Written for day six of FrUK week 2016 with the prompts of music and grey.
His world has been grey for a long, long time. Every day was the same constant routine of getting up, going to work, paying the bills and going to sleep. Life in London has become too predictable.
Sighing, Arthur straightens his white dress shirt through the dim light of his apartment as he gazes at the mirror. As he adjusts his tie, he heard a sound. Mixed in with the usual boring sound of car engines is the energetic sound of a saxophone.
Curious, Arthur opened his window and peers outside to try and find the source of the sound. That task would never been easier, for right outside on the pavement was a long haired man holding a saxophone. He stood there, as prominent as the music through the heavy beeps of traffic. Arthur rolled his eyes. Buskers.
Ignoring the sound, he shuts the window, took his suitcase and began his journey for work. In which he will need to pass the musician in the process. Arthur went down the stairs and to the pavement. As he passed said musician, he flips a ten pence into the saxophone case, though his gaze is concentrated to the path.
The sound of the saxophone disappears. Arthur turns his head around in response to see just what is making the busker stop playing the tune. That is when Arthur noticed that there is only one coin in the black saxophone case; his own. In front of the man is one of those foldable, portable music stand, but it has no music. The busker pulls out a grey folder from the saxophone case before he places it onto the stand.
Oh. So he was just warming up.
Realising his mistake, Arthur continues to walk forward to work. Without warning, a ridiculously strong gust of wind blew from behind him. Over his head flapped a piece of grey debris followed by a foreign word. Was that a folder?
Folder! Those are the man's music pieces! He lets go of the suitcase as he dashes forward towards the folder as it continued to fly farther and farther away. As he follows the folder, so did the man. The grey plastic flapped around the corner, past the corner shop and several stores. Several times he tries to grab the folder, but several times he fails. Before he knew it, the folder arrived at a bridge over the River Thames.
the wind stopped completely when the folder reached to the top of the bridge. The folder started to drop into the murky waters of the Thames. It's going to drop in! Arthur stretched his arm out past the railings and grabbed it just as the folder plummets into the river. And so did somebody else.
Blue eyes glances into his green ones as he looks at the musician.
There was a short silence.
"... Here's your folder," are the words which breaks the silence. Arthur lets go of the grey plastic and walks away from the man, pretending that nothing has really happened. As he looked around, Arthur noticed that this bridge is the same one he crosses every day to work. So he can just walk past this bridge to work. Only then did he realise that he is empty handed.
"Your suitcase?" Reminds the busker, voice suave. He rolls his eyes and traces their path together with the blonde.
As they walk back, Arthur can't help but notice the noticeable black marker scribbled onto the top left side of the folder. Francis Bonnefoy, it reads out. He wasn't too surprised at the foreign surname. After all, London is chocked full of people around the globe like the bursting contents of a child's pencil case.
At last they arrive back to the spot where Arthur's suitcase and Francis' musical equipments were.
Francis lifts his arm and waves goodbye. Arthur hesitantly raises his left palm in a half attempt at a wave. As he does, his silver watch shows what time it is.
He is late for work.
His eyes widens. Oh no, and he is late by twenty minutes as well. His boss will be pretty pissed off. Wasting no time at all, Arthur swivels around and hastes to work.
The street lights flickered on as Arthur traipses back towards his apartment. As he predicted, his boss was mad that he was late, though she said nothing. Today was again, same as every other day. Every new day seems to be recycled from the previous day. Tomorrow it will be the same schedule as today, and so will the next week, and so will the next year. Life has become grey. Too grey.
And then Francis passes by him, carrying his saxophone case and his music stand.
Still, Arthur continued to walk. He stopped completely though, when he heard two loud snaps. Arthur turns his head around to see what it was. It was Francis opening his saxophone case. Why though?
Francis starts to play a tune with his saxophone as his gaze focused onto Arthur. The tune had a smooth, cool and relaxed feel. Despite the couple of melancholic notes, the tempo and energy put behind it made it sound joyful. Jazz or the blues, he guessed. Unknowingly to Arthur, he starts to smile. Not too much, just enough to be counted as one. But still a smile nonetheless.
He doesn't quite mind it. Maybe he can get used to the music in this dull life of his.
For some of you who are readers of truth of the past and are noticing the constant flow of Hetalia fanfics, don't worry. I have not abandoned truth of the past. I just can't think of how to fill in some details in some of the scenes.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading this fanfiction!