A/N: Herro! I'm soooo sorry I haven't updated any of my stories in so long… I always have an idea and then I can't continue it, only being able to find another completely different one… But I swear, this story will continue. I already have the first (this one) and second chapter done. So, it's a FrUK fic, so for all you FrUKer's out there, enjoy!
-xxXXxx-
Shoes grazing the crumbly, rugged ground of rock beneath him, an Englishman could be found darting down the alleyway as quickly as he could without running. He seemed to be in a hurry, his slender fingers taut around the handle of his briefcase as he moved forward.
Rounding a corner, Arthur could have hissed at the sunlight that insisted on pouring onto his eyelids. 'Another sunny day in England,' he thought, 'this doesn't happen often, I'm surprised.'
Taking a sharp turn that led him to a door, the Briton took hold of the lukewarm doorknob, shifting it to the right, hearing all the springs and screws finding themselves another home as he pulled the door open. He soon housed himself inside the building, gently taking his flat cap from his head and relocating it into his bag.
He shot past his co-workers as if a savage beast was after him, quiet but expeditious. Finding himself at his cubicle, Arthur sighed in relief, glad that no one had stopped him to say hello. But he had relaxed to early, as he soon felt a light tap on his shoulder. Making a face to himself, the Briton turned around to see who he had hoped least to run into; Francis Bonnefoy, the flirtatious, frustrating Frenchman in which Arthur was convinced he moved to England just to irritate him.
"Bonjour, cher~ You are surely a sight for sore eyes," the other had greeted with, to Arthur's annoyance.
The only thing the Briton had replied with was a roll of his eyes. He could see he had confused the Frenchman for the slightest of moments, most likely due to the fact he had said nothing. He watched as he could see rememberance dawn upon the other man, a soft look of pity flashing upon his eyes. Arthur scoffed at this, leaving Francis with a surprised expression painting his features.
"Have you learned to read minds?" he questioned in an unbelieving tone. He must have known that the scoff was in reaction to his own pity for the other man.
Cocking an eyebrow, Arthur plastered a look of annoyed exasperation on his face, knowing that Francis was conscious of the answer somewhere inside of him. Francis knew that since he couldn't speak, that the Englishman had mastered the art of reading emotions through expressions, looks, and gestures.
It seemed to take him a little, but he knew the Frenchman understood the moment his eyes widened. Arthur could practically see the non-existent lightbulb appear above the other's head.
A light smile crossed upon Francis' lips. "Oh yes. I had almost forgotten," he answered in a soft tone of voice.
All was quiet for an extended period of time, Arthur beholding a blank expression while the Frenchman wore a genuinely happy one.
Francis was the one to break the silence. "Well, I best be going, the boss will yell at me soon if I don't get back to work."
The Briton nodded in a knowing gesture, remembering that he had work to attend to, also.
"I'll be on my way, then. I hope you don't miss me too much, mon cher!"
Arthur covered his face in sheer embarrassment at those words, such familiar words, a low rumble growing in the back of his throat. Shaking it off, he soon began to make himself comfortable, stripping his coat off and situating his bag on the ground under his desk.
Powering on the desktop computer, he waited as patiently as he could for it to find itself at the home screen. Fingers flying in a flurry across the keyboard, he opened his emails to check what newspaper articles he had to edit for today. He found a copious amount stockpiled on the screen as soon as it had loaded. Arthur sighed, wanting to bang his head on his desk as hard as he could. 'May as well not dwell on it and get to work,' he thought with annoyance, checking the first email.
It was headed with bold, dark words, a smaller font underneath with a picture or two framing it. Opening it in his documents, he read it over. It seemed to be part of the sports section, as it was speaking of a local travel football team that had won the tourney they had their hearts set on winning. He skimmed through for any spelling and grammatical mistakes, changing some parts of it for a more plausible explanation or word choice. The writer had seemed to miss a few places that required commas or semicolons, which was quickly fixed by the blonde editor. Reading the small paragraphs over once again, he deemed the story ready for the outside world. Taking the edited piece and copying it all, he pasted it back into a new email and shared it with the publisher.
That was only one of many articles he had to examine. Arthur sighed, knowing it would be a very long day from there on out.
-xxXXxx-
Nine hours.
It had been nine hours since he had checked in this morning at eleven thirty.
Arthur was absolutely exhausted.
Many workers and visitors had came and gone from them to now. And, at eight thirty-three, here Arthur was, still working on editing pages.
He was just about to give up.
The Briton had worked on more articles than he could possibly count individually. Well over thirty, he knew that. He wasn't that slow at working. He could feel the stiffness of his fingers, cold and blue from the lack of sympathy they had received through such treatment. They felt as though they were just about to fall off.
And to make things worse, his French co-worker would not stop nagging him to go out for a drink or two.
Arthur grumbled as Francis asked him once again. His answer was a fierce glare, followed by a series of head-shakes. He could hear the other's overdramatic sigh over the prominent yet slowing keyboard clicks.
"Come on, Arthur. You have been working at those articles non-stop since you came in. Don't you do anything other than work?" the Frenchman challenged with a bob of his head.
Turning his head slowly towards Francis, Arthur's eyes were void of emotion, bloodshot as if he hadn't closed his eyes through the whole session. With one deathly glare, he turned back to his computer screen, typing away as he resumed editing a technology article.
Francis sighed. bending down from his standing stance to reach Arthur's height, the Frenchman grabbed the Briton's chin from it's position with his thumb and forefinger, jutting it to the side to face him. Before Arthur could growl frustratedly at him, Francis spoke.
"Arthur. Just face the fact that you are exhausted. You can finish your precious work tomorrow. But for now, please give it a rest. I won't even take you to the bar, I'll just drive you right home. Please, cher, you are worrying me."
The Briton was about to shoot a defiant glare back at the Frenchman, but the look died in the making as he saw the pleading expression on the other's face. Faltering altogether, Arthur looked away, anywhere but his co-worker. Silently, he closed down the program on his computer and grabbed his bag along with his coat, not daring to peer back into Francis' amethyst eyes as he stood up. He could already tell that the other was smiling like a maniac.
Leading the way, the Frenchman opened the door for Arthur, getting nothing in reply as the Englishman whisked by him. A soft smile was stuck on Francis' face as the Brit acted in such a way. He loved it when he turned the other into such a tight ball of hidden emotion.
Following behind Arthur's brisk pace, he was about to point the other into the right direction, but before he could do so, the Briton had found the correct car and lodged himself into the passenger seat, Francis popping into the driver's seat shortly after.
Pushing the keys into the ignition, Arthur watched as the other began driving onto the open road, barely even one car in sight on the slim road. Knowing that it would take at least over twenty minutes to arrive at their destination, the Briton placed his elbow on the armrest to his right, preparing himself for a tedious ride.
-xxXXxx-
Arthur could remember when they had arrived at his flat. He could just barely remember hearing the closing of his car door on the left of the vehicle, the scarcely there feeling of something soft beneath his back as he was lifted from his seat.
Now, the Briton's eyes were just barely open. He just barely recognized the roof of his apartment, the cream stained texture always welcoming to him. But, what he noticed more prominently over all was the fact he was being held. positioning his head in a more feasible position, he found that it was none other than Francis that had been holding him. Arthur was about to make a noise before the other had cut him off.
"Shh, I'm only here to get you to bed," the Frenchman stated in a hushed voice. "Stay asleep, you need rest for tomorrow. You deserve it."
Closing his eyes once again, the last thing that Arthur could remember was the soft feeling of his homely bedspread beneath his back, the warmth of the covers engulfing him in what felt like a gentle hug. After that, all the Briton had experienced was the much needed feel of slumber.
-xxXXxx-
A/N: Soooo yeah. If you couldn't tell already, or didn't read the summary, Arthur is a mute. How was the first chapter? I hope you all like where I'm going with this, even if it's not too clear yet. Reviews are nice, and so are favourites and follows. They aren't mandatory, but are more than welcome!
And yes, since this is set in England, football is known as soccer in America, and the driver's side is on the right, not the left. ^^
~Ryuka