He leaned back in his seat and sighed, turning his head and glancing out the window once more. The rain was now pouring down, and the busy London streets were full of people and their colourful umbrellas. And so, as he watched the droplets slide down the glass, he suddenly remembered something. They had met on a rainy day.

Warning: Character death

Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I do not own "Famous Last Words" or My Chemical Romance, either

They had met on a rainy day.

The sky was black and cloudy, the first of the thunder just beginning to appear when Arthur Kirkland entered a little café. It wasn't anything special; the building looked as though it had been forcefully shoved into the small space between the two larger buildings beside it, the shutters were falling off of the windows, and the neon 'open' sign had long since stopped working. The term "don't judge a book by its cover" worked well here, for inside, it was homelier than home. The fireplace was always lit, bringing warmth to the place, the little television in the corner was on all the time, even though nobody watched it, and the employees were like family. The café had no imperfections for somebody who could see past it.

He chose a seat at a table for two. It was by a large window that had a view of the town outside, as well as all of the different people. He knew them and their routines so well, having lived there for so many years. There was Alfred Jones, an American businessman who stopped by the café everyday at 7 for his morning coffee, the poor Italian brothers, Feliciano and Lovino Vargas, who sold tomatoes among other homegrown vegetables at a stand on Main Street, and Elizaveta Héderváry, a Hungarian woman and aristocrat's wife who made a living as a dancer. They'd all gone through so much, while his life was like a book with many blank pages. He was nothing but a lonely wannabe author, trying desperately to find inspiration that he could use to make his first book a hit.

With a sigh, he brought his laptop out of his bag and placed it on the table, turning it on and opening a new Word document. He set his fingers on the keyboard, preparing to type, but only sat there, staring at the screen. No ideas came to his mind. It had all been done before. The world was already full of too many tragic romances, horrific war stories, and over-exaggerated sci-fi's. There was nothing left but clichés. It was nearly impossible to be original in today's society. He rubbed his temple; all of this thinking was giving him a headache.

"Thé, monsieur?"

Arthur startled at the sudden voice. He glanced up through his bangs into the face of a man with blue eyes and wavy blond hair that came down to his shoulders. He had a slight stubble on his chin and was wearing a white long sleeved collared shirt, with a black vest on top, as well as a bowtie and black slacks. In his hand was a notepad and he was looking at him with an expectant expression, rocking back on his heels slightly, perhaps out of boredom.

"Oh," Arthur shook his head. "No, thank you."

The man stared at him for a moment longer, raising an eyebrow, then turned and left. Arthur looked back to his laptop and, realising that he was once again not going to get any writing done, closed the document and instead opened up his email. His inbox was full of spam, other than a message from his mother to remind him that he should come and visit soon. He deleted all of the emails and went back to his desktop, clicked on the symbol for iTunes, and, after plugging his headphones in, chose a song at random. The tune of Famous Last Words soon flooded his mind, and Arthur closed his eyes and leaned against the window, comforted by the music and feeling of rain pattering on the glass behind him. He'd never admit that someone like himself was interested in rock music.

He didn't know how long he sat there. It may have been a few minutes or even an hour. In fact, he might have even fallen asleep at some point, but the feeling of a hand on his shoulder, softly shaking him, caused him to open his eyes. Everything was a bit bleary but soon cleared out, and Arthur saw the waiter from before standing in front of him. The man retracted his hand, and then motioned toward the table, where there sat a steaming cup of tea.

He pulled his headphones off. "I said that I didn't want any," he told the waiter.

"Je sais," the man replied, then, as though on afterthought, he added. "Je m'appelle Francis."

"I'm Arthur," he replied, offering his hand, which Francis shook. He was glad that he had taken French at school. He didn't remember much of it, but he knew enough to get the gist of what the man was saying. The second blond then pulled out the chair across from his and sat down. He glanced at the teacup and then at Arthur, frowning. Arthur sighed and picked up the cup, taking a sip. A smug look appeared on Francis' face, but it quickly disappeared and he grew serious again. He made himself comfortable in his seat and simply watched Arthur. At this, the Brit raised an eyebrow. He opened his mouth to speak but Francis beat him to it.

"Quel est le problèm?"

"There is no problem." Arthur replied.

"Dites-moi."

Arthur shook his head. "What's the point? You wouldn't understand, anyway." While it was true that he knew nothing about the man, he guessed that he had come straight from France with no or little knowledge of English, seeing as he hadn't said a word of it.

"Je n'ai pas de comprendre pour écouter."

Arthur sighed. The man wouldn't know what he was saying, so he could tell him, right? He didn't have to worry about being judged; he could just let his thoughts out. He took his eyes off of Francis and instead stared into the tea in his cup. He wondered where he should begin.

"I feel useless. I have all my life. My parents preferred me over my siblings because I was a straight-A student, and because of this, they'd all gang up on me. I was beaten by my brothers at home and by my peers at school, but I kept going, because I had always hoped that one day, all of my studying would pay off and I'd get a great job, earn a lot of money.

Of course, nothing ever goes as planned. I lost my scholarship for college when I got in a huge fight, and then couldn't afford it. I was just lucky they didn't arrest me. I then lost my first job, had to move in with my girlfriend and depend on her. I felt pathetic, and she thought I was as well. I ended up going to the pub one night and got drunk out of my mind. I cheated on her and for that, she broke up with me and kicked me out. I had to go back to my parents, and they were never as disappointed in me as they were at that moment."

Arthur paused to catch his breath because he had spoken so quickly. He looked back up at Francis, surprised that he was still listening. He nodded for him to go on, and he did.

"For a while, I had to take anti-depressants, and once I was back on my feet, I decided I wanted to start all over. I moved from America and back to my hometown right here in London. I thought I'd put my literary skills to work and become an author, but I haven't been able to think of anything to write. I did get a new job, but it's as a cashier, and well... Sometimes I don't know why I keep trying."

Arthur locked eyes with Francis. "Now it's your turn," he smirked knowingly. Francis looked surprised, but Arthur could easily see the sadness in his eyes. It was impossible to miss.

"Ce n'est rien-" he protested. Arthur shook his head.

"Come on. It's not like I'll understand anyway, right?" he grinned.

Francis looked down with a sigh. After a moment of hesitation, he spoke. "Parfois, je ne sais pas pourquoi je continue à essayer, que ce soit."

Arthur frowned. He had no idea what Francis had said, but he sounded extremely depressed. He reached across the table and placed a hand on the Frenchman's shoulder. "It'll get better," he said.

After Arthur had pulled back, the two sat in complete silence, apart from the sound of the storm outside. From the corner of his eye, Arthur could still see busy people running about, despite the rain. They carried colourful umbrellas, the only colour in the black and white world outside, except for a couple who ran laughing together in the rain, hand in hand. He finished his tea and placed the cup on the table, putting his computer back in his bag afterwards. He then pulled out his wallet, reaching in and taking out £1.65. He handed it to Francis, but he pushed it back.

"Non, il n'est pas néscessaire."

Arthur sent him a questioning look, but never received an explanation as Francis gathered up the empty cup and returned to the café's kitchen without another word. He shrugged to himself and stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and left the café.

Edit 30/08/2013: All chapters have been updated. There are no drastic changes, just a few fixes to the plot and spelling errors.

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