It shouldn't have surprised either of them that it had happened. Just because they were technically 'together' and living in the same space now didn't mean that things like this would simply go away and change. They didn't, that much was clear. They had argued. They had fought. Insults flew along with a few punches and it had left one of them storming out the door while the other sat down on the couch, fuming. The quarrel had started over the most petty of things. Thinking of it now while he was still seated on the couch an hour later, Francis couldn't even remember what had started it.

'He's always had a temper.' He thinks as he pulls himself up and walks to the window. 'And I always manage to make it flare up at the worst of times.' But that wasn't his fault, really. The British man was always so uptight. Was it really all that bad to want to loosen him up every now and then? 'Perhaps instigating arguments isn't really the best way to go about it.' He muses to himself as he watches the rain streak down the glass. He just couldn't help it sometimes. He loved the man with all of his heart but they always seemed to end up like this. And still he smiled. He wouldn't have it any other way, and neither would Arthur. He knew it.

Whenever they fought the Frenchman was always the first to compose himself. It had always been this way, for as long as he could remember. As much as the Brit could get under his skin at times he just couldn't stay mad at him for too long. Arthur on the other hand…

Francis pulled on his coat and grabbed an umbrella. Arthur had run. He always ran, from his feelings that is. He had come to know that about him over the years. As proud as he could be at times, emotions were his downfall. As he exited their apartment and took the two flights of stairs down to the street Francis was greeted with the chilled air of a London day. He opened the umbrella, it was still pouring.

He instinctively turned south as he began to walk. Arthur had his unpredictable moments, but not when he was upset. Francis knew the routine, unfortunately because of the numerous times they had gone through it. There was a park a little ways away from their building, and that is where the Frenchman's feet led him.

Arthur looked up from his spot on the bench. He had been sitting there for quite some time. Just sitting. And thinking. And crying. He always ended up crying. His head had been buried in his knees that he had drawn up to his chest and only looked up when the steady, cold thrum of the rain against his head, shoulders and back suddenly ceased.

Francis had found him right where he expected he would, on a certain wood bench tucked in the middle of the park on an old worn path. He didn't wish to startle him, for fear of angering him further, so he simply walked over and extended the shelter of his large umbrella. He was sure Arthur had been crying, and his suspicions were confirmed when he looked up at him. His shining green eyes were red around the edges and the tear stains on his face were easy for him to distinguish from the rain that had soaked him through. He had driven him to this. Again. And it hurt.

He didn't say anything as he sat sown next to the Brit, close enough that they were both protected from the rain by the umbrella. For a while it was silent between them. Despite the frequency of this sort if event it was still hard for either of them to muster up something to say. Finally Arthur let out a shaky sigh.

"Wh-Why do we do this?" He asked, his eyes never leaving the trees in front of him, never turning to face his companion.

"Why indeed." Francis responded, not knowing the real answer, if there even was one.

"It's ridiculous." Arthur said and let out a small chuckle between quiet sobs. "It's ridiculous and yet..."

"And yet here we are." Francis finished for him. He had been thinking something similar himself. Without even realizing it their fingers had laced together.

"Do you think we could stop it? You know, if we really tried?" Finally the shorter blonde let his gaze wander to land on the Frenchman, a pleading in his eyes. Francis wanted to say yes, he wants to so badly….

"No, I don't think so." He replied and squeezed the others hand for reasurence. Arthur looked at him and he could see the conflicting emotions running over his features.

"…You're probably right." He finally said and cautiously leaned his head on the taller's shoulder. They sat there for a while listening to the steady beat of the rain until one of them began to shiver. 'It's so like him to run out without even a coat.' Francis thought to himself as he stood, pulling the other along with him.

"We should go home and get you dried off, you'll catch a cold."

"I will not." Arthur mumbled, but followed along anyways. When they reached the small little haven they called home Francis immediately usher the Brit into the bathroom to take a warm shower. While he did this the Frenchman would go to the tiny excuse of a kitchen they had and put a kettle of water on. Every time this happened Arthur would emerge to a cup of his favorite tea, prepared to perfection. It was just another part of the routine.

By now things had began to ease back to normal. The tension from their earlier argument had long since dissipated and as they sat together on the couch, huddled under a blanket it would seem to anyone else that nothing had even transpired between the two. ..But it had. They knew it had and they knew that it would happen again. And again. And so on and so forth.

"Je t'aime, mon amour."

"I love you too, frog."

But at the moment that seemed to be just fine.

F.I.N.

Ugh, ok so this was an attempt (failed) at a different writing style. It's shorter than I would have liked it and I didn't really get the result I was looking for but here it is anyways…. Oh and for those with sharp eyes and have read any of my other work this could be loosely connected to my story Not Just a Walk in the Park.

R & R plz.