There's nothing quite like walking in the rain. Some people detest it, because it ruins your appearance. However, other people adore the cooling feeling of the precipitation hitting their bare skin. Listening to the sound of the rain hitting the Earth as you stand there, surrendering your body to the elements, gives a peaceful feeling. Sadly, it was a feeling that hardly anybody could enjoy any more. Whenever it started raining, people would go into hiding, or pull out their umbrellas. It had been long since the rain had actually been healthy. The sky was filled with nothing but dangerous gases from all the factories. The rain contained chemicals that irritated and bit your skin and organs mercilessly, often killing people. As a poor artist that lived on the streets, Francis Bonnefoy could attest to this. His skin was covered with wounds from the lethal rain. The Frenchman let out a shaky sigh as he clutched onto the leather bag with his art supplies and paintings. The clouds above Paris were anything but welcoming. He knew the city, where he had been born and raised, like the back of his hand, and he vaguely remembered the days when the clouds above the city looked beautiful, and put a smile on his face. All his memories of The City of Love before the Steam Revolution were slowly slipping away. Many things had changed, he hardly remembered how his old house used to look like. Not that it mattered any more – he didn't want to go back to the place where his mother had died.

"...it is a big deal, the duchess adores food – we all know that!" a voice with a thick British accent said, accompanied by the sound of footsteps, "Yes, I need all those pastries. What? What do you mean she's on a bloody diet? You have got to be pulling my leg... Then what are we supposed to do?!"

Francis looked up, and saw the origin of the sound. A man wearing clothes fitted for nobility was walking down the street with a quick pace. He spoke faster than he walked, clearly stressed out. His short dirty blonde hair stuck out from under his top hat as he continued ranting to the person on the other side of the line. He was holding one of those fancy copper cell phones to his ear – something Francis would probably never be able to afford.

"Art? She loves art? Well – okay – but how are we going to find a suitable artist on such a short notice?" the Englishman said, clearly even more stressed out now. However, Francis' eyes had widened. Could this be his chance? Without thinking, the artist scrambled up, grabbed his leather bag, and ran to the foreigner through the crowd, "M-monsieur," he said with a slightly nervous voice, "I couldn't help but overhear that you needed an artist."

The Brit raised an eyebrow – only now did Francis notice his thick eyebrows – and put away his phone, "Why, are you an artist?" He gave the Frenchman a sceptical look, clearly not impressed by his ragged clothes and unkempt shoulder-length hair which was messily tied into a low ponytail.

"Oui, monsieur," Francis said, straightening his posture and giving a charming smile, "I don't know how many paintings you will need, but I am sure I can get it done. I'm willing to take any offer at this point..."

Arthur looked at the Frenchman from top to toe again, and Francis swore he saw a bit of pity in the foreigner's bright green eyes. The Brit sighed, "I'm also willing to hire any artist at this point. Fine – you're hired. Follow me."

"B-but, monsieur, don't you want to see my art first?" Francis asked, running after the Brit, "I haven't even introduced myself yet!"

"I'm already convinced," the blond man said, "I'm Arthur Kirkland."

"Okay..." Francis said slowly, adjusting his pace to the Englishman's one, "I'm Francis Bonnefoy."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Arthur said and gave Francis a light smile.

"Likewise, monsieur Kirkland," Francis said, returning the smile.

The Frenchman could hardly believe his luck. Of all people to catch his attention, it was a man in need of an artist. The past couple of days he had spent on the streets as a beggar, living from the food or money people had given him out of pity. He was sure he was going to die there, eradicated by the deadly rain. As if he had read his mind, Arthur looked at the sky and said, "We better hurry, the clouds don't look all too friendly."

Francis nodded in agreement and both men increased their pace, slipping through the large commotion of people. Francis already had a gut feeling about where they were heading to. His gut feeling was confirmed when the destination came in sight: The Louvre.

A sigh of awe escaped Francis' lips as he looked at the entrance. The museum was apparently being used to welcome a special guest. Francis remembered his mother taking him to the museum when he was younger. He would always point at his favourite paintings and say, "When I grow up, my paintings will be displayed here!"

His mother would always say the same thing with a smile, "Of course, ma chérie, and I will come to look at your paintings every day."

Francis swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to ignore and hide the emotions that were bubbling up.

"Are you coming in?" a familiar voice asked. Francis looked up and saw Arthur standing in the doorway, which was being held open by two – probably – servants.

"O-of course, pardon me," Francis said, trying his best to hide the crack in his voice. He quickly walked to the Brit, who took hold of his arm and stopped him.

"Are you okay?" the Englishman asked, giving Francis a sharp but slightly worried look.

"Yes – sorry," Francis said, faking a smile, "I tend to get a bit sentimental when I'm here."

Arthur gently released his grip on Francis' arm and looked around, "I can understand, I suppose. It is beautiful here."

Francis nodded in agreement, the sadness quickly replaced with another emotion.

He would never understand.

Author's Note:

So that was the first chapter! I hope it's okay...

I apologize if there is any OOC-ness, please tell me if it's really bad!

I'm not sure if I was descriptive enough about the environment, but it's a steampunk AU, so if you can't really imagine what it looks like, just Google "steampunk" and you'll be set :)

I actually wrote this imagining a Professor Layton-esque world – but darker.

There will be a couple of OCs in this story, but I'm not planning on giving them a major role yet. I'm not very sure where I want to go with this story, to be honest... *laughs awkwardly*

Also, if you'd like, I can see if I can give your OC a place in this fanfiction! I'm afraid I won't give them a major part, but I can offer a small one! You'll get full credit for your OC, of course.

So – if you would like your OC to be in this story – please send me a message giving a detailed description about your OC, and I'll see if I can do something with it. Please keep in mind that this story is set in a steampunk AU!

Also, don't forget to R&R, and all critique is welcome!

Ciao!

ChryssieVissie

I do not own Hetalia and its related characters, but I do own this story and the cover art, so I got that going for me, which is nice.