever, Alfred was the last to leave the scene and escape to the table, frowning more out of irritation than fear; the most serious Francis has ever seen him be.
“Oi Alfred, aren’t you supposed the hero? Why are you under here and cowering?”
Basch, who was next to the American, snarks, clearly not liking his constant reminders of his greatness.
“I was going to dude, but Yao yelled at me and he’s scary!!”
Alfred whines, and Francis’s body freezes as he remembers the Chinese man. How could he forgot the one who’s captured his heart for months? He scans under the table, and his stomach sinks as he doesn’t spot him, nor Kiku. He immediately climbs out from the table, but gets stopped by Arthur, who grabbed his ankle.
“Are you bloody insane?! Get the fuck under the table, your head is gonna get blown smooth off if you even dare go out there!”
Arthur’s accent was stronger in his fear, but Francis doesn’t make fun of him for once. He kicks his hand away and scrambles over the desk chairs to get to the broken window, the only way Yao could’ve escaped from. He could hear the gunshots, his heart speeding up as he ran through the snow, as fast as his legs could take him. His clothes weighed him down, but they also stopped him from freezing to death. He cursed the weather, looking around desperately in the snowy fog to find Yao.
He needed to save him.
-
It had been forever. Francis knew it had to have been, as Yao garden’s were massive and he swore he could see the surrounding wall. He heaves a boot over the snow, and thumps it back into the ground, the cold biting at his face, and his legs threatening to fail. But he had to keep moving, if he didn’t, he could never live, Yao could never live.
He whimpers as a fleeting thought ran through his mind of Yao’s dead body. Mangled and bloody, unrecognisable in his last moments of death. Francis tries to physically shake the thought away from his mind, but it clings like a parasite, screaming at him that his beloved is dead before he could even confess.
And it only further increases as he sees a heavy trail of blood on the white snow.
His stomach drops, but he tries to positive. Positive Yao isn’t dead.
“It’s probably just one of the intruders, maybe even Kiku…”
Francis murmurs to himself, his voice shaking as he trudges forward, following the trail with wide, scared eyes. Only once he knew who was dead, could he relax. His hair had been long shaken up, covered in snow, his nose red and his boots worn through. But he pushed one. Because only once he who was dead, could he relax. Only once he knew there was a chance his Yao was safe, could he relax.
His gaze catches the larger pool of blood on the snow, and his fists clench. Slowly, he lifts his head, and as he sees the body, the dam of tears finally breaks.
Because in front of him lay Yao, sitting up against the stone wall of the perimeter of his garden, bleeding from the head and stomach, eyes shut.
“No, no, no, no, no-“
He stumbles over the heavy snow, crash landing beside Yao as his shaking hands clutch his bloody face. His head injury, a mass of blood and flesh, had frozen over by now - how long was he suffering for all alone? - and his hair looked like it had been tugged at and even sliced off by a sword. His ponytail looked shorter than before. Francis sobs, desperately looking for a pulse, though he knew there was no use. His stomach was bleeding out, seeping through his uniform and staining the snow below him. He had tears all through his clothes, revealing gun shot wound, both new and old.
Francis’s hands slide from Yao’s face as he slowly gives up on his feat, instead wrapping his arms around Yao’s cold corpse. Maybe he could give his soul some warmth while it floated away, and maybe he would be able to see how much he loved him.