(AN at bottom)
Dancing in the Rain (Franada)
He isn't entirely sure just how long it had been raining.
Days, weeks, months, years? Or maybe just a few hours.
He isn't really sure anymore.
But he finds himself sighing, looking out the window at black skies. The lights had all been extinguished, and all that could be seen were the clouds.
Maybe it wasn't even raining.
If he puts his hands on his ears, thinks loud enough, it would blanket the pattering. The pattering on the roof, the window, the cobblestone streets outside. It would hide some of the distant booms he heard. He could pretend the thunder was simply a nervous thought, every now and then they would skip and jolt.
But he doesn't cover his ears.
The pattering is the only sound left.
His brother went to sleep ages ago, after a hearty dinner with bright lights and rich food.
But now the silence is back.
He's in his room, legs curled under chin on his bed, but not under the sheets. He breathes softly, stretching and walking to the window. He gently pushes out, so the window creaks, hanging on its hinges. The pattering becomes louder, and he can smell the rain, the fresh water hitting the ground or the roof, or, sometimes, him.
His room is on the second floor, but he swings out a leg, then another, until he is being sprayed by the rain, bangs wet and sticking to his forehead and cheek. His shirt, pajama shirt, to be precise, is already somewhat damp, and he jumps down from the window, bracing himself and landing on his bare feet.
He looks frantically around him, but all the rooms have no light, and he smiles triumphantly before running down the street.
The rain turned the street to mud, and he feels his ankles being sprayed every time he lifts the opposite foot, but he can't bring himself to care.
Finally, after a few minutes of running, and feeling substantially wet and tired, he reaches the outskirts of the city. There are a few farms beginning less than a kilometer away, but he's content with the small plain in front of him.
He's soaked to the bone, and he lets out a small shiver, even though the water and the air is warm.
He runs to the middle of the field, laughing before falling onto his knees, drenching his entire lower half in mud. But he steps up off his knees, and the rain washes him off.
After a few minutes of simply standing in the middle of the field, eyes closed and head hanging as if in defeat, he opens his eyes.
Small pebbles of water cling to his eyelashes, and he blinks several times, eyesight blurry.
He holds a hand out, and he grips the air as if another hand is there. He holds out his other hand, palm flat yet cupped, as if a slender waist is present.
And he begins to sway, to dance.
Dancing in the rain.
He turns, his hands accommodating for the invisible woman in his grasp.
If he listens very closely, he can hear the swishing of petticoats and the quiet laughter, the whispered assurances, the soft music in the background.
He smiles lightly, and as he closes his eyes again, he can see the fine dress and the long hair, and the sweet smile.
But when he opens them, he's brought back to the rain.
And the black skies.
"You're not allowed to do that."
Matthew whips around, arms still outstretched, and he mouths wordlessly at the muffled shape in front of him. The voice had carried easily in the rain, and he can hear every syllable.
The shape comes closer, and he can see the outline of a man, his wet garb still bright blue, revealing nobility or at least much more wealth than Matthew. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."
"Wh-who are you? Why are you out in the rain?"
The man smiles, an amused twinkle in his eye. "I could ask the same mon cher. Except I've found it quite obvious just what you are doing." He gestures to a carriage, along with a magnificent black horse, whinnying and braying, adding, "I just arrived."
Matthew blushes at his comment. "I-I didn't mean to... it's a silly rule anyway."
He nods, "You have no partner." He adds, raising an eyebrow.
"You don't need one to dance."
"But there's no music."
"You don't need music either, not really."
The man smiles again, as if proud of what a complete stranger had said. "But it's always nicer with music."
Matthew frowns, why was he so insistent? "Well I'm fine with what I have."
He laughs in response, pulling off his hat. "I wasn't reprimanding... would you like some music?"
"I-I suppose I would." He answers flushed, "But like I said! It was an accident, I'm leaving now, anyway."
He comes even nearer, holding his hand out as if asking for a dance. "Why stop now? You just received music and a partner."
Matthew could easily say something about his brother looking for him, or that the morning was coming soon, (which would have been an outright lie, there were at least three more hours before even the farmers woke.) but instead he finds himself replying, "I don't hear any music."
"We're talking, aren't we?"
"What does that have to do with anything?" Matthew asks, not entirely sure why he was accepting the offered hand.
"I've always believed conversation is a form of music."
He blushes, feeling a hand on his waist. Wait... that wasn't right, was it?
"I never did find out your name."
"M-Matthew Williams."
He winked, pulling Matthew closer. "My name is Francis Bonnefoy, it's nice to meet you Mathieu."
"Matthew!" The call is accompanied with loud banging on the door.
Matthew yawns and shakes his head, the hair still damp but it wasn't showing. "Yes, Al?" he asks quietly, opening the door and narrowly avoiding getting hit in the face.
Alfred is happy about something, his azure blue eyes revealing excitement more than usual. "You remember what day it is today, right!"
"Isn't the councilman visiting today?" He responds, yawning again. "Why are you happy about that?"
Alfred smiled, innocence and happiness exuding from him like a child on his birthday. "Artie was assigned to our district!"
"You hate Sir Kirkland."
"I don't hate him," he says with a pout. "He's just fun to tease!"
Matthew frowns, walking past him to the stairs. They creak as he steps on them, either from the humidity or age. Likely both. Alfred follows him down, and he feels pressured to reply. "Al, I know he's a bit younger than the other councilmen but please don't do anything that will give us a bad verdict. Ms. Hedervary wasn't very happy last time." He looks up at his brother, a pleading note in his eye. "He may take it in good humor, but please don't go too far."
Alfred chuckles in response, "Artie won't get mad at me."
Their mother, Nancy, appears from the side of the room, cheeks slightly flushed and hair wet, jewel-like droplets of water sliding down her normally fluffy bangs. "Don't be silly Alfred, he's always mad at you."
Matthew smiles, petting the timid cat that had trailed behind his mom. "See Al? Maman said so too." the cat curls into the palm of his hand, purring softly.
"Mom~!" Alfred whines, taking the basket of food from his mother. He turns back to see his brother and mom giggling to each other behind him. He pouts again, retaining the innocent, pity-me look even at seventeen years old. "You guys know he doesn't really get mad at me. We've never had a bad verdict before."
Matthew nods, still playing with the cat. "Maybe, but that only means we can't get a bad one even more so."
"Kay, kay, I get it~ geez you're such party-poopers." Alfred finally relents, with a sigh and a flinging of his hands into the air in surrender.
Their discussion is interrupted by a knock on the door and the blood drains from Nancy's face as she quickly straightens her skirts, signaling Alfred and Matthew to finish putting everything away as she pats down her hair, still wet.
The door is opened widely by Nancy, who places a welcoming smile on her face. "Sir Kirkland! We'd heard you were assigned this district."
Arthur smiles lightly, "Please Nancy, you've known me when I was too young an age to call me 'sir'."
Nancy's forced smile flutters into a warmer, albeit somewhat more nervous one. "Arthur, it's always nice to see you."
"You as well."
"Artie!" Alfred cries, launching out of the kitchen. He hasn't seen Arthur for more than a year, not since before his majestic growth spurt, and it takes a humongous bear hug for him to realize he's become taller than the suddenly petite older male. "Whoa... Artie did'ya shrink?"
Arthur coughs, embarrassed at the new-found height difference between him and the 'boy' he had previously babysat. "Hello to you too Alfred. And quite obviously, you have simply grown a substantial amount since I last saw you." He sees Matthew peering from behind the counter and smiles gently. "I haven't changed just because I became a councilman Matthew... I hope you still think of me in a kind matter."
Matthew shyly walks over, ducking his head between his shoulders. "I didn't think you had Sir."
"I suppose I should do my job, hmm?" Arthur says with a quiet sigh. "Though I'm quite sure you keep your home up to code, as always."
Nancy nods "Of course."
"Though... you did have an open window upstairs. I believe the rain is a bit too dreary for this... would someone care to explain?"
"Not my room!"
"I'm afraid I'm not entirely sure either."
Matthew drops his head, looking down at the floor. "Sorry Arthur, it was me... there was a butterfly in my room and I was just letting it out."
Arthur nods, accepting the excuse. He knows it's an excuse- there haven't been any butterflies for a while now. "I think we all know I wasn't going to give you a bad verdict, I'll quickly dash upstairs and be out of your hair and into the rain again."
"I'll go with you!" Alfred calls, racing behind him up the stairs. Nancy smiles happily, humming under her breath.
"Maman..."
She gasps and stops humming, looking fearfully at where Arthur had been moments before. "I'm sorry Matthew, I hadn't noticed."
He shakes his head frantically, clutching the honey-colored cat closer. "It's fine maman." He breathes.
Alfred comes back down the stairs mysteriously happy, but Matthew decides not to question him. Although the temptation was hard to resist when the normally composed Arthur came down a few seconds later, his face bright red.
He closes the window this time.
He isn't entirely sure why he leaves today, he was sure he would've been able to sleep had he tried his hardest, but it surely isn't because he wants to meet 'Francis' again.
At least, he doesn't think so.
It's dangerous to go out the day after the visit, but it's also dangerous to go out the day before, or really, any day. So that doesn't stop him. He hits the ground with a splash again, although he is more aware of the wet on his ankles and shins, soaking into his clothes. He shivers again, this time uncomfortable. The entire experience is different. As if his self-awareness was all it took. He's panting at the edge of the town, and he begins to walk. At the sight of the hill, he denies the slight pang of sadness at no silhouette of a man in a pale blue jacket.
Why did he come out in the rain, anyway?
He trudges up to the top of the hill anyway, and the anxiety and fatigue washes off the moment he hits the top. He forgets about the man and falls onto his back. It's raining less now, a drizzle, and it mists his face. Leaving him just as wet as before with a more pleasant way of reaching the final result.
"Here again, mon cher."
Matthew's eyes flutter open and he looks forward half-lidded. He stares at the sky a few seconds more before turning, everything blurred without his glasses. Though it might be the drizzle. Or the half-lidded eyes. All he sees is a slight outline, and the color blue. Blue again. "Francis?"
He can hear the smirk he can't see. "You remembered my name."
"It's only been a day."
"Much can happen in a day."
"Like what?" He murmurs, blinking lazily.
"One who was dancing, could end up lying on the ground."
He uses the hand that had landed next to his head to swipe back his hair, one lone curl landing back on his face. "I'm sorry?" He grins nervously.
"Don't apologize."
Matthew grows tired of not being able to see the expressions on the other man, the implications in his tone too tempting to resist. He fumbles near his head for his glasses- a few centimeters from shoulder. He blinks a few times until he can clearly see the blonde man crouching next to him. "I'm s- I won't."
"So no dancing today?"
"Did you want me to dance?"
"I won't force you to dance."
Matthew smiles shakily. Sitting up, his limbs feel both lighter and dead at the same time- he brings himself to his feet slowly- as if it were painful. "I think I'd quite like to dance, actually."
"Then we shall dance." Francis stands as well, more gracefully, and he gives a curious look to Matthew.
"And speaking is music..." Matthew whispers, once more finding himself in Francis's grasp.
Francis's hand is cold, wet, but so is everything else, and Matthew doesn't notice. Or he chooses to ignore it.
"Actually," Francis replies, "We should have some real- excuse me, official music."
"But how?"
"Cannot we simply sing?"
"Sing?" Matthew mumbles, the unfamiliar word falling off his tongue easily. "What is sing?"
Francis's eyes widen, and he swallows thickly, a shocked look in his azure eyes. "You have to ask?" He sighs, a bitter tone in his voice. "I'm not sure how to explain... when someone makes music with their voice?"
Matthew tilts his head, swaying gently in the mist.
"Let me show you..."
"Do, do, l'enfant do~
L'enfant dormira bien vite~
Do, do, l'enfant do~
L'enfant dormira bientôt~
it is a lullaby."
"French?" Matthew asks hesitantly.
"Oui. Do you speak it?"
He blushes and nods, mumbling a response, "Y-yes, but I've been told I have a difficult accent."
Francis frowns, a collected drop of water slipping off his eyelash onto his cheek, looking almost like a tear traveling down his face. "Say something?"
"W-what should I say?"
"Anything is fine."
"Um, okay then... bonjour, m-mon nom est Matthew Williams et je suis originaire du Canada. Je ne peux pas parler français très bien cependant."
"I understand what you meant by the accent." Francis says, closing his eyes and flashing a small smile.
Matthew blushes a livid red, and he decides to change the subject. "That was singing?"
"Yes."
"It- it sounds a bit like what maman does."
Francis opens his eyes curiously, "What does 'maman' do?"
"I'm not sure... it sounds like growling but it's not- it sounds like music." He gestures to his throat.
"Can you show me?"
"I'm not sure how to do it..."
Francis smiles encouragingly, the hand no longer holding Matthew's hangs loosely at his side.
"Um," Matthew continues blushing, but he lets out a scratchy noise from his throat, a keening sound. Francis chuckles and he frantically shuts his mouth. The keening continues, but he eventually tunes it into a soft humming- a replicate of the song Francis had just sung.
"Humming." Francis murmurs softly. At some point he had moved closer to the Canadian- their chests close yet not touching, and his chin was resting on Matthew's shoulder, his shoulders hunched. His soft voice was near to Matthew's ear, making the silent sound reverberate through his eardrums and feel like a thousand decibels. "What you're doing- it's called humming."
"I didn't know it had a name."
Francis breaks away from the dance, a look of fury, pity and sadness in his eyes. It's quickly erased and replaced by the normal twinkle and amusement. "You have a beautiful voice. I'm sure any song you sing would be beautiful."
"Song?" Matthew asks, before thinking for a few moments and understanding what the Frenchman was talking about. "I- I don't think so... I'm not even sure how to do it."
"I can teach you."
"Get up git."
Francis falls out of the bed abruptly, the cold air suddenly extremely apparent with the new lack of any bedsheets. "Mon dieu Arthur... that was unnecessary crude."
Arthur grumbles, tossing the thick covers onto a nearby chair. "Where have you been going?"
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"Halfway to morning. Twice now, where have you been going?"
Francis chuckles, stretching and flitting through the wardrobe. "What are you doing up that early?"
"Francis!" Arthur cries flinging his arms out in exasperation. "I can't have my reputation ruined, everyone's already wary of me because of my age!"
He decides on a red suit, pulling it on. "Simply for a stroll."
"In the middle of the night? In the rain!"
"It's always raining here." Francis says quietly.
Arthur sighs and collapses onto the same chair holding the sheets. "Please Francis, don't ruin my chances just for another conquest."
His head collapses into his hands, and Francis refrains from asking him what's wrong. But only for a second. "What happened?"
"Nothing you need to know." He sighs.
"Why yes, hypocrisy does suit you well."
"I was assigned a district."
"As were all other councilmen, besides myself."
Arthur sighs again, "Friends of mine were in the district. A family, to be precise."
"And?" Francis looks down at the dejected figure of his friend and enemy. "We all have exceptions."
"Something happened... it doesn't matter."
"I won't ask anymore." He says, re-making his bed. "But whatever's wrong, take care of it."
"The same to you."
"...They don't know what singing is."
Arthur looks at the floor, his expression guilty. "I know."
Francis glares at the window, at the fat raindrops hitting the glass.
The rain was heavy again. After the thin mist from the night, the renewed downpour seemed almost surreal. Matthew turns back to face his brother. "A what?"
"A consul. They choose two from across the country every year. Some people call them the traveling councilmen." The shine in Alfred's eye grows, and Matthew can't help but smile as well.
"The year just started... did they pick someone this year?"
"Yeah, some guys from France or Poland or something. Actually, it might have been Russia..."
"France, eh. I'd like to go there sometime..." Matthew admits quietly, figuring he may as well reveal a dream of his own.
"Traveling councilman! Doesn't that sound totally awesome?" Alfred interrupts, staring up at something or other. "And I hear no one ever knows when they're in their town. They stay with some other councilman or something, and they do all their work in secret!"
"Sounds like a lot of work."
Alfred shakes his head. "Maybe, but it's totally worth it!"
"How?" His brother asks curiously. "Just what do they do? What do they get?"
"That's the point! No one knows!"
The rain stops.
Everyone in the town rejoices, but they can see the clouds behind the patch of sun. They know it will be short lived. But they rejoice anyhow, merchants lower prices for the hour or so left till closing. Permitted establishments open their windows, letting the sun stream in and the humid stench is ignored.
But it scares Matthew.
The dead of the night, and the rain still hasn't come back in. He isn't sure whether to go, whether it will be the same- or if Francis will be there at all.
He's beginning to think he was just a mirage, always a mirage. And he'll leave with the rain.
But he goes anyway, and he walks this time, the distance longer without the rain to purge him from the town.
He's feels more nervous, more visible, more vulnerable.
But when his fears are banished, the feelings go away. Or at least hide themselves better.
"Someday, Mathieu, I will take you away."
The comment is whispered, and barely heard over Matthew's singing. He feels the comment would have been creepy, if it weren't for the way he had said it. Quiet, subtle hints of hope and pain, a miserable smile present.
"Why?" Matthew seems surprised, and he stares at Francis as if seeing him for the first time.
"Everyone needs to see the world. And I believe the world should see you, as well."
"All I need is here." Matthew protests. "I love this town, I could never leave it."
Francis shakes his head sadly, "You don't know what this town is." He replies weakly.
"You don't know who I am."
The rain finally starts again, carrying the single, lonesome note to the woods at the end of the field.
He certainly wasn't expecting the Briton on his bed. Normally he would have made some lewd joke, thrown a wink or two, but he could see the stony expression on his face. "Arthur? What are you doing on my bed?"
"You're leaving tomorrow. Don't bring up his hopes." He smiled lightly, not sadly, and hopped off the bed, back to his own room.
They were lying a bit further back on the hill this time. The air was warm even with the rain. "I'm amazed we haven't gotten a cold yet." Matthew says jokingly, his hands behind his head and eyes closed.
"I still don't know why you came up here in the first place."
"I'm not entirely sure myself." Francis hums in understanding, nodding his head even if Matthew can't see it. "At first, I think I just wanted to run, you know?" He snorts and opens an eye, seeing the other man sitting next to him from the corner of his eye. "I'm glad I met you, though."
"As am I."
Matthew closes the eye again. "Why?"
"Hm?"
"Why are you glad you met me?" Matthew asks bluntly. "You've taught me so much, about music, dancing, singing... even if I can never use it."
"You could use it," Francis starts, "If you came with me."
"I've told you, I can't leave here. My family's here, my friends are here..." He turns so his back is facing him. His elbow covers his face and protects him from the light spray. "I'm here."
"Don't you get tired of the rain?"
"I don't know why it's been raining so much..." Francis is silent. They sit together in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, broken by Matthew. "I used to have a friend."
He nods, supposing Matthew must mean to make some point from the statement.
"I knew her when I was young, and still couldn't pronounce everything perfectly. I always used to have trouble with her name, 'Yekaterina Katyusha'. I'm still not sure if it was one name or two. I would- I would pronounce it 'Yekwatewina Katya'." He chuckles softly at his own younger pronunciation. "But I would always insist on saying her full name whenever I saw her. One day, her younger brother, Ivan, got mad at me for it. He was just this little shrimp back then, always dressed in tatty clothes and running from this other kid with a mask. I've heard he's some big guy now, real tough guy, but when I knew him he was just a little kid. And Al-" Matthew paused, "my older brother Alfred, protected me from him. And ever since then, they always used to fight each other. Ivan and Yekaterina Katyusha, they left the town."
"Were you sad they left?" Francis asks, beginning to understand where the boy was heading to.
Matthew lets out a puff of air, crystallizing in the air before being dragged down again by the rain. "Not me, no. But they had a younger sister, Natalia. She's still here. She- she's not well. Not physically sick, but... she thinks her brother is still here, she'll talk with him, with her sister." Another exhale. "They call her cursed, but everyone knows she's just lonely, driven insane by the rain some say."
"Matthew,"
"Yes?"
Francis considered not telling him, but he could see the innocence in Matthew decrease simply by being near him. He didn't want to crush it completely. "Matthew mon cherie, there's something you should know." He sighs. "I have stayed longer than originally planned, and I'm afraid I need to leave."
"Blunt, eh?"
"I'm sorry Mathieu. I meant to tell you sooner."
Matthew nods, his back still to Francis. "Thank you for telling me."
Francis can see the dismissal in the Canadian's posture, and he dejectedly stands up, ignoring the guilt eating his lungs and keeping him from breathing.
"Will you ever be back here?"
"More than a year from now."
"I see."
"Come with me, Math-"
"Goodbye, Francis."
The air is warm, even with the rain, but it feels much colder now.
"I'm nineteen! You can't boss me around!"
"I can always boss you around you sodding twit!"
Alfred pouts, his new glasses falling onto his nose. "No fair!" He whines. "You cheated!"
"At what?" Arthur asks bewildered. "We weren't playing anything!"
"I know you were cheating at something!"
"That's just ridiculous! Matthew, you agree!"
Matthew widens his eyes at the sudden role in the argument. "Eh?"
"No, Mattie agrees with me!"
Matthew shakes his head frantically, not wanting to be dragged in. "What are you two arguing about anyway!"
"Bollocks if I remember!"
"I dunno!"
Matthew rolled his eyes and walked out of the room, figuring the two idiots could reach a conclusion on their own.
"They're still arguing?" Nancy giggled from her chair. She picked at her embroidery, a mess of red, gold and purple besides the small area of perfect crown where Arthur had helped her.
"Yeah..." Matthew begins to laugh too. About a year ago, Alfred and Arthur had gotten into a large conflict, leaving them both torn. He had somehow ended up between the two as some sort of mediator, but they had eventually reconciled, though they argued much more than they used to. "Though I think they may have just stopped or something. At least, I hope they have."
Nancy smiles with a crinkle in her eyes, "They're always like that nowadays, huh."
"At each others' throats you mean?"
She nods. "I'm happy you've found friends too."
She was talking about Lars, the new Dutch boy that had come to their town recently. He had also come with his sister and younger brother. Although most people had been intimidated by him, Matthew had quickly learned that he was actually very sensitive. Though lately, Lars had been going somewhere Matthew wasn't aware of. "Yeah, I guess so."
Arthur walks out of the room he and Alfred had been in seconds later, nodding to them. "Excuse me, but I'm afraid I have someone visiting my home right now and have to take care of their lazy arse."
Alfred is right behind him, and he takes the chance to say, "Seriously? You totally have to let us meet him!"
"I'm not sure that would be the best of ideas."
"Come on, why not~?" He grins, knowing Arthur will eventually fold.
He sighs, "Fine. Who's coming with me?"
"Oh no, I'll just stay here." Nancy says with a shake of the head. Matthew nods as if to say him too, but Alfred quickly snatched his wrist and drags him outside where Arthur is waiting.
"Matthew?"
"Um, I suppose I'm coming."
Arthur laughs nervously, "Are you certain about that?"
"Why can't he come?"
"I just mean, he may not want to..."
"It's fine, I can stay here if you two wanna be alone." Matthew interjects.
He negates the thought with a furious shake of the head, "No, that's not it at all. Just- he just got in, so don't get mad at him."
"I won't?"
Arthur continues smiling the mysterious smile, and leads them down the road. It's dry, the last rain was a week ago. There hadn't been anything like the other time for a while. They arrive at his house- larger, nicer, than theirs. Councilman's privileges.
Alfred is babbling about something or other, Arthur commenting every now and then, but Matthew is silent, tugged every now and then by his brother.
"Frog's probably still asleep." Arthur grumbles, knocking on a cream-colored door.
He was almost always wearing blue.
"Francis?"
"It really is different without the rain."
AN: This is my first time writing something like this, so hopefully it was okay...
I'm planning on making this several connected oneshots featuring the different pairings, so they can be read on their own but are easier to understand together.
I'm not sure whether to make next chapter Spamano, USUK, AusHun or Netherlands x Belarus, but it will probably be one of them, mainly because I have a few ideas for those.
They may not all be written the same way either. I normally don't write in present tense, for example.
Please tell me what you liked, what you hated or didn't understand, and what you wanna see!
Or you know, anything really. Reviews are my food.
These chapters are a lot longer than I normally do, so updates will probably be about every week or two.