Arthur stared out the bedroom window, looking up at the sky. He did this often when he couldn't sleep well. If the night permitted he would map out the constellations with his eyes, but more often than not the clouds prevented him from doing so. Tonight was one of those nights. As he watched the grayness of the world, small rivulets streamed down on the other side of the glass. It was raining, like always.
"Mmn...Arthur..?"
He turned to look at his bed and the form that had rolled over in it. That damn Frenchman. He had showed up at his house one night claiming that he couldn't find a vacant hotel in all of London. What a total load of bollocks that was. But against his better judgment he had let him in. That had been over a month ago.
"Go back to sleep frog."
He responded from where he sat on the windowsill. He wasn't sure why he had let him stay, especially for so long. It had just...happened. The first night he had him sleeping on the couch. Then when he complained about that the, guest bed.
"Come back and go to sleep cher. You need your rest."
The third day he was there Arthur had returned home rather late from work, having a very important deadline to meet. He had entered his home and gone straight up the stairs to bed. When he had gotten to his room he had found the long-haired blonde already fast asleep curled up under his covers. He should have kicked him out right then and there. Out of his bed and out of his home. But he didn't. He had gotten ready for bed and crawled in next to him, being to tired to deal with much of anything. Though the smug smile from the 'sleeping' Frenchman had not gone unnoticed.
"I'm not tired. I'll be fine, just roll back over."
The days had passed and soon Arthur began to notice things. Like the food in the fridge, he hadn't bought all of that. Or his closet. Suddenly the unused space had been taken up by a new wardrobe, that wasn't his. Or the table, that now always seemed to have a vase of flowers on it, usually roses, with a tag he never bothered himself with reading.
"Please come back and try to sleep. There's nothing out there to see anyways."
He had asked him why he was in London at all. He had said for the sights. Since when did sight-seeing take so long? He had asked again and he had said for the weather. Another load of bollocks. After a third time asking and receiving another blasé answer (For the food, of course. Now he was just being a smart ass) he had given up. To hell with it, what he was here for.
"There would be if the clouds weren't in the way. The stars are still up there."
Arthur hadn't cooked in weeks. Francis always beat him to it. He complained about the flouncy French food but spent his free time reading. It had been quite a while since he had any free time. When he comes home from work there is always a cup of his favorite tea waiting for him. And if he was going to be late he would call and let his 'guest' know. When had he started to even care like that?
"You can sense them up there, even if they're hiding from you then?"
One day he decided to read the tag on the flowers that occupied his table. He certainly hadn't let curiosity get the best of him, nor the strange feeling inside of him, no not at all. He had just simply decided to look. He picked up the roses, he had found that he liked the roses best, and flipped the tag over to reveal the wavy black scribbles of a hand-written note.
Dear Arthur
If you're reading this then you've finally come to terms with your heart, even if you don't yet want to admit it to yourself. I know how very stubborn you are when it comes to your emotions, and you'll probably swear up and down at this and deny that you have any at all. But if you can help it, please don't. There's a spark in your eyes and even if you try to hide it, I know it's there.
Je t'aime, and that is all.
Forever yours,
Francis
He took one last look at the sky before pushing himself up and shuffled back towards the bed
"Yeah, I suppose you could say that."
He slid back under the covers and a pair of warm arms wound there way around his waist. He sighed and settled into the warmth he had become all to familiar with. He felt a soft kiss placed onto the top of his messy hair
"Bonsoir, mon amour. Je t'aime."
"Whatever, just go back to sleep you git."
Francis smiled anyways. He didn't really need to hear it. It was implied. It was implied everyday he fell asleep with Arthur in his arms, the fact that he hadn't been kicked out. It was implied when Arthur ate every bite of his food, even when he said it was garbage. It was implied the day he had happened upon the Brit finally reading his note tied to the flowers. And it was implied when Arthur snuggled closer to him as he slept, knowing that he had come to expect his body next to him, an added comfort. Someday he would here those words, he told himself, but until then he was content to see them written bright in the stars, behind all the gray clouds.
I love you too