A/N: Hello once more Internet. This story has been part of some really deep experiences in my life. I started on this three days after the original video-inspiration was released, and wrote on a sketch for the story while staying in China. In the year that has been, it became creepy how well certain episodes of my original ideas ended up being part of my life. I will post this, hoping to share one of the most meaningful stories that I have ever posted. I'll refrain from large introductions and notes after this chapter. If you want to know more of my stories, please go to my tumblr: sunshineauthornotes.
Title: Listen to Your Heart
Author: NorthernSunshine (formerly known as Shitza)
Pairing: FRUK mainly, the rest will remain a secret for now;)
Rating: T
Length: 20 chapters
Cast (human names): England-Arthur, France-Francis, Scotland-Allistor, Ireland- Brian, N. Ireland-Brendan, Poland-Feliks, Spain-Antonio, Prussia-Gilbert, N. Italy-Veniziano, S. Italy-Lovino, Norway-Lukas, Denmark-Mathias, Iceland-Emil, Hong Kong-Leon, Romania-Vladimir, Moldova-Costel, Germany-Ludwig, Turkey-Sadik, Taiwan-Xiao Mei, China-Yao.
Timespan: 1999-2015
Inspiration and shout out: The birth and inspiration of this story comes from the beautiful remake of DHT's cover (of originally Swedish pop-group Roxette's) Listen to Your Heart, sung by AvariceRose from Youtube. Please visit and subscribe to her channel if you find her content as beautiful as I have.
Cover image made using canva.
Discaimer: This is a non-profit story made by a fan, for fans, without claims on any source material or ownerships. In short, I am not Himaruya, not do I work this field, therefore I have nothing to claim other than my choice of words. However, this still does not mean that I want this story to be posted anywhere else without my consent, please!
Listen to Your Heart
Chapter 1
The boy with golden hair
Heavy archways of dense green trees shaped a tunnel that the small caravan of one car and one moving truck sped through. Little tiny Arthur William Edward Kirkland sighed heavily as he humourlessly glared at the dense roof of leaves above them. His older brother Allistor spoke rapidly with their mother in his usual Scottish accent. He had been doing so for the last hour and Arthur sighed out of boredom. He knew he'd lose the fight again if he tried to ask of Allistor to be quiet. All his brothers were all born loud, he wasn't an exception. It wasn't even the usual chaotic day among the Kirkland residents. They were heading to their new home. Arthur had been told many times before that they had to make this move. Their mother, who single handedly cared for all four of the Kirkland siblings had recently gotten divorced for a third time. This left her with no option but to go for the first best solution she could find, in other words to apply for a teaching-job in France.
Not that Arthur understood all those complications that adults faced. It was all too perplexing how adults came up with such weird things as love and heartbreak. He sighed. Allistor had firmly told him that he was too young to understand, but Arthur did understand. He may just be seven years old, but he understood as much as that their mother had to move. This did not mean that he had to like it. Nor had it felt better to move so soon after he just turned seven.
"So, where is this house?" Allistor asked their mother from the front row. Arthur glared at him from his seat behind their mother, while the twins, Brian and Brendan, sat in the right and middle seat to Arthur's right. It was a weird arrangement.
"Not too far away now." Their mother answered calmly.
Allistor gazed forward, where finally, they exited the tunnel of trees.
"It's so weird though." his older brother points out. "It feels like we're on the wrong side of the road."
Their mother, Mary, chuckled.
"Most of Europe drives on the right side. Usually, people complain when they arrive on the islands."
Allistor nodded. "So, where was this house again? Is it onie good? Do they even have electricity or runnin' water here?"
Their mother laughed again. "Oh, my little Allistor, they're French, they're not the kind of monsters Miss Baxter made them out to be."
Miss Baxter had been the brothers' caretaker back in their life in London. Their mother Mary had been very busy at work and could remain at her workplace for several long hours. Stuck with those long hours and the responsibility of so many children, she had been forced to hire a caretaker for the young children, even if Allistor had complained at first. Arthur knew Miss Baxter was a student at the London University, with a major in history. She had cared for the boys for just a few months, before she moved back to York. He had loved listening to her stories, because unalike most caretakers he had met, she would tell them about the amazing superiority that Great Britain had shown over those French swine. He Arthur had been born a proud Brit, and a true Brit.
Which was another reason for him to truly despise moving.
"Mum, when are we there?" he asked, gazing up at the otherwise clear blue sky. Feeling as if someone was taunting him for his own misery, he stuck his tongue at the clouds.
"Oh, Arthur, are you awake? Oh, don't worry dear. We'll be there shortly."
Allistor raised his head to look at his younger brother. "What's wrong, wee brother? Fair anxious to get there?"
Arthur huffed, as loudly as he could. He really didn't like his older brother. Allistor may be older, but he was half Scottish, and therefore acted as much as one as he possibly could. Allistor was four years older, but in Arthur's opinion he was as stupid as an older brother could get. And just as annoying.
Shuddering the young boy remembered such an incident only a few weeks ago, when Allistor, dressed in his usual navy-blue dressing gown had walked in to put a CD in his CD-player, turned the volume on max and blasted the house with Scottish bagpipe music.
It was a horrible experience Arthur would never forget.
"I just wish to get there soon, then we'll get out sooner." He said, trying to act smart, but his response did not add to the effect he would have liked, as both started laughing.
"Oh, my sweet lad." Arthur's mother said softly. "It will probably take some time before the five of us return to England for that. Don't you worry, I know you will love it here."
Arthur glared at the front-seaters, and crossed his arms.
"I highly doubt that." he whispered to himself.
"Cheer up son, we are almost there." Mrs Kirkland quickly said, ending the impending arguments.
Arthur didn't have to wait long before their mother announced that they had arrived, and it distracted Arthur enough to actually look at what was going to be his fate. To his great dismay, it was even worse than he feared. The house itself was a two floor box, built of lightly coloured stone and an orange tiled roof. The windowpanes and doors were painted white. The house had a pretty small garden, and seemed to have been wedged between two bigger houses. The only way to know that the house wasn't someone's garage were the high stone walls that seemed to make clear borders. To Arthur, it felt somewhat like a prison, but he did like the large apple tree that grew and branched outside the confinements of the wall.
His mother parked the car on a small square before the house. The truck followed in pursuit, and they were all told to exit. Allistor shook the twins awake, and told them to follow him inside.
The movers took most of the furniture, but there were still many objects that had not been put in baskets. Allistor was set to help their mother with some of the boxes, Arthur got to carry lamps, baskets and small bags. The twins didn't have to do anything, while their middle brother he slightly envied them. They were yet too young to understand anything of this.
He didn't pay much more of his attention to his surroundings until he, by mere chance, heard someone cough. But it didn't give from any of the usual direction, it came from above.
Arthur looked up to see another boy, head above the edge of the wall to look down at him. This boy was a few years older, probably around Allistor's age. Unlike Allistor, who was such a redhead it was almost funny, this boy had blond locks that by the French warm sun seemed to be made of gold.
They looked at each other for a short time, then Arthur stuck his tongue out.
The boy blinked a few times as if trying to determine what just happened, but sent back a rude face of his own.
Arthur put down the vase he was holding, and made another face back. This continued until Arthur's mother, who wondered where her little boy could have wandered off to, opened the door and told him to get inside.
Arthur's head turned briefly to nod to her, but when he turned his head back to shoot another glare at the other boy the boy was already gone. Arthur just new, right there and then, that he and this boy would never get along.
-000-
Arthur was broody the next day when his brother dropped him off at a small building of yellow sandstone. Neither brothers spoke a lot. Arthur didn't say anything as he was still grumpy from the very morning, where he had given a large tantrum about going to a new school. Allistor didn't fair much better either, since he had been on the receiving end of it. Their mother had left an hour before either of them woke up. Allistor left him in front of the building, and said a simple: "Behave!" before he strode off to his own school for older students.
So now he stood by the doors glaring at what he saw as a prison from everything he loved and knew.
As he stood staring at the door it opened and a fair skinned woman with chestnut brown hair opened the door. She smiled at him.
"'Ello, are you per'aps young Mr Arthur Kirkland?"
Arthur nodded. She was dressed in a light yellow floral dress with small tiny prints of red roses. No matter what he would have wanted to think of her, her smile and the choice of roses made it harder for him to completely dislike her. And, she spoke English, which he was sure she would not. Only civilized people did.
But he soon figured she was the only really nice thing, and as for civilized? He could soon count a number of reasons he did not like this at all.
Once they had gotten to the classroom she asked him to stand in front of the class and present himself. But, as soon as he opened his mouth a sea of perplexed or stupid faces met him. His teacher, Mademoiselle Bonnerose, translated his speech the best she could, but once the actual lesson started he realised he would not understand a thing. The entire lesson was in French.
He therefore spent the hours drawing in his notebook instead of paying much attention, while his classmates recited basic French words. He was more than happy when he saw that it was 1pm and his classmates hurriedly put their books away, meaning that this horror was over. He wanted to run home, but as soon as he stepped outside the door he realised he had forgotten the direction home. And Allistor wasn't anywhere to be seen. Once more his brother had forgotten him, and Arthur was left to feel slightly misplaced and alone.
"Arthur, are you not going 'ome?"
He turned to see his teacher Mademoiselle Bonnerose walk up to him.
He shook his head.
"Do you 'ave no one to pick you up?"
"My brother, but I think he forgot."
Mademoiselle Bonnerose gave a small expression that seemed like understanding.
"Where does your brother go to?"
"L'Ecole D'A... something... but mother told him to pick me up since he is a big boy now. He's eleven."
"Oh, I see. But, Arthur. The students of grade five 'as class until three today. My sister works there. If you 'ave no one to take you 'ome, I could walk you for a bit, but..."
Arthur nodded. For the moment he forgave Mademoiselle Bonnerose for being French, because among the French he saw her as someone who was a little different that the other French, or at least that was his opinion of it. And he liked her smile.
"Bounshoor!" he suddenly heard and looked to see familiar golden locks attached to a young boy, who steadily approached them. Mademoiselle Bonnerose smiled and said something back. They spoke for a minute in French, but he didn't understand. How rude, keeping conversations a secret from you.
The blond boy smiled at Arthur, who simply glared back. He had not forgotten their little exchange the other day. But the second later Mademoiselle Bonnerose smiled back down at him again, and she crouched down to meet him face to face, and Arthur could glare no more.
"Arthur, this is Monsieur Bonnefoy, 'e tells me you two are neighbours. So, as you both live close I can let 'im follow you 'ome instead, and maybe you can get to know each other?"
Arthur felt a little distraught over the idea of such a frog following him home, but he told himself that a gentleman should never be rude to a lady. As he stared at Francis, he kind of figured that the boy could perhaps be mistaken for a girl and it made him feel a little superior.
Mademoiselle Bonnerose smiled and waved before she left. But a minute later she walked back from the road they had walked. Francis offered his hand to Arthur, who shook his head. He wasn't that much younger than Francis, even though the older boy was several centimetres taller than he was.
"Allons-y?!"
"What?"
"We go?"
"Oh" Arthur said, and followed as Francis took the lead.
They walked for what most likely was several minutes before Francis said: "My name, Francis Bonnefoy. I am 10 years. I speak little English. You?"
"I am Arthur Kirkland and I turned seven this April. And your English is really bad, who taught you?"
Francis was silent for a few seconds, as he was translating what Arthur said within his mind. "Arthur, oh... My père teach me, but he is not 'ome. He works."
"Oh. Well, my father left me too."
Arthur didn't notice, but the walk home took longer than he would soon learn would be necessary, but Francis wanted to show him a little of his home village. They reached the market, where people were slowly putting up tables for the sale that was soon to start. Further down a road was an ancient monastery from early Christian age, made from stone, where a newly married couple stood in front of a photographer for their first pictures as newly-weds. Francis stopped briefly to watch, and Arthur had to admit that it was a curious sight. He still remembered a little from his mother's last marriage, where he had carried the rings.
They continued to the left of a crossroad, which took them to a small spring. Francis told him that the spring flowed from a lake further up, where he and the village children would often go to play. Arthur decided to show Francis how to play Pooh-sticks.
Arthur happily one four out of six games, not that Francis seemed bothered about loosing. The young Frenchman sang something happily in French that Arthur didn't understand, but the boy seemed to be in a good mood and completely unaware of how Arthur truly felt about these odd French.
The continued left until Francis took them to a familiar path Arthur recognised at once as the road home. Francis kindly pointed out all of the houses. There weren't many of them. All these houses had been or belonged to former vineyards from the time when the village had been a huge producer of said beverage. Francis seemed to know all of these, and could even describe how they tasted.
"How on earth can you tell, are your parents drunk? How do you know what wine tastes like?" Arthur asked after Francis finished telling about the third house and the addition of the famous village apples that this man put into his wine.
"Drunk? I think so. But it was my grandmère who told me. She lived in your house."
"Is that so? Then were is she now?"
"Up there." Francis said and pointed to the sky and shrugged. Arthur didn't say anything, he understood very well when angels took you to heaven. He had once said goodbye to his grandfather as well the other year.
"She went to see grandpère again, that is what maman said." Francis said, and somehow there was a slight twinkle in his eyes as he said so.
Arthur looked up as they passed the final house before his. It also had high walls, but even higher apple trees that would one day ripen. Arthur was happy he was home and that he would be able to ditch Francis, but the Frenchman suddenly took his hand, quite enthusiastically and dragged him off, pass their homes and to the end of the road.
Arthur opened his mouth and told the older boy to let him go, but Francis simply smiled and continued dragging him. It didn't seem to matter whatever Arthur said, Francis didn't stop until they reached the far end, where the boy dragged him pass a broken fence.
Arthur was dragged to an old abandoned vineyard, where the years had surely been harsh and dragged the old buildings down to a state where reparations would take years to complete. But the years had also made the old grapevines thicker and the old olive trees more knotted and twisted. Arthur glared at Francis at first, but soon realised that the young boys expression changed immediately upon entering. His eyes seemed a little bigger, and almost distant as if he saw something Arthur did not, and Arthur got curious.
"This is my favourite place." Francis said finally.
"Really... doesn't look that special to me. Kind of, old." Arthur said.
"Not to me." Francis said. "And it is very funny, come."
They spent the rest of the afternoon playing among the many buildings and trees of the old vineyard. At first Arthur was tricked to chasing Francis among the tall vines, the shabby walls and the knotted trees, but it soon turned into a game, where Francis, due to his age and slightly older experiences, won many of their chases. As the sun slowly set, they rolled down the olive tree hill laughing and gazed at the starry skies. Arthur's laughter was yet all but hollow, because no matter what he could not forget what the French was to him.
Time flew quickly, and when finally Arthur found himself at home, with his worried mother, he might still find a large dislike for his French predicament and dislike towards fate. But still, he couldn't help but to smile knowing he at least had some fun. When he finally told his mother about this, she calmed down slightly, but asked to be forewarned should Francis and he want to play some more.
"You don't need to worry about that, mum." Arthur said. "It will never happen again! I don't even like him."
Arthur decided to forget the fun for now, and keep to the voice in his head that told him over and over that the French were no good.
He silently swore, among the still sea of boxes within his room, that he would never, ever, befriend a French, and Francis was the least likely candidate. He was happy that summer was just around the corner, and therefore he would soon find a good reason to stay at home, read his books and drift into his own world filled with fairies, pirates and treasures. There would be no reason to let in a certain golden blond haired boy in.
TBC
A/N: In this section I will post some interesting story details and real life events that came to inspire some of this story, and hopefully can inspire you some as well. There are some interesting details that made this story even more special for me. So hopefully, it can help you as well.
Arthur's family: Arthur's current family is quite large, and hopefully this can clear things up. Arthur has 3 brothers, Allistor, the oldest and the younger twins Brendan and Brian. All three are Arthur's half-brothers, since his mother has been married three times, to Allistor's father, to Arthur's father and once to the father of the twins. The brother's Hetalia identities are: Allistor is Scotland, Brian is Ireland and Brendan is Northern Ireland (which is part of the UK). I decided not to put Wales into the family, as the family is large enough and I thought four failed marriages is not bad, it's a near disaster (three is bad enough). If anyone is curious, Wales is a cousin for this story, but he never made it past mentioning.
Pooh-sticks: They say authors often put themselves in the story, and I guess this is one of the ways I will do it. I wanted to give Arthur some other authors to love than the usual stereotypical: Shakespeare or Arthur Conan Doyle. After all, the UK has given us a large collection of authors. I, myself, used to read Winnie the Pooh when I was very young, and once in England my mother took me to a bridge we saw and played pooh-sticks. The game is very simple, should you ever want to play with your children/future children. Each competitor finds a stick. You take the stick to a stream with a bridge. At the end from where the stream floats you drop the stick at the same time, the stick that flows out from under the bridge first, wins. It is a complete game of luck, but I used to enjoy it a lot. I guess, in one way, I was very easily amused.
Drunk: I know some of the English speakers will be a little weirded out by this, but you cannot forget that Francis doesn't speak English fluently and is still learning. I wanted him to be able to understand a lot of English, which itself is really good for his age, but there will be words he will be very puzzled by. The word drunk sounds to him like textbook material as how present and past words are formed: . To Francis the phrase sounded as if his parents had drank wine at some point.
Francis' family: Francis is a single child. His mother lives with him in the village, his father however is a diplomat who works from Paris and occasionally Africa. Francis therefore near never gets to see his father, whom he has grown more and more distant to. It was also Francis' father who decided that Francis ought to learn English at a very early age, and therefore whenever he is home he will speak English only to Francis. This is why Francis is pretty good at the language, at a time when the Internet had yet to explode.