2010. Rhode Island, USA.

The thing is… that he hated to get up early. Always did. When they started this small shop together with his fiancée back then, he stayed in the bed till eight am and got ready for the paperwork later... The small shop was filled with the scent of fresh bread, scones, small cookies and baguettes, the atmosphere was cosy and warm... he couldn't imagine it otherwise. No one ever said a word about their sexual orientation, no one ever questioned their affection towards each other, or their job. They functioned perfectly, even if they had bad days or silly arguments. Francis loved him, and Arthur loved him too.

The idea of having a bakery belonged to Francis; this was his childhood dream and Arthur helped him to make it come true. He even followed his love from England to the US where Francis finally got green light from the government. Originally Arthur wished to work for literary journals and edit books but having a degree in mathematics beside literature made things easier to fulfil his love's dreams. Making an American degree as an accountant was a piece of cake after the French university teachers, and by that it was sure that he will work for their shop.

When the business was started, it was just as the tall and incredibly handsome French man imagined; in the morning children came by and bought their breakfast, busy women going to the offices hopped in, old women buying sweets for their old toothless husbands, pregnant ladies trying to figure out, exactly what taste did they crave for... They often saw the university students with hangover, trying to find their pockets for some coins to buy scones or businessmen on their way home, obeying to their wives trying to figure out what they meant by 'buy some bread that I like'.

He could admit that their life together was smooth, happy and content.

Three years has passed... until one day, when Francis has died.

It was an accident, though. He saved two girls and one boy, sacrificing his own life. He died, looking into Arthur's eyes, trying to focus and stay... but he couldn't.

With that, everyone thought that Arthur Kirkland has died too.

He couldn't let go. Francis left him speechless, without giving any advice or suggestion, how to go on. He didn't tell him that he hid their wedding ring under the stairs. He didn't tell, that secretly he liked Doctor Who. He... he just left.

And Arthur decided to stay alone, because he couldn't imagine anyone beside himself in the mornings and in the evenings. Opening the shop and getting ready, filling the piles and the shelves, flipping the Closed text to Open... In the first days after the funeral, it was unbearable.

There wasn't that scent of Francis in his nose after he washed the sheets a couple of times and he didn't want that. Francis' writing had disappeared from the fridge because even if he didn't clean them, the ink faded... His clothes remained on their places but no one touched them anymore. He couldn't. Later in the upcoming months he found himself standing in front of their wardrobe, looking at the man's clothing. The scent was gone. It was just the fabric.

He didn't delete his phone number either... the picture on the cupboard...

He got millions of presents, though. The costumers who came by every day, they brought him sweets, flowers and cards to tell him, he wasn't alone in his pain and other people had missed Francis too... but after all, Arthur accepted these respectable gestures with a nod. He didn't try to smile anymore. Francis left, and he was alone.

Arthur often woke up in the middle of the nights because his pillow was soaked in his tears, and he couldn't force himself to sleep back. He just sat in his bed, gazing out from his skull, trying to empty his mind. Francis was gone, but he stayed because he had to run the shop. He had to stay strong. But if he was there with him, for sure he might hug him and hold him...

Keep calm and carry on... waking up for the alarm clock every day at 4.15 am, gazing at the lonely teacup on the table. The chilly mornings of autumn and winter left a bitter pull on his lips while reading the news, without having anyone to express his opinion to. Even if Francis sometimes made sentimental comments on international issues, Arthur learned how to look at those romantic thoughts with their vast value. The flat was silent and empty, only the noises of the streets penetrated through the curtained windows. Along with the rhythmical ticking sound coming from the clock on the wall the monotone buzzing of the fridge made Arthur's thoughts puzzled at times.

Sometimes he was waiting for a sign, to see something happen around him. As he made his breakfast lone he often thought of melodies he heard long ago or forced self-assuring sentences out of his lips. He had told himself many hypocritical things just to keep going... he was fine alone, all could see. He kept the shop functioning as it was before, he kept the flat neat and clean, the flowers alive and... he was still waiting.

To close his eyes during breakfast became a regular thing to do, calming his tightening chest and his aching heart in the embrace of his ribs. After a long, resigned sign he breathed small utters about doing the same things over and over again... keeping the routine of the past. The habits which pierced through the almost invisible tissues of his weakened soul, hearing Francis' voice on the stairs to pay attention on his steps, don't forget the milk on the counter...

These times his own arms couldn't hold him warm and safe enough even if he forced the image of pride and dignity into his mind. Keep calm. And carry on.

Every single day in the shop started the same way. The truck came and departed around five, and as the time flew by it was still just him, hugging his sides and listening to the solitude of his mind as the sun crawled its way up to bring light in the shop around seven. The sunrise had always been beautiful and heart-warming to see, feeling the close presence of his beloved. It provided a sense of security, knowing that this will happen at all times, no matter what will happen to them.

Arthur watched the sunrise alone. Sometimes it was too hard to think how many times?

He knew, he felt that his fiancée was watching him from above and these times he cried even harder, or forced his face to stay blank. It became very hard to stay calm... but cold.

. . .

One and a half years has passed.

.."Hey... excuse me? Are you okay?"

"Sure." The voice didn't let him go. Arthur didn't look up on the costumer's face just handed him the change. "Thank you for choosing us."

Us... He had to close his eyes for a second or two, to collect himself and move on to check the baskets. If this goes on he will have to fill the buns, the twists and the croissants too which takes two and a half minutes when there is no costumer in the shop but with them...

"Are you sure? You... don't seem to be okay." The annoying guest distracted his thoughts over again and Arthur hissed under his nose.

The British man just blinked and turned his head towards the shelves of the white bread to pretend ignorance; the box was almost empty. He had to refill it so he turned to walk back to the storage when the guy's loud voice called after him.

"I heard you're looking for help."

What...? Arthur sighed but just stood in the doorway, leaning to it and covered his face with his left palm... god, he was tired... it was Monday, and of course after the weekend everyone rushed to buy bread and something to have for the basis of the sandwiches... right, he had to carry out the box of...

"Seriously, are you okay? You're like, fainting of something. Your face is all pale." He didn't see the boy's actions since he started walking back on the narrow corridor, not even caring about the happenings outside. He just murmured.

"I'm fine."

He had to go on just like before as he had told himself so many times, but the stranger stepped behind the counter and walked towards him; that was the point when he realized his position. His voice became sharp all of a sudden as he yelled at the impolite intruder.

"Get off here, wanker, stay out of that place!"

As he looked at the student's face (judging his age around twenty because he looked so young) he could see as he raised his eyebrow and shook his head before stepping back one or two, holding his hands up to his chest. He was obviously surprised at Arthur's sudden reaction so he backed off around half a meter. "Right on, boss, chill out!"

"Who do you think you are?!"

The other costumers in the shop started to pay attention on the scene and Arthur has never yelled with anyone before, everyone knew that. The guy in his brown leather jacket shrugged and stepped back again, probably because Arthur held a wooden staff in his hand which originally was meant for pushing boxes back and pulling them forth (it had a clamp on the top of it). He didn't remember when he got that among his fingers, but the stranger was still behind the cash register and this wasn't his place.

"Calm down, okay? I was trying to help you, can you even lift that stick up?" The boy pointed at the staff and now the owner of the shop realized how violent he might had seemed.

"I can." Arthur looked at the staff for a couple of seconds but in the end he just let it slide down on the ground and leaned it to the wall. The man in front of him tilted his head to one side when the Englishman sighed. His voice was awfully tired and slow and his eyes never looked up on the guest's figure again. "What do you want?"

"Basically... I wanted to buy a loaf of bread, but... maybe I could help you out if you don't mind."

At that, Arthur just chuckled... why... just why would someone do that if not taking advantage of his miserable situation? "No thank you. I'm fine. Please take your departure now."

And why did it had to be a typical American...

"I think you need help."

Was it that obvious? Arthur didn't look up to see the faces staring at him. He knew that almost the entire shop with all the approximately six people were looking at him, waiting for his answer. They all knew everything from the very beginning, he knew them because they were attending the shop for a long time. They saw him closing in, they saw him wiping away his emotions and turn into that automaton that functioned to run the business only. They knew... how Arthur Kirkland was, before the fall.

To accept help wasn't really a British kind of thing. Keep calm and carry on, they said... but Arthur couldn't stay calm anymore. Everywhere he looked he saw betrayal and the memory of being left behind... and one thing was sure... Francis wouldn't want him to be alone. He wouldn't want Arthur to run the shop alone which wasn't his idea originally...

He wiped his left eye before nodding and pointing behind his back carelessly. "In the storage, second shelf from the right, on the top. Get one of the boxes out and fill the seedless white bread basket."

"Got it, boss."

A couple of minutes passed because he served two schoolgirls and gave a loaf of bread to an old woman, when the young boy carried the asked box out and did what Arthur has told him. The owner of the shop looked at the way he packed the loaves out from the box, having very tight white gloves on his hands and without even realizing it, he nodded. He turned back to accept the money from another costumer, and when there were less people around, the man stepped beside him.

Again, Arthur didn't look on him. He pretended to check as if the cash register machine was alright but the guy cleared his throat. "What?"

"Can I work here?"

He raised his eyebrow at that. Indeed, in the mornings he needed some help to pack out, and sort the things, then to check the quality, the numbers, the signatures and start the whole shop and running it wasn't easy alone but he managed it himself, thank you very much...

"Please. I won't be under your foot, I promise. Maybe... sometimes I talk too much, but I pay attention, I swear."

No. This shop was Francis' and only his... if he hadn't agreed to have more employees, then... the decision is already done. He won't use the help of outsiders.

"Sir, I really need a job, I'm willing to do everything you tell me. I can.. clean..."

He walked beside the boy without looking up on him to check his identity, and put two baguettes in a paper pouch before handing them to the familiar old woman who came by every second day. "Thank you." He added, when the annoying lad demanded his attention again with his voice, not even caring about Arthur's routine of getting the coins and giving the change.

"I can repair everything and I am a hard working person, if you would give me one chance... please!" He really sounded in despair which couldn't affect the Englishman's heart... since he worked alone for one and a half years he had encountered many who begged for a workplace before this boy. He wasn't different either.

"Go home, kid." He answered coldly, not even giving a look to the boy. He heard the resigned sigh and the slow steps heading back to the costumers' area, in which they belonged originally.

"Sir, I wouldn't let you to do all this alone. I left a card on your counter if you need any help..."

He felt as the cold ran through his spine.

Alone? He wasn't alone, they ran the shop together before... and now he was alone. No... no, not the tears again... no... his throat tightened and he swallowed to keep the straight line of his mouth. He had to make a decision. Francis was gone. He was gone... it was up to him. He was the only person who had the right to say 'yes' or send the boy home already. He was the only one now, who could have a word in the shop's life, no one else.

Do all this alone.

Arthur shook his head and let out a resigned sigh of his lips.

"Alright. Come here, five in the morning, tomorrow. We'll see."

"Thank you. Thank you very much, Boss."

"It's Kirkland." His mind automatically added... Bonnefoy.

"Thank you Mr. Kirkland."

"What's your name, lad."

"Alfred Franklin Jones, Mr. Kirkland, and I'm twenty-four years old."

WHAT?! His eyes snapped open and he looked straight in the guy's face for the first time to examine him... and his heart skipped a beat. Neat, dark-blond hair, glasses, sky-blue eyes, handsome and clean face, white complexion... his figure was tall and well-built, not too muscular but Arthur could see the daily physical work on his shape. Converse, and simple dark-blue jeans, a white shirt and a brown leather jacket. He couldn't understand why would someone like that guy, who fit all the meanings of 'handsome', work in a bakery shop...

Fair enough.

"You'll need to change your shoes while you're here, and get a shirt that you'll use only here too. I'll get you an apron to protect your clothes but that's important. And if your hands are bigger than mine, I'll have to order another size of gloves for you too." Monotonously saying that he stepped beside the man to reach the cash register protectively. "But now please go back to the costumer's area."

..

Chapter1: edited