Most would think Francois slouched when he went to meetings. This isn't entirely true. He actually sits up pretty straight, only leaning back against his chair the slightest bit. He does however smoke the whole time, because there is no way he'd be able to keep his annoyance in check for long if he did. Not to say he's addicted to the little death sticks, his lungs and throat fix themselves quicker than he may like, but it does give him something else to focus on besides taking notes and whoever is speaking.

Meetings are not his favorite, he's not sure if they are anyone's favorite, but he doesn't entirely mind them. There are worse things he could be doing. Probably. He lifts his hand to his mouth, sticking the cigarette between his teeth and taking a slow drag, letting the nicotine his body will refuse to become addicted to burn at his throat momentarily. He blows out the smoke slowly, inhaling most of it.

A hand swatting away the smoke catches his eye. He glances to the side to Francis sitting next to him. His other mindless bats the smoke away from his face, still writing on the paper in front of him. In the easiest of terms, Francis makes him angry. It's always been like that. Ever since the moment they first met during that whole world connections fiasco, Francois did not like his so called other half. He took one look at Francis when he approached him and could only think of one thing.

"You flowery mother fucker," Maybe not his best first impression but he really didn't feel the need to say anything else. It's not like he was wrong, besides, Francis took it as a compliment, linking their arms to go and meet some of the others.

It's not like Francois didn't get along with Francis. They get along fine, working through documents easily. Francois even helped him get Oliver and Arthur together with a stupid plan to make Arthur angry. He hadn't been happy he got punched out of the ordeal but it could have been worse. Francois just doesn't get his other. At first he thought Francis just put on this air of love and happiness for the moment, an exaggeration. It seemed impossible to be so filled and excited about the love and happiness around him. Francois merely rolled his eyes as his other went off about the beauty of l'amore.

Then the meetings continued and Francois saw more and more of Francis with the loving smile on his face and the cheerful demeanor about the world. It took him by surprise. He kept waiting for the façade to drop, to see truth of it all. He still remembers the day it really hit him how much love Francis really had in him. Francois could barely hold his cigarette he shook so badly. It scared him mostly.

All his life he's known death and darkness and never ending hatred for the world around him. Every turn and every corner there is heartbreak and pain and it made him feel so cold inside. He saw how the humans treated love and he wanted nothing to do with it. He kept himself away from that, sticking to one night stands and no attachments. It kept him safe and it kept him distant.

But Francis, with his overflowing love struck something new inside Francois and it scared him more than any war he ever participated in. He felt such an overwhelming sense of hope inside it made his stomach churn. Francis's love isn't fake. It isn't cold or forced or just for tricks like Francois originally thought it to be. It's nothing but real, pure adoration and it makes him sick inside.

Francois grinds his cigarette between his teeth, swallowing down any kind of feeling he may have. He doesn't love Francis, not by a long shot. He doesn't believe in that kind of thing. He just hates the sense of hope Francis brings with him. It makes him want to believe and to trust in something else. But he can't. It hurts to think about. He wouldn't be able to live if he finally opened up and then it came crashing down on him. It would just prove him right. And sometimes, he really doesn't want to be right.

Francois digs his fingers into his leg. His darker emotions getting a hold of him. He jerks when a gentle hand is placed on his arm. He glares at Francis, trying to keep his angry expression steady at seeing the concern so blatant on Francis's face. He shrugs off the hand and stares straight ahead, doing his best to ignore the hurtful look he receives.

Maybe for the past few months he's been ignoring Francis. Not entirely though, still talking for business, but if Francis tries to contact him in a personal manner, Francois takes the battery out of his phone and shuts down his computer. It's not that he wants to cut Francis out of his life, that would be impossible, but the contact is just a reminder.

The meeting is called and Francois packs up his things quietly and quickly, leaving the meeting hall as soon as he can. He extinguishes his cigarette outside the building, heading up to the hotel and yanking his tie undone. Fancy clothes don't suit him well. He doesn't care to clean up enough to wear them properly.

He's not sure how in the fuck he didn't realize sooner. Francois stomps his way down to the meeting building near midnight to see if the building is open. Somehow he forgot his lighter, his favorite one at that, in the room. He grits his teeth on the cigarette he has still yet to light. He gets to the building to find the doors locked. Of course. He curses the whole walk back up, mildly taking in the cold temperature but being too angry to truly care.

He tries not to pull the door completely off the handles when he gets back inside. Of course he has other lighters, he's not stupid, but that one is his favorite. It fits in his hand just right and keeps the flame low enough. It's also refillable so he can hang onto it for extra years. It makes the nicest flick noise when it's-

Fwick. Francois freezes in opening his hotel room door, the sound easily recognizable. He lets out an exhausted sigh as he turns around with an annoyed look ready on his face. Francis leans up against the entryway to his door with a soft smile on his face, not at all bothered by the look he receives.

"You kept it," He says. Francois suppresses his urge to groan. He holds out his hand wordlessly for his lighter but his other does no such thing. Francis smiles more and goes back inside his room, leaving the door wide open. He knows this is a blatant invitation for him to follow but Francois isn't sure he can. He's been avoiding Francis and this is getting way into a personal bubble he's not sure he can handle.

Then he smells food and gives in because he's hungry. He doesn't exactly take care of himself. He enters the larger hotel room with extreme skepticism but closes the door behind him. Francis is at the small kitchen area, working food in a pan without a care in the world, making the skill look almost easy. Francois takes a seat uneasily at the small table not for the life of him knowing what to do. He doesn't do one-on-one sessions with people like this.

It doesn't help that Francis doesn't say anything, leaving him there to shift uncomfortably in his spot while his other cooks. He debates if sitting there is worth it when an omelet is placed in front of him. He blinks up at Francis, back in the kitchen, and cracking eggs for another omelet. With minor convincing of his growling stomach does Francois begin to eat the food given to him. It's fucking delicious.

"Eh, Francois?" Francois puts down his fork when Francis speaks to him, having finished his meal and not entirely wanting to have an emotional spike and want to throw it at his other. He glances up lazily to Francis as the other glances over their shoulder at him.

"What did that night mean to you?" Francis smiles softly then returns to watching his food so it doesn't burn. Francois is sort of glad he put down his fork otherwise he would be more tempted to stab himself with it. His fidgeting increases considerably at the now open discussion. He's no good talking about feelings and now Francis wants to talk about that. The exact reason he's been ignoring him.

One night stands are not something he's unused to. No quite the opposite. It's his most common kind of interaction. The night with Francis just turned out different from anything Francois had ever experienced before in his life. He's had slow lovers before of course, but none as loving and as tender as Francis. No one ever asked him if he wanted to stop when he flinched. He never flinched before. The only reason he did because he didn't know how to handle the gentle touches.

He felt cared for, he felt for the first time in a long time loved by someone. It made the whole rest of the night confusing and put him in the weirdest mental and emotional position ever. He couldn't help but notice all the sweet smiles and the reassurances Francis gave and how it all made it so much better and so much worse because the next morning Francois did the only thing he could think of.

He ran.

When he woke up, the intense burning of hope inside made it hard to breathe. For a second he believed he and Francis could be happy. For a second while listening to Francis make morning food having not left in the night, he believed that maybe in some new way that Francis could love him. That maybe there could be a chance that he could have that kind of wonderful blissful experience Francis always talked about and ever better he could have that with Francis himself.

Those thoughts fizzled out and died as soon as they came. Francois's undeniable cynism smacked him hard, reminding him that love is for fools and utter bullshit. So quietly he made plans, got Oliver to help him back over to his side of the world and ignored any and every call from Francis for months. The calls burned him too. No one cared enough to call him after, he never wanted them too.

Francois shakes in his spot, gripping his hands in fist on his legs as the silence stretches on between them. He takes a daring glance at his other, finding him to be smiling still and working like the silence isn't the most awkward he's ever been in.

The easiness in which Francis is with him makes him hope again. He closes his eyes tight trying to push the feeling down and away. He can't do this. This hope and this idea of love is ridiculous. Being honest with himself it scares him. Love is such a fragile and easily thrown around thing, he's doing it to protect himself.

"You know," Francis's voice snaps him out of his internal panic. He tries to keep the panic out of his eyes as he lifts his head to lock eyes with his other. Francis leans casually against the counter with his own food in his hands. He gives Francois a soft sad smile.

"I really do love you." And in less than a second Francois shuts down. The pressures and ideas of love come crashing down on him and he starts to hyperventilate. It's not possible for this to be true. He shakes his head slowly and Francis comes to him, kneeling down next to him and taking one of his hands in his.

"I know you don't like the idea, but I have been quite in love with you for years," Francis still has that insufferable smile on his face. Francois can't find the mental capacity to take his hand back. It feels nice in Francis's and part of him really hates himself for it. He and Francis stay in that position for a few moments, neither saying much but Francois genuinely enjoying the small little rubs on his hand.

"I-" He starts to speak but can't get his words out. He looks away sharply. Even if he could get his words out, he doesn't know what to say. He jerks just a little when Francis kisses his hand sweetly then goes back to his food. Francois stares at the table in front of him. He's not ready for love. He really isn't, it scares him in every sense of the way. But Francis? Francis loves him anyway despite all of that. Apparently. Francois turns his head down to his lap, squeezing his eyes tight.

"I'm not good at relationships." He says, though that's fairly obvious. Francis hums at his words, subtly telling him to continue if he has more to say.

"I think love is for shit, I don't believe it. But-" He cuts himself off, not knowing exactly what he's trying to say. He sighs and tries to relax his shoulders. He spares Francis a glance, taking in the other's adoring attention on him. He sighs.

"You're welcome to try and change my mind." He finishes bitterly, looking away. He's not ready for love, but part of him thinks Francis understands that and won't push him for anything. He musters up a glare when Francis comes closer to him. With only a huff does he take the hand outstretched to him. He lets Francis pull him to his feet and to the bed in the corner.

It's not sex like Francois thinks it will be, but something nearly completely new. He's heard of and had cuddles before, but never so gently, never not going anywhere else. He rests his head next to Francis's with his arm draped over his side. He reminds himself not to flinch when his other run his finger's through his hair. It's easy, simple. At first awkward as he doesn't know if he should say anything. Then he watches Francis, with his eyes closed and a honest smile on his face, and decides against it. He sighs quietly and maybe moves a little closer, convincing himself that he's safe to go to sleep and that Francis will be there when he wakes up. For one of the first times, he's doesn't want to wake up alone.

AN: The France story in the Infatuation series. Hope you enjoy~

Art Credit: lauretta123 on DeviantArt.