[ France has always been able to speak with a rather elegant flair even if a good portion of it was redundant and fluff, but he believes in what he's saying. They are hard-earned realizations, and maybe if America could take them to heart he'd be a little bit more forgiving of himself and what he didn't know. Sometimes it was just nice to have something familiar. That's fine, France is set in his role as far as doting goes and his fingers find a nice, thoughtless stroke through the short blond hair.

They pause when America asks him that particular question and he laughs, obviously taking no offense. He knows he's a fuck up. A very pretty one, but still, he's made a few messes of his own. His fingers resume their motion. ]

Somehow. I do not think you want to hear me say sheer dumb luck.

[ France's palm rests on the rounds of the younger blond's cheek. ]

I mean to say, that is what brought us together. If you haven't noticed, both of us are both very proud and very stubborn. We had to work to get over that and learn to trust one another.

[ France is horrible at love, personally. He brushes back a little fringe, brow raising skeptically.]

I don't know if we could have done it back home.

[ Talk about a dilemma; wanting to be home with his people but wanting to selfishly pursue something he wants for himself. ]

Sure there were alliances, but it's not the same.