(no subject)
Tricolour
America grinned down at the flag wrapped around his shoulders.
"You sure this is okay? I mean.... there's no way in hell I'd let you use mine for a towel."
France rolled his eyes, swinging round on his chair. "You've always been so sensitive about it."
"I'm just.... proud of it," he huffed, sitting down, cross legged. "It represents me."
"You know.... you wouldn't have it if it wasn't for me."
America shot him a dubious look and picked at the corner of France's flag, trying to remember. It had been a little like this. But England's livingroom. France in the leather armchair, peering over his newspaper with that mischevious smile America eventually learnt from him.
*~*~*
"Are you bored, mon petit ami?"
A tut from England earned a bigger smile from France, who's eyes shifted over to the island Nation, busy sewing.
"Let's make something. Papa is ignoring us both today."
"I am not. We're in the same room, this counts as bonding."
He glared over as France pulled a face, making America giggle. The moment he looked away, France slid onto the floor with the young Nation and moved the toy soldiers to the side.
"Let me see, you have an army...but every nation needs a flag. Wait here, one moment," he whispered.
"Francis." England didn't even look up.
"I'll be back, don't panic, mon amour."
"What is he up to?" he asked America, giving the sternest look he could muster.
America shrugged and pulled one of the soldiers back while he waited. They both occasionally looked up when they heard creaking and crashing from upstairs, a tearing sound sent England saying a swear which in turn made America giggle. The stairs whined as France returned, bundles of material in his arms.
"And what is that?"
Smiling to England, France dropped them on the floor. "Oh, old, useless rags." He joined them, crossing his legs in front of America and passing him some scissors. "The three greatest colours in the world. Red for passion, blue for strength, white for purity. You find it on all the best flags. Besides those in silly crosses and such."
"Like England's?"
"Like England's, exactly."
"Hey! Is that what y-"
"Relax, Angleterre. It's mine too."
"You ripped up our flags? You idiot fr-"
"They were old. It's not like you don't have enough."
England huffed and stood up, storming out to see where France had taken them from.
"Now then, what do you think? Where shall we begin?"
*~*~*
America smiled and scooted closer to France tugging on his hand, pulling him down.
"Well, all the best flags in the world have these colours, but only the most awesomest has stars AND stripes."
"If you say so. I personally disagree, you and Angleterre.... you make them so busy."
"Hey. You called me.... petty army back then, right?"
"Petit ami, oui."
"It means....like, boyfriend, right?"
"Oui."
"Pervert."
France laughed then.
"I just knew I'd get you eventually."