There was a sound of a shutter, causing Arthur Kirkland to jump in surprise with a gentle gasp leaving the pink folds of his lips. A hand upon his chest, he allowed himself to breathe, before turning around to make eye contact with blackened lens on a white Polaroid camera. The device was soon lowered, as a pair of shimming, blue eyes peeked out from above it, widening the slightest as if the photographer had just seen the most beautiful thing in the world.
"Pourquoi es-tu si beau?" the stranger spoke, an orange hue from the sunset radiating from behind Arthur's head reflecting onto his face, making it look more slim and mature. Hazel eyes couldn't help but notice the slight, spiky hairs protruding from the other's jaw, his long, blond hair tied back in a low pony tail that was held together by a red ribbon. His upper body was clothed in a loose sweater that leaned to one side, showing off a bony, fragile-looking collarbone, and over a shoulder was a black strap of his bag that hung loosely down by his waist. To Arthur, this man looked like a complete artist, painfully stereotyping the French people of this beautiful country.
"I—uh… did you just take my photo?" Arthur replied, cheeks dusted a light pink in colour. Blinking a couple of times, the blond soon held up the phone he had in his hand back up to his ear as he shuffled in his spot on the park bench to face the sunset once more. "Alfred, I'll talk to you later."
"Hey, wait—"
With a sigh, Arthur pocketed his phone into his pants, before standing up from his spot and turning back around yet again to face the stranger from earlier. However, he was nowhere to be seen. Looking around, the blond searched with his eyes for the other.
"Hey, where'd you—Jesus!" the Englishman exclaimed loudly, holding up his arms in front of his face a little too late, when the French guy had taken yet another photo. Somehow, he had ended up behind Arthur. The blond yelled once more, "Would you stop that?!" as he fixed his hair and grabbed the handle of his luggage back and began stepping away. "I don't need to be bothered by someone taking photos of me. Do all you French people do this? It's rude and an invasion of my privacy, so stop it—"
"Prendre," the stranger said, taking a third photo. However, before he could grab the film for himself, Arthur leaped forward and took it instead. The rage soon began to build up inside of him as his eyes stared down at the photo of himself.
"I look stupid," Arthur said angrily through his teeth, fingers tightening as he held the photo with more grip. However, forcing himself to breathe normally, his hazel eyes looked up at the smiling man before him, speaking up once more, "Arrêter, s'il vous plait." He had said that last part with his eyes narrowed and his head tilted back in a 'sassy' and 'know-it-all' sort of way. This only pried a challenging smirk from the stranger with the camera though.
"Ah, so he does speak French," he said, a thick French accent rolling off of his tongue with each English word spoken. To Arthur, his accent sounded extremely sexy, but his behaviour was off-putting. He was attractive, too, so if he had just stayed quiet and sat there peacefully, Arthur probably would have engaged him first for conversation. But, now, the Englishman hated this guy more than anything at the moment.
"Ugh, what do you want? I was sitting here waiting for my—"
"Ah, you're Arthur Kirkland then, oui?"
"Y-Yes, that's me. Why? Are you— …fuck."
The blond with the longer locks laughed luringly, causing Arthur to frown in annoyance at the other as the photo in his hand began to crumple beneath his clenching fists, just as he spoke, "Francis Bonnefoy at your service!"
"Fuck me," Arthur cursed beneath his breath, hazel eyes casting off to the side in a complete 'tsundere' – a word Francis had learnt from all his time reading manga – way, with cheeks as red as crimson to reveal his anger.
"Baiser-moi? I was thinking we should get to know each other first, but I don't mind doing it as soon as we get back to my place," Francis replied, biting his bottom lip just as Arthur went to look back at him. The shorter blond frowned even more.
"Fuck you," he said in reply, moving to take hold of his luggage handle as soon as he shoved the photo Francis had taken earlier into his coat pocket. "Do I have to stay with you? I want to work with someone more professional."
"I'm the best you can get, Arthur," Francis said, emphasising his accent on the other's name by pronouncing it in French – saying it as arTUYR rather than arTHAR. The simple tease made the English-speaker's lips curve into a fine line that spoke 'annoyed'. "It was either me or some amateur. Plus, I'm the one providing you a place to stay – alongside my cooked meals – free of charge. You should thank me more, amour."
"Let's just get back to your place because I was on the phone to someone," Arthur said, his free hand readjusting the grey, monotonous scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. "I want to at least finish my conversation… idiot."
"Oh? Let me guess, was it your girlfriend?"
Arthur paused for a moment, looking at the other blond with a sort of 'Are you serious?' look on his face, before replying with a loud voice, "I'm single! I don't have a girlfriend! W-Well, I-I… I don't need one! So shut up!"
Francis' gentle laughter soothed over the other's loud, frantic voice, before a thick French accent had filled the air, "Good…," he said gently, placing his Polaroid camera into his bag, "Less work for me."
"Wait, did you just call me easy?" Arthur asked, a gentle tone accompanying his voice, before his free hand that wasn't holding the handle of his luggage was taken by the other man and pulled along.
"I'll take you," Francis said, not taking to caution that the foreigner he was currently dragging was almost tripping over his feet. "I'll let you settle in whilst I make you dinner. What do you want?"
"I-I don't know!" the shorter blond exclaimed, feeling a little dizzy when he had arrived at Francis' vehicle. Taking a moment to regain his composure, his attention was kept solely on the Frenchman's car, it looking like a normal vehicle, but… worn-down. He wasn't even listening when words like "soaked in wine" and "steak" was said from the other.
Arthur's attention was stolen by Francis once more, however, when his luggage bag was taken and thrown in the back seat. Sitting in the passenger seat and strapping himself in, his head turned to the side to find a seated Francis staring right back at him.
"How does that sound?" Francis asked, revealing pearly-white teeth with a gentle smile. Arthur frowned, pissed to see the other so happy for some reason, before turning his gaze out of the wind shield.
"Sounds great," he replied, earning a, "good!" from the other.
During the long ride from the park that was situated beside the airport Arthur had arrived in, the blond's thoughts kept racing through his head.
He's stuck here for a year.
Being a journalist, his job wasn't very fun. Chasing after stories, taking shitty photos of the scene, having to stay up at 3am with a hot coffee to write the article up to then get yelled at by his editor for 'being late' or having 'sloppy sentences'… it wasn't a dream job. And, yet, he was the best at it. His articles were always featured, he always wrote the top stories, but he could never capture the evidence! His photos were always blurry or just… unaligned.
That's why he was sent here. This is what happens when Europe's two top magazines company decides to work together to capture this year's most exciting events. Arthur had wondered if he'd be travelling to other European countries alongside Francis. Well, if that's the case, then it could happen.
Francis was a top photographer, Arthur had seen his works. He had imagined him to be more… mature, though. This French guy just seemed like a complete, useless dolt, yet his photographs spoke differently.
Seriously, the two companies thought well about making their best photographer and their best writer to work together… but with bashing personalities, will it really work out?
"I just want to go home…," Arthur mumbled beneath his breath, his arm rested up on the car door with his hand holding his face as he looked outside at the beautiful streets of France.
"What was that?" Francis asked, looking to the side at the other. Arthur was acting like the immature one now, though. It was practically two kids doing an adult's job.
"Nothing, keep your eyes on the road."
Francis nodded, obeying, "Will do."
Although, thinking about it… Arthur didn't get on well with his past partners. Of course he'd get into fights with this one. Unfortunately for him, he couldn't throw a tantrum and demand to work alone or get a new partner – he was stuck with Francis. Literally, stuck. They were even going to be living together! Might as well marry Arthur off if they're going to this extent…
No, Arthur thought, sitting upright as he gained the idle curiousity of Francis. No, I'm here for business purposes only. Just one year and I can go home. Just one year and I'm free.
"I wake up at 6 every morning," Francis said, breaking Arthur from his line of thought. "I'm at the office by 8."
"Why are you telling me this?" Arthur asked, looking annoyed as usual.
"So you know what time to get up," the Frenchman then replied. Silence prevailed for a moment between them, before he continued, "I know you're here to capture the 'biggest' and most 'exciting' events for our magazine companies, but we'll also be doing idle jobs as well."
"I know that, stupid, this isn't some vacation," the shorter blond stated harshly, a hand reaching up to play with his messy hair that shaped his face unevenly. "Though, I… I do want to explore France, some time. I don't get to go travelling often, so this is an opportunity for me."
"Don't worry, I'll show you around—"
"You can stay home or whore around, or whatever you do! I don't want you accompanying me, I already have you for work," Arthur pouted, looking outside of the car door window once more. Laughter from Francis had sounded once more, the Englishman knowing that he was going to have the other come along with him in the end. Hopefully he'll prove useful and get around in French, or explain the tourist attractions to him.
The only sound that filled the air was the car engine, until the voiceless atmosphere was broken by Francis, "So… what do you do for fun?"
"Huh, what? What sort of question is that?"
"A question everyone asks when wanting to break the ice?"
"Oh, well, um… I play violin sometimes and I… well, I like tea, and…"
For the rest of the car ride home, Arthur and Francis had exchanged information between one another, unknowingly yet gradually getting to know each other a little bit better. Already, they could pick up little habits – like how Francis would often roll his wrist when explaining something, or how Arthur would readjust his scarf for no reason.
And it was that long car ride, that the chemistry between the two had shifted a little, and despite having a deep annoyance for the other, Arthur could find himself actually becoming friends with him.
Maybe this year won't be so bad.
Maybe he'll make unforgettable memories in this beautiful country.
Just… maybe. He'll have to wait and see.
A/N: This was roughly done one school afternoon with the occasional annoying behaviour from my wonderful friends. So, be sure to review (I love constructive criticisms! [Jokes, I hate them but they help me]) and follow. I'm feeling romantic/creative at the moment, so there may be quick updates.
Merci beaucoup!