Ch.1: Lunch
Arthur bolted up at the sound of a car horn honking furiously outside. What the hell was someone doing, honking at such an early hour?
"Hey, Dad!" a familiar voice shouted. A blonde-haired, blue-eyed, mischievous twelve-year-old boy zoomed into Arthur's room, nearly bowling him over.
"Good morning, Peter," Arthur managed through a yawn. "How did you sleep?" Then, doing a double take, the Englishman added, "And why are you wearing that?" For his son was wearing a nice shirt and jeans, and his hair was combed off neatly to the side.
"What do you mean, 'good morning'? It's already"–He checked his wristwatch–"quarter to twelve!"
Arthur jumped up, cursing under his breath. "Don't ever repeat what I just said," Arthur reminded his son frantically as he threw off his shirt.
His alarm hadn't gone off. Bloody fantastic. He'd never hear the end of it.
"Dad, aren't we going to lunch with the new neighbors?" Peter commented.
Arthur stopped abruptly. His shirt was half-on, and he had barely put on his pants. He quickly tore off his work clothes and sighed in relief.
"I'll leave you to do that," Peter said, a grin on his face. Before allowing the child to leave, Arthur planted a kiss on his head.
As Arthur got ready, the honking outside intensified. He walked, pantsless, to the window and threw it open.
"I'm going, you git! Calm down!" he shouted before slamming back the window and returning to dressing himself.
Honestly, Arthur thought as he searched frantically for his shoes, some people need to learn the simple art of patience.
Arthur walked outside, his hand on Peter's shoulder. He'd managed to tame his hair a bit, and that was all that it was going to get. Peter ran at the car.
A tall man got out of the car, slamming the door behind him. "Ah, bonjour, Arthur!" He grinned and opened his arms wide. Arthur stopped in his tracks, simply grasping one of the Frenchman's outstretched hands and shaking it. "Francis," he acknowledged briefly. "So, er, shall we?" Arthur suggested.
"Oui." Francis got into the driver's seat of the vehicle.
"I brought Adrienne," Francis said abruptly as Arthur climbed into the passenger seat. "I hope you don't mind, mon ami."
Arthur cracked a grin. "Not at all, Francis." Adrienne was Francis's daughter, a fine young lady who was about Peter's age. The two were seeming to get along, due to the amount of chatter in the backseat, but it was all tuned out. Arthur sighed and leaned back into the seat.
Trees zoomed by, little green blurs in Arthur's peripheral vision. He felt drowsiness engulfing him, little black spots forming on his vision...
Then Francis spoke.
"Arthur," the Frenchman cooed gently, "how do you like living here? I mean, what is there to do for fun?"
Arthur almost jumped out of his seat. "Well, I don't know. There's a lot to do, and, I mean..." He trailed off, lost a bit and confused at the question.
The awkwardness was broken when Francis parked the vehicle in front of a small diner that Arthur had always avoided. God, no, not this place...
He got off the car as slow as he could. He pushed the door open with as little force as possible, got out slowly but surely–
"Come on, Dad!" Peter screeched, and grabbed his father's arm. Peter pulled him out of the car. He staggered before straightening up, glaring briefly at Peter.
"Sorry," Peter whispered into his father's ear as they approached the diner.
He's such a git, Arthur thought absentmindedly. But he knew he didn't believe that.
He looked up at Francis when he sighed. "Is something wrong?" Arthur asked.
"No, nothing," Francis insisted. But his eyes said otherwise, and Arthur wouldn't drop the subject.
"No, really, what's bothering you?" Arthur was filled with unusual concern. He felt odd. There's no reason to be like this, he told himself, but kept on being persistent.
"Ah, Arthur, it's a personal matter." He sat up, clearing his throat dismissively.
Adrienne glanced at Francis. "Well, you are obviously caught up about something, aren't you, pére?"
"No," Francis hissed, "I am nothing of the sort. Adrienne, I've told you not to stick your nose into other people's business. As for my problem, well, c'est la vie." He shrugged and hurriedly opened the menu.
"Pardon?" Arthur asked. C'est la vie. He'd heard that before.
Francis grinned. "It means 'that's life'. But it's meant to show acceptance, and that's not technically what I have for life." He shrugged, his smile fading, and went back to the menu.
Arthur looked up at Francis. He was a strange man, but he wasn't hard to like. Right then Arthur felt like kicking himself. Calm down, he told himself. Calm the bloody hell down.
A.N.
Hello! This is my first attempt at a Hetalia story, so I hope you very much enjoy it. It's going to be (well, quite obviously) FrUk, which I ship very hardcore. Very.
I'm going to try to update daily, but I'm not making any promises!