~Italics = thoughts ~Parenthesis = verbal speech ~Italics within parentheses = accentuation
Warm rays of sunlight poured into the vintage, yet still stylish, themed room as the pastel blue curtains were drawn back. Gold light illuminated the curly, cornsilk locks of hair, only making it more shiny than it already appeared to be. Intensely blue eyes scanned the scene in front of him: slightly withered purple and blue flowers hung along the windowsill, their long vines draping elegantly along the edges of a rectangular pot, clinging to the old brick building that he lived within, and had for at least two years.
- Has it really been two years? Thought the Frenchman as he turned on his heels, walking back into the now lit room, glancing at the extremely messy bed.
He had fallen asleep sometime past midnight, sketching away as the time flew by. He cringed slightly at the sight, he had never been one to keep a messy house, even though he was only living in the dorms of the large college. He shook his head, quickly fixing the bed so that it looked somewhat decent at first glance. He turned once more, strolling to his small closet and opening the newly replaced door, searching through the many highly stylish French clothes. He had never been one for British fashion, even though that was the location of his studies. He pulled on fresh boxers, then a loose-fitting blue shirt, which complimented his eyes, and some black dress pants, settling for black boots as a final touch. He looked himself over in the mirror hanging from the back of the door and nodded, flashing a dazzling smile to his reflection. This, by the way, was a typical morning in the life of Francis Bonnefoy, a second year college student. Although he didn't have any classes, he still decided to try and impress someone.
That person, however, didn't particularly care how the frenchman looked. Arthur Kirkland awoke with a groan, strong green eyes glaring towards the very noise that had woken him up, throwing a pillow at his blaring alarm clock that sat atop his dresser. While the pillow hit its target, it didn't really make a difference, for it fell with a loud clash to the floor and continued its onslaught on Arthur's eardrums. With another tired and annoyed groan, the Brit sat up and stretched, yawning in the process. He stood up and slowly walked to the alarm clock, unplugging it with slight anger.
- "Damned thing…" He muttered softly as he let the black cord fall from his hands and onto the floor.
He looked to the still closed curtains and shrugged, opening his dresser's first drawer and extracting a pair of boxers and slowly pulling them on. He was never a morning person, no matter how long he slept or what time he woke up, not even if it was a special event on that day. He sighed softly, looking through the other drawers and settling on a green sweater, smiling a bit at the thought of it complimenting his eyes, and a well-fitting pair of khakis. He looked around the still dimly lit room, eyes settling on a pair of brown leather dress shoes. He grabbed a pair of socks and slipped them on, the shoes following soon after. He fell back onto the bed, not bothering to fix it. He grabbed the end of a curtain and yanked it open, allowing the very same golden rays to fill the room. He closed his eyes quickly, the bright light almost hurting his eyes. He blinked rapidly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the new natural light. He sat up once more, running a hand through his horribly messy dirty blond hair. He caught his reflection's gaze for a split second, looking back at it after a few seconds. He looked at his hair, cringing and groaning as he couldn't get it to lie flat. He huffed and shrugged, knowing that he didn't have anyone to impress. At least, that's what he told himself.
Francis had grabbed his phone before going to leave his dorm room, a small smile on his face as he glanced out through the window, watching his fellow classmates walk about the grounds. He looked to the sky, surprised to see that it was nearly clear, only a few wisps of clouds in the sky. The sky was a brilliant blue, almost matching Francis' own eye colour. He hesitated leaving his dorm room, his hand lightly brushing against the knob.
- Why must I leave this room? I have no classes… He thought to himself, letting his hand drift back to his side. Is there a reason to leave?
Arthur, on the other hand, had quite a few classes that day. This was one of the better days for his classes, as they mostly had to do with literature, which was his favourite subject when growing up in grade school. He walked briskly to the door, grabbing his black backpack on the way. The bag was littered with patches, pins, and keychains from around the globe, some of them even in other languages. There were at least twenty patch flags on the bag, each one being from the country the little patches represented. Some of the pins had lettering on them, saying things like 'punk' or 'gentleman', while others were simply items and numbers, one of them being an electric guitar with the Union Jack on it. He let his hand rest on the knob of the door as the backpack was slung over his right shoulder. He sighed softly, then took a deep breath as he opened the door. The hall was empty, excluding a few random papers left by the people who lived in the hall as well.
He let a small smile rest on his lips, seeing no one in sight to mess with him. As he let his door shut behind him, he turned back around to lock his door. Once his back was turned, he froze in the spot as the door across from him opened softly, the little 'click' of the door unlocking echoing in Arthur's ears for what seemed like a century. He groaned inwardly, not even bothering to turn around.
- "Bonjour, sourcils, I assume you are doing well?" Said the frenchman, each word laced in a somewhat thick French accent.
- "Fuck off, my morning was wonderful before you came into the picture." Arthur spoke in a sharp voice, venom dripping from each word. Even with this seemingly deadly tone of voice, Francis seemed unfazed.
- "Don't be so cruel~ You know you enjoy my presence." He chuckled softly, almost sounding like little bells ringing together in a wind chime.
Arthur's stomach most definitely didn't flutter when he heard that light laugh.
- "I do not enjoy the company of frogs." Arthur turned on his heels and began his long trek to his class. He had hesitated a bit when taking the first step, but thought it best to leave before he couldn't, or rather didn't want to. Arthur had a difficult time leaving after being in the company of someone else, even if it was that he loathed so-
- No, I don't "loathe" him...I couldn't loath someone so poncy, so flirtatious, so...French.
Francis had hesitated the slightest bit when going to follow the Brit. He knew that Arthur had classes, important ones at that, but that hadn't stopped him from annoying and flirting with the Brit before. He hummed softly, catching up with the other man and putting an arm around him.
- "Why so angry? Even you aren't usually this...this…" Francis struggled to find the right word for how Arthur was acting, English not being his first language. He bit his lip, humming softly as he became deep in thought
- "Irritable? Snappish? Goddammit Francis, learn English. You're in Britain, for God's sake." Arthur rolled his eyes, shoving Francis' arm off from around his shoulders.
- "I was thinking more on the lines of bitchy, if I am being honest." Francis smirked ever so slightly, almost hoping to get on the Brit's nerves. Arthur scoffed, shoving his elbow into the frenchman's side roughly.
- "You're the one who's put me on a short fuse, Francis, and I don't appreciate it," Francis held his side, wincing a bit, but still kept his composure for the most part.
- "Might I ask why you're so...irritable today?" Francis let his arm fall back to his side, the pain subsiding to a dull throb. He and Arthur fought often, both verbally and physically, but pain was pain, and it would always make itself known.
Arthur grunted in response, deciding not to say anything. The two continued to walk in a less than comfortable silence, the halls of the college becoming more crowded as they continued through them. Francis would wink at a few of the girls, and even some of the guys, hoping to make them blush or at least smile. Arthur would usually roll his eyes at the action, or groan as the other flirted, but he knew better than to do it now. While their friendship wasn't the best, they knew quite a bit about each other. Arthur knew better than to shame Francis for his flirting, mostly because he did it to make other people feel better. Although Arthur and a few of Francis' friends knew this, most of the other people at the college did not. Francis had shown up at Arthur's dorm room many times, far beyond drunk and sometimes breaking into tears when Arthur opened his door. The first time it happened, Arthur had been genuinely surprised at the sight; Francis kneeling on the ground, tear tracks on those lightly flushed cheeks, his eyes red from crying. He looked like a mess, and not the hot kind. Arthur was always one to observe his surroundings, and he was far from oblivious to what people would call Francis, but he had never known just how much it truly hurt the Frenchman. It was almost as if-
- "Hello? Terre to Arthur!" Francis waved his hand in front of Arthur's face, effectively shaking him from his deep train of thought.
- "What do you want now? Can't I just simply get to my class?" Arthur huffed, trying to suppress the blush that threatened to rise to his cheeks. Francis shrugged slightly, putting his hands in his pockets.
- "Well, I asked you a question, but you were in your own little world…"
- "Maybe you're just that boring, frog-face." Arthur smirked ever so slightly, feeling proud of his snarky remark.
- "In that case, I guess I'll just be leaving," Francis stopped in his tracks, looking out the window of the hall that overlooked the college's courtyard. "Adieu, Arthur."
Francis turned on his heels, walking back to his dorm room with a sort of drag in his step. Had what Francis said really have been that important? Arthur hesitated on his next step, but continued through to his class, making it with still ten minutes until the class would officially start. Arthur took out his materials, waiting for the professor to make his appearance. His thoughts went back to the Frenchman and how he had reacted. Why did he look so...so hurt? Had Arthur hit a soft spot?