Francis took a seat on the wooden bench of the park. It was beautiful day; the sun was hot, but the chilly breeze brought it to equilibrium. A feather floated into his vision. It was a beautiful feather: white with blue specks, slowly being swept up by the wind. Not once has it touched the ground.
Hearing soft voices, he looked up from the feather. A little ways away, Arthur and Alfred were seated on another bench, their conversation being blown over to him by the wind. Francis decides he no longer likes the cool breeze. He looks at Arthur, he seems…happy, much happier than he did with Francis. He sees him smile, even. They don't notice Francis. No, of course not.
Before he sees too much, he turns his attention back toward the feather. It's still gliding along air, the blue spots accentuated by the bright sun. The October breeze, which he came here to enjoy in the first place, wafts against his face. It now seems stale to him, long since turned rancid with the arrival of Arthur and Alfred. The feather's venture looks as if it will soon come to end, edging closer and closer to the gravel of the trail.
He dares another look at Arthur. A gust of wind blows his hair into his eyes, and Alfred gently wisps them back into place, but leaves his hand there, softly stroking Arthur's cheek with his thumb.
Arthur's eyes find Francis'; Francis flashes a cocky smile and stands up before he has a chance to see Arthur's reaction.
As he walks off into the slowly sinking sun, the feather gives one last thrust and flutters into the dirt.
A/N: Well, I was inspired to write this by a dream. Though, it was Spain, not France, which didn't make much sense, so I decided to change it accordingly xD Thanks for reading. (: