Yay, new story! And I swear I'm not still stalling on Dollhouse.

Chapter two'll be out in about... Twoneighteninethoudsandty-seven days?

Heh.

Anyways, the pairing of the day is... /spins wheel obtained from Hetalia! One-Shots

FrUK!

Enjoy~

x

Within a society such as this, the arts were considered a sort of hit-or-miss sort of thing. As a hobby, everything was all fine and dandy, but as a full-on career, you had to be precisely on the mark to hit. If you weren't William Shakespeare, you can kiss your writing dreams goodbye. Same goes for if you went into acting and you weren't Brad Pitt, or if you were an artist and not Leonardo DaVinci. Basically, it goes like this - If you aren't as good as the best, you miss.

Unfortunately, Francis Bonnefoy was an artist. And most definitely not Leonardo DaVinci.

Even so, whenever there's something you strive to be but aren't, you could always play pretend. Well, "pretend." At least, that's what he did.

It wasn't that he was a criminal or unoriginal or anything, it was just that with the money he's been getting, he was afraid to take risks. The world runs on money, and if you haven't got money, you've got nothing. Sad, yet very true.

At this time, in Paris, France, the aforementioned Francis Bonnefoy was "playing pretend" yet again with another one of his paintings, "Starry Night." And frankly, as many artists do, he hated it. Even after doing this for so long, it was still astronomically frustrating to have to paint every single microscopic detail. Still, it was worth it to see the finished piece, and it wasn't as bad, seeing as he was almost done.

But still it was horrid.

Luckily, there was a knock at his door that saved him from any more of this seemingly never-ending torture.

"Coming~!" The Parisian sang. Even if he was irritated, it would never affect how he felt around others. He was a social butterfly - he simply loved people.

Upon opening the door, he found that his visitor was none other than his Anglican neighbor and best frenemy, Arthur Kirkland. (On France's end, they were best friends, but Arthur just seemed to truly loathe the Frenchman… seemed.)

"Well, hello, mon ami! What can I do for both you and those two caterpillars that seemed to have attached themselves to your forehead on this lovely afternoon?"

"My eyebrows are still not caterpillars, frog. I'd also appreciate it if you would stop referring to them as if they were entirely different entities, thank you very much, Bonnefoy!" Arthur retorted, obviously unamused with Francis' remark about his appearance. His eyebrows were bushy, sure, but so were many other English people's. His nationality was a valid excuse, was it not?

"Anyways, I was just here to check up on you… I guess…."

"Oh, Arthur! How kind of you, you really do care, don't you?" As Francis expressed his feigned gratefulness, he couldn't help but let a bright, genuine smile appear on his features.

"Well, you haven't come out of this bloody house in days, it seemed only natural to see if you were doing alright. But now, I see that this was a huge mistake and that I should just take my leave-"

"No, no! Desolé, really, I apologize. It's not your fault that your eyebrows are just so inhumanly massive-"

"I came here to see if you weren't dead, not to be ridiculed, Frenchie."

"Yes, yes, I know. I truly am sorry, I promise." It was then that Francis noticed the Brit was hiding something behind his back. It was so obvious that he internally slapped himself for not noticing it at first. "Anywho, what's that you've got there behind you, friend?"

"Oh, right, that. Well, I just wanted to be nice-"

"For once-"

"So," He added, with extra emphasis so that Francis would stop interrupting, "I got you a new paint set. It's nothing, really. They're probably not even the kind you normally use." Arthur muttered, holding them out for the other male to take whilst silently fuming over his addition of "for once."

"Aww, merci, Arthur!" Francis said, grinning wider than ever, taking the gift and surprising Arthur by pulling his friend into a tight hug. He was the… overly affectionate type of person.

He was about to invite him inside, but apparently the hug was crossing the line.

"Sorry, but as I said, I came here to make sure that you weren't dead. You're not, so my work here is done, frog." This statement cut the oh-so-lovely moment quite short. Frankly, the moment was just enough for Arthur to reach his boiling point. He never appeared very fond of the Frenchman, despite their supposed "friendship."

Shutting the door after waving goodbye to Arthur, Francis realized that this fact alone made it a tad odd that Arthur had decided, presumably on his own, to do something kind for a person that he didn't like. However, this realization was shrugged off almost immediately as he went back to his work, placing the confusing present in question off to the side for later.

He would soon find that even if his art was as close to hitting as possible, his sense of judgement was a sure miss.

But that didn't matter because painting was still horrid.

Well. That was short. Shorter than my one-shots. /sighs- how embarrassing... but I swear I can do it! I will get better! Just bare with me, alright?

I hope you liked it! Reviews, favs and follows are greatly appreciated! o v o

x