Devon: Okay I wasn't going to post this but I've been dancing around this idea for months and I couldn't put it off any longer.

Warning: There's a little swearing in here and...that's about it so far.

Disclaimer: I own the plot but nothing more.

Rating: M. This won't be a necessary warning for quite a while but eventually the M rating will be appropriate.

Every Day
France (Francis) x Arthur (England/yeah they'll be others but I'll list them when we get there.

Chapter One

Arthur Kirkland was known for living the exact same day over and over again. He wasn't really stuck in a never ending time loop caused by some foolish time traveling or anything like that. His life continued on at the same pace everyone else's did. On April 23rd, at precisely 10:15 a.m. if you were being specific, Arthur aged another year. He lived 24-hour days and was subjected to the irritating time change twice a year just like everyone else. No, 27 year-old Arthur's problem was not that he could not progress in life but rather that he chose not to.

At exactly 6:15 sharp every morning for the past six years, Arthur woke up, alone, in his quiet apartment. He took a shower of exactly six and a half minutes. Monday through Friday, Arthur then put on a crisp grey suit, white button up shirt, and simple red tie. He put the kettle on, got the morning newspaper, and came back in to finish making his morning tea. He made two slices of toast and burnt them every time. By this point in his life, he was used to the smoky aftertaste left behind the strawberry jam he spread across the burned bread. Never taking more than twenty minutes to eat, Arthur cleaned up his breakfast mess and refolded his newspaper, leaving it on the living room coffee table to be read at a later time. Arthur finished his morning routine by brushing his teeth and attempting to calm his messy dirty blonde hair, one of the few parts of his life he truly had no control over, before leaving his apartment. Arthur took the stairs to the apartment complex's ground floor, carrying his brief case in one hand and checking the time on his watch with the other. He always left the house by seven o'clock.

The parking lot for the residents of the apartment complex was behind the building and so Arthur walked down the curving paved path to his old car at a relaxed pace. His sleek black oxford shoes made a gentle clicking sound against the pavement usually accompanied by bird song, the sound of passing traffic, or a casual 'hello' coming from someone taking an early morning jog. Arthur liked this part of his morning especially well because no matter the weather he could stop to appreciate the nature around him.

The familiar path Arthur took every day was surrounded by tall bushes. In the summer and spring the bushes were especially beautiful, alive with colorful blossoms, buzzing insects, and lively small animals scampering to and fro. This particular late summer day was still warm enough for the path to be alive with activity. The leaves on the many trees surrounding the complex had begun to dye themselves to match the twilight sky but the drying leaves had yet to begin falling. Arthur's eyes, which had been described as 'emerald' once when he was in high school but he liked to think they matched the green color of the nature surrounding him, crinkled around the corners as an absent-minded smile relaxed the Brit's pale features.

Finally, the back of the apartment building came into view. Arthur would like to be thankful that he was almost to his car but by making it this far, Arthur was now preparing himself for the next part of his uniform day.

Francis Bonnefoy stood out on his balcony, relaxing against the wrought-iron railing keeping him from tumbling to the earth three stories below. Though the Frenchman was accustomed to sleeping and lazing about his house in next-to-no clothing, he always threw on some baggy jeans and an old shirt to have his morning cigarette. By now the 29 year-old was convinced that the nicotine was less of an addiction and more of a welcome old friend.

Slightly curled wayward hairs tickled the bare skin of the Frenchman, underneath the back collar of his shirt. Most of his long hair was tied away from his face with a thin hair band or ribbon but the wavy locks tended to be unruly and made their way out of their confines to frame his serene face.

Every morning Arthur Kirkland passed by the balcony of Francis Bonnefoy on his way to work. Every morning, Francis looked down at the Englishman with a lazy smile and called down to him:

"Bonjour Arthur. Good morning."

A sinisterly adorable scowl would drag Arthur's rather bushy eyebrows closer together as he looked up at the Frenchman.

"Hn," He would grunt, turning back towards the parking lot. "Frog."

Originally, Francis assumes, the term was intended as an insult. Some sort of dig at his nationality. However, Francis and Arthur had been exchanging the same idle prattle every morning for four years and by now 'Frog' had grown to be a term of endearment reserved for Arthur's use and Arthur's use alone.

"Arthur dear, marry me?" Francis would propose every morning with a light hearted laugh as Arthur's retreating figure continued to grow smaller.

Every morning for the past four years, Arthur would make his way past the balcony of Francis Bonnefoy where a laidback Frenchman stood every morning to smoke. Every morning for the past four years, the said Frenchman would call down from his balcony a proposal. Occasionally, he would add more to the silly question. Usually phrases in French Arthur might actually be able to translate if he paid enough attention but they were usually just ignored.

"Go to hell you bloody frog!" Arthur called before he made another turn around the corner of the building and went to retrieve his car from the car shelter.

Every morning for the past four years, Francis Bonnefoy would propose to a stubborn Englishman who rejected him every morning for the past four years. Still, he hadn't given up hope just yet.

Devon: Okay, there we go. I hope you guys enjoyed. Reviews would be lovely. ^_^