A/N: This is just small thing that randomly popped into my head and I had to get it out so I could move on with my actual story. Headcanons man, they'll hit you at anytime. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!
Francis Bonnefoy was a creature that enjoyed the sun. He could and would spend hours outside soaking up the star's warmth. Here he was happy and here he was content. So to find him stuck in dreary London Town was a surprise. Even more to find him in this miserable place in this miserable weather in the company of one Arthur Kirkland, a most miserable companion (to this particular Frenchman anyway).
It was unspeakable unthinkable unimaginable! And yet…
"Honestly Angleterre as many times as I have been to this miserable little island of yours it is always the same, does it ever stop raining?"
"Yes it sometimes does stop and as for me and my miserable little island, if you hate it so much why don't you go ever go home?"
Francis merely huffed as an answer and turned face away from the Englishman. Arthur grunted a quick, " stupid frog" and went on about his business catching before he left the room a mumbled,"rosbif". The Briton allowed himself a small smile at this.
He never needed an answer to his question because deep down he knew. He knew why Francis was always around constantly bugging him. They'd known each other long enough to know each others quirks and ticks.
The day passed from then on in relative silence. Arthur busy in his office working away and Francis lounging on the sofa like the lazy bastard he was staring out the window at the curtain of wind and rain. And then later that night…
"Will you stop squirming?"
"Non, not until you move over. I am suffocating."
"Allow me to extend my deepest apologies."
"Merci."
"Idiot."
"Imbécile."
"Your feet are cold."
"Then perhaps you should warm them."
"Francis don't be stupi-AH! What are you doing you arse!?"
"I got you to move over didn't I?"
"Hmph…Francis?"
"Hmm?"
"When was the last time you slept?"
The Frenchman merely shrugged, "Je ne sais pas."
Arthur sighed, "Then why didn't you come any sooner?"
The older man merely grinned, "I was waiting dearest Angleterre."
"Waiting? Waiting for what?" The Brit questioned.
"A change in the weather," he replied. Then he sighed and burrowed further into the warmth of their little cocoon. Silence soon fell between the two save for the sound of raindrops against the roof.
Francis Bonnefoy was a delicate man with a long and tortured history. He was one such man as those who suffered greatly from all that he had seen and all that he had done. Arthur knew this well and did his part by holding his dear friend close running his fingers through pale blonde hair and letting the rain do its job. Washing away all that remained of yesterday for the next day to begin anew. Because you see, as much as Francis loved the sun and as much as he complained about the rain he couldn't deny that he loved the sound.