"The more I know of the world, the more I am convinced that I shall never see a man whom I can truly love." (Jane Austen; Sense and Sensibility)


It is in this frame of mind that Arthur Kirkland loses himself once more in the written word, the simply-embroidered finery that drapes his mind with the blanket of another's life, another's drama to trudge through, another's joys to peruse at his whim for the ever-elusive taste of happiness.

The emotion is hard to come by for the Englishman, so far from his home in London. Of course, New England was the closest he had managed to come by, in terms of his native land - Arthur was quickly discovering, however, that the only likeness to home was the region's name. The weather as well, perhaps, but there was far more sun and far less smog here, ruling that out as a similarity.

He hadn't wanted to come abroad. Arthur sighed, a tired sort of sound, and closed his novel, setting it down in his lap. The written word was not enough to distract him today.

His father had been the one to make arrangements for Arthur to leave his home in London and study abroad. "It will be good for you," the man had said, without an emotion to be found. Arthur had accepted his fate with a nod and retreated to his room to stare blankly at the walls, emotionally unequipped to deal with this change.

America wasn't terrible, though, Arthur thought, bringing himself out of the past. Yes, it was loud from its motorcars to its adverts to its people, but at least the people themselves were nice to him, if a bit standoffish. He had even met two other foreigners studying abroad at the same university, though each were in different majors and from different countries. In fact, Arthur thought with a glance to the clock hanging above his window, one of them should be showing up in—

"Arthur!" a male voice called out in cheerful warning before its owner paraded into the small sitting room of his friend's apartment. Arthur did not move from his spot by the window, but could describe the visitor without looking - Francois Bonnefoy, with wavy blond hair that grew past his ears and blue eyes with a playful sparkle to them, had come to call.

"Francois," Arthur returned quietly as the man took hold of the back of Arthur's chair and spun him around to face the room, rather than the view outside the window.

The man clicked his tongue and ran a gentle hand through his friend's hair, assessing him surreptitiously as he did so. He wondered if Arthur had slept recently, and, judging by the bags underneath his prominently green eyes, determined he had not. Finding the other man's hair satisfactory, Francois smiled. "I think it is time for you to get out of your house, oui?"

Arthur gave the Frenchman a small smile and ran a hand through his hair, undoing the work that had just been done to it. "That depends," he answered, "on where you're thinking of dragging me today." Every day since Arthur had met Francois, the man had insisted on taking him around the one-street town within walking distance and the city around their liberal arts university as well as the city around the medical university a few minutes away by bus. The change had been unwelcome to Arthur at first, but he had grown accustomed to it, as it had almost become routine.

Francois gave up on Arthur's hair. Who was he to interfere if the Englishman wanted to walk around looking like he had just rolled out of bed? "There is a lovely flower-shop in town that I need to visit, and you are coming with me," Francois told him, smile growing as he said it.

"And leave my Jane Austen behind?" Arthur asked, smiling and standing from his chair, a well-worn copy of Pride and Prejudice clutched in his hand. "I'll get my coat."

"Mon ami, there is no need for a coat," Francois chuckled, gently taking the classic novel from Arthur and placing it on a bookshelf. He did not like the way the young man clung to them as if they were lifelines, even though his field of study was literature. "Were you not gazing so wistfully out of the window when I arrived? It is beautiful outside!" the Frenchman exclaimed with a wide smile, opening the door for Arthur and gesturing him out.

Arthur nodded, abandoning his coat and exiting as Francois held the door, glancing back once to see his book on the shelf before the door was closed behind him. The walk to ground level was companionable, if silent. Arthur rarely spoke first once they left his apartment, subconsciously adjusting to the change even now, as they left the apartment complex and began the walk down the sunny street, which led into the small town stuck between two large universities and would take all of seven minutes to walk.

"Is this a new shop?" Arthur asked, only realizing at that moment that there was silence between him and Francois. He did not feel an obligation to make noise; rather, he liked talking to his friend when he could and it was unusual that Francois had not taken the chance to speak already.

Francois cast a smile at Arthur, at the knowledge that he had chosen to speak first, and answered, "Non. In fact, it has been there for many years, but it has only just now begun to gain popularity."

"Why is that?"

"Word has it that there was recently a, hmm, a new addition to the shop," Francois said, smiling like he had a secret.

Arthur wanted to ask if he meant a new breed of flower or a new worker (with the man, it would easily evoke either reaction) when he noticed they were, in fact, directly across the street from said shop. Arthur frowned. He didn't remember turning onto Main Street, or the smells of the Starbucks they must have passed already. (Admittedly, Arthur could now smell coffee, though he realized it was from the indie coffee shop they were standing in front of.) "Is this a plot to get me to meet someone or find a new hobby?" Arthur asked abruptly, turning to face Francois and look up at him with a discerning eye.

Arthur had always been excellent at knowing when others were lying or keeping information from him, and Francois was no exception, even when he didn't give any indicators of being dishonest - especially then. Francois sighed in defeat. "Oui, oui, vous m'avez pris. In my defense, I am worried about you, cher." The man's voice took on a softer tone, making his French accent more prominent as he faced Arthur as well and looked into his eyes, blue eyes gentle. "You need to find more friends to be around, Arthur, even though all you care about are your livres, your paroles. Will you try for me, s'il vous plaît?"

Arthur blinked once and sighed, accepting the words Francois was saying to him. He knew they came from his friend's heart - or at least somewhere near the organ. "I don't think I can trust such an innocent face," Arthur replied, smiling slightly, "but if you go in with me, I might consider going along with your plan."

Francois brightened immediately and nodded in agreement. The pair faced the street, which wasn't busy at all, and crossed easily, arms brushing as they kept drifting into each other. Pausing outside the door, Francois sneezed. "Allergique," he explained in a half-wheeze. Arthur raised a slightly thicker-than-normal eyebrow at his friend, but opened the door and walked inside, Francois trailing behind.


Translations:

Oui: Yes
Mon ami: My friend
Non: No
Vous m'avez pris: You caught me
livres: books
paroles: words
s'il vous plaît: please
Allergique: Allergic

Hello all! Strange to put a greeting at the bottom, but I thought it would look nicer down here than up above with the quote. :) In any case, I've missed this account dearly! This summer has been a definite plot-bunny season, so have the first chapter to one of these ideas. Please leave me a review letting me know if you liked this or not, if my characterizations are okay, if I made any mistakes regarding grammar or translations (I don't speak a lick of French), or just to say hello! Thank you for your time!

~Chari