This AU is based off of Ask-aph-fruk blog on tumblr.

These drabbles (nearly all will be 1,000 words) will mainly be done with prompts so, please give me some scenarios in the reviews that would be great :D This is very very very much fluff, so a little OOC and I'm used to more 'complex' storylines but I wanted to attempt this style.

With that done, on with the chapter...

Arthur Kirkland breathed in the aroma of his freshly brewed tea as he looked onto his garden. The early morning gold washed over the white roses he had planted a few years ago, the rose bushes nearly as green as his eyes. A slight ache erupted in his chest as he pictured tiny toes peeking beneath the bush, a smiling face covered in small scratches and a race to catch the wildling before the grass stains ruined his clothes. A time gone by far too quickly. Arthur shook his head and sipped his tea, untainted by mounts of sugar the taste was...bland. His eyes drifted back inside his house and found the place even blander without drawings, comics or clothing all over the floor. He sipped again, utterly numb to the scolding hotness. It was far too quiet.

"Bonjour!"

Arthur froze, the new voice heavily deepened by an accent. He turned and found a man staring at him brightly from a hole in his white rose bushes. The man was waving madly, Arthur blinked, clearly he wasn't a native to the country. "Bonjour!" The man repeated, "parlez-vous français?" Blond curls were tied up in a blue ribbon that flowed in the small breeze and his eyes shone like a water pool in paradise and his chin was graced with small stubble and his smile was so pure and aimed at him-

Bugger. His face flushed red as he got lost in that face. Slowly, he realised he could not understand one word of what this beautiful man was saying. With his mouth firmly locked shut he shook his head, the man's face didn't falter but it scrunched in concentration. "I no talk good English? How do you say," he made many hand gestures but couldn't find the words, his attention was suddenly taken by Arthur's cat. He gasped and pointed at the fat furball. "Chat!"

"You want to chat?" Arthur questioned but flushed further as the man shook his head.

"Non non, chat." He pointed wildly at the cat, Arthur's eyes followed and he laughed hollowly. The cat wasn't strictly his but the furball had refused to leave the house, or more importantly the other cat that was glaring hatefully out of the window that looked onto the garden. The two had always been inseparable since Alfred had brought the furball home after finding it roaming the streets. Alfred. Arthur's laughing slowed and the ache in his chest returned. "Ami?"

Arthur looked at the beautiful man that appeared concerned, concerned for him, when he had no true reason to be. Arthur's grip on his tea lessened but he barely heard the smash as he rushed inside and slammed the door shut behind him. He leaned against it and listened to his raised heart rate. He slid to the floor and rested his head on his knees. "Bloody stupid beautiful man can't speak English." He mumbled into his knees. A short meow made him lift his head, his cat glaring at him with sharp green eyes. Arthur sighed. "I could always...learn French, right?"

The cat meowed in response, this time it was longer and more angry. Suddenly something slammed into the door. Ah, he had left Alfred's cat outside. Hesitantly he stood up and let the furball back in, the cat swayed a little but still managed to walk over to Arthur's cat and lick his nose gently. Arthur watched the two together, Alfred's cat pouncing around while Arthur's cat didn't look all that impressed. My cats have a better relationship than I do, he thought hopelessly.

Arthur walked up to his computer and looked up French-speaking guides.

Cautiously, Arthur peeked over the fence to see the man was pulling up weeds that had invaded the garden over the years. The last people that lived in the house were quite strange; both of Nordic-descent but Arthur had never bothered to interact with them but it had been many a time a loud 'Mathias' had been shouted throughout the day. Even so, both had left the garden a mess of weeds and long grass and likely other objects. The man, however, was happily plucking the weeds out and was humming a song Arthur didn't recognise.

Arthur gulped as he bent down and pushed Alfred's cat under a fence post that had become loose (a place where Mathias would give Alfred some...'treats' when he was bored). He quickly put the fence post back and pretended to admire his own roses until a voice sounded from over the fence.

"Ami?" The man sighed, Arthur popped his head up and saw the furball hooked under the man's arm. "He is yours, oui? He didn't look at all amused.

Arthur rubbed the back of his head, suddenly realising how bad an idea it was and guiltily replied: "...yeah."

The furball was pushed back under the fence post, but before Arthur could disappear into the house a soft tone drifted from the other side. "My name is Francis."

"Francis," Arthur repeated and suddenly felt shocks run through his body; the name rolled off the tongue so easily. He smiled. "Je m'appelle Arthur." Across the fence he heard Francis chuckle, it was worth suffering the female robotic voice for three hours straight. He picked up the furball and went back inside his house, all the while smiling and feeling a serge of aliveness he hadn't felt since Alfred had left.

In the other garden, Francis was still pulling the weeds up and was mortified by the amount of another type of weed left in hidden spots throughout the garden. His thoughts drifted to his strange new neighbour - to go with the strange new country he supposed. He chuckled to himself as Arthur's terrible pronunciation repeated in his head.

Heavenly.

Translations:

parlez-vous français? - do you speak French?

Ami? - friend?

Jem'appelle - My name is