Francis sighed as he clicked through the images on his screen. Male models sporting the latest fashion flick past his eyes with barely a moments glance. Snazzy street clothes, expensive suits, swim wear, underwear, each image taken has the perfect theme for the occasion and really, by anyone else's standards, the pictures are beautiful, breathtaking… perfect.
But when Francis looks at these pictures, he doesn't see that special spark anymore. He sees hours of rigging just to set up the right lighting for maybe one or two passable photos, and dozens more tossed for not being 'just right'. He sees fussy hair and makeup designer arguing over the same faces day after day, only to paint the same look on each one. He sees boring models who act more like play-doh than clay. He sees dozens of people acting like cogs in a machine, and the expectation they all have of him, for him to make it all work.
He sees a process, a set up.
He doesn't see art. He doesn't see life.
Turning from the screen, Francis pushes himself away from the desk, the wheels of his chair squeaking under him as he rolls back from the force. He leans back, slowly letting his eyes rove around the studio.
Around him the white walls are decorated with some of his best works. Large portraits filled with bright, and back then new, models in some of his more… ostentatious works. As his eyes roll over each, he can't help but feel a smile pull at his lips. How can he not? Each picture has a story, and every time he looks at them, he feels himself whisked right back to the day he took it.
But then his eyes returned to the black screen at his desk.
He frowns, wondering when did he lose his spark? Just when did he start to hate the very thing that used to give him such joy?
Looking to the side, his eyes land on the small frame nestled on the corner of his desk.
Most people who come to his studio don't even know he's the one who took it, mostly because he's in it, that, and the fact that it's nothing like the others. It's a bit blurry and off centre. It also has an odd tilt, and lens flare from the sun blots out the upper right corner with it's glaring white light, almost blocking out the view of one of the peoples faces.
But despite all these apparent flaws, it's by far Francis's most precious picture.
Gently, he lifts it up to examine it closer.
The picture was taken in a park, one not too far from his old studio, and is a simple one of three friends. It was a summers day, the last summers day that the three friends would share for some time, and they wanted to remember it. Francis was only a budding photographer back then, but even so, he knew just how to capture the day.
He had set up a tripod with his new camera all ready to go. The timer was set and he rushed back to the others for the perfect shot.
What he didn't count on was a ball bouncing down the hill he set the camera on, or Gilbert's decision to be 'helpful' and kick it out of frame back the way it came. The ball veered to the right and struck the tripod, causing the camera to tumble. The timer ticked down and the shutter went off before the camera hit the ground, capturing the sight of Gilbert cheering to his right, Antonio laughing at the accident to his left, and Francis in the middle, dashing forward in the vain hopes of catching the camera.
It's an image full of life, and the very picture that set Francis fully on the path to becoming the photographer he is today.
Before he can set the picture down again, the door flies open and the sound of manic laughter soon reaches Francis's ears.
"Hey Franny! What you still doing sitting there?" Gilbert calls, grinning like a mad man as he steps in.
Francis looks up in confusion for a moment, before he spies Antonio through the doorway.
"Merde! Is it that late already?" He curses, looking at his watch.
"Yup!" Gil beams, "So get your butt out of that chair and let's go drinking!"
"Ah," Francis shakes his head sadly, "Sorry, but I still haven't finished here, and the deadline is tonight."
Before he can apologise further, Toni waves away his worries, "We thought you might say that, so I had a word with Lovi, and we both agreed to give you an extension, so no worries!"
Francis chuckles, shaking his head at the pair.
Of course, he should have expected as much. Not many people are as lucky to work for their best friend.
"Well then, what are we waiting for?"
"That's the spirit!"
"Ja, now let's go hit the bars!"
Francis knows he should be trying to enjoy himself, but he can't stop feeling bogged down with this new inexplicable loathing for his work, and he hates that he hates it.
"Aww cheer up Fran," Toni chirps, waving the bar tender over to order him another drink.
"Ja," Gil nods, trying to act sagely as he clumsily claps the blond on the back, "It's not like you to be this down. It's weirding me out."
"If you need a change of pace, Gil could always model some stuff again."
"Damn right I could! You know I make anything look hot."
"No," Fran sighs, running a hand through his hair, "Thanks, but I don't think even Gil's eccentricities can get me out of this slump."
Toni hums in thought, though how clear such thoughts are is questionable at this point, "Maybe you just need something new, like last year with the spring wardrobe change? Though I don't think I could take another of Lovi's tantrums…"
"Just get a new model." Gil slurs slightly, taking another swig of his beer before continuing, "I mean, no dummkopf pretty boy will be as good as me, but can't hurt to try right?"
"Gil has a point," Antonio nods, sipping at his own drink, "that's what you used to do at the old studio, right?"
Francis shook his head, frowning at his drink, "No, I mean yes, but, it'd be impossible. Even if I could find someone to model, there's no way I could reshoot all of Lovino's line by next week. I'd have to work 24/7 solid to get it done, and you know how fickle the makeup department is. It's impossible. I'll just have to… make… do?"
Francis trails off, his attention drifting to the other end of the bar where an argument seems to be getting out of hand.
He can just about see a head of scruffy blond hair slumped across the bar, and another taller blond trying, and failing, to pull the slumped man up.
"FUCKING PISS OFF!" An accented voice heavily slurs as the smaller man tries to push the other away.
"Dude, Artie, come on. It's time to go." The tall one sounds frustrated, but is doing well to stay calm.
"A said Fuck OFF, am still drinkin' h're!"
"No your not," the bar tender cuts in, frowning disapprovingly at the drunk man, "I cut you off half an hour ago. Now will you please leave before I call the police."
"Whoa, no need for the cops dude, I can handle him." The tall blond grins nervously, before switching to a more direct approach.
Francis, and by now most of the bar, watch as the young man stuffs his hands under the drunks armpits, forcefully lifting him up off the bar and pulling back to remove him from the stool. It goes well for about five seconds, before the drunk man seems to realise what's happening and tries to pull away. The ensuing scuffle sends them down the bar, and, by a bout of bad luck, the drunk man tumbles free of his helper/captor to land in Francis's lap.
Bloodshot green eyes look up at him in dazed confusion for a second, before rolling over to vomit down Francis's trousers.
Francis is fairly certain it's the booze talking, but as he watched this man puke, he saw a glow, and just like that, to the sound of retching and the disgusting warmth running down his legs, he'd found his new inspiration.
"Oh shit! Dude I am so sorry!" The young man cried as he pulled the sick man to his feet.
Downing the last of his drink, Francis stood, beaming as he helped to steady the drunk and proclaimed, "Your hired!"
At exactly 11am the next morning, Francis eagerly paced the studio, making last minute adjustments to the lighting, before nearly jumping in glee at the sound of the door buzzing.
Hurrying over to the intercom, he excitedly asked, "Hello?"
His excitement however, was met with a far more cautious and nervous voice, "Yes, Hello? My name is Arthur, I, Uh, believe you made a job offer last night? The card said to come here so…" the voice trails off, but Francis is far to excited to pick up on it's unease.
"Oui! Oui, come on up!" He calls, happily buzzing the man in.
It only takes a few minutes for a knock to come at his door, and Fran near pulls it off it's hinges in his rush to open it. But any words he had prepared leave him in a rush of air as he lays eyes on the man before him.
The sloppy drunk in a ratty old band tee, jeans, and heavy jacket that was hanging off of him last night has been completely replaced. Instead what stands before him is a neat, casual suit wearing man, who stands straight and clean shaven. Though the hair remains the same, and what was confused green eyes, now stare back at him with weariness behind dark sunglasses that some how go with the suit.
So this is Arthur Kirkland when not drunk out of his mind, Fran thinks.
It's only when Arthur coughs does Francis notice he's been ogling him for far too long and is now making things uncomfortable.
He quickly smiles to recover, stepping back and waving a hand to welcome him in.
"Please, come in, Mr. Kirkland."
There's a moment of uncertainty before he does, and Fran sighs in relief.
"Um, so what is it exactly you wanted to hire me for?"
Now Francis realises why Arthur sounds so unsure, and he chuckles at his own blindness.
"Ah, I suppose you were rather, incapacitated last night, though I thought your friend, Mr. Jones? would have explained everything to you?"
Arthur seems to frown at the mention of his friend as he looks around the studio, "Alfred left early for work, all he left me was a note and your card. Not exactly much to go on."
"Ah well, in that case, allow me to explain. My name is Francis Bonnefoy, I am a photographer for the fashion magazine Project Tomato. And what I want you to do, Mr. Kirkland, is model for me."
"Model?"
Oh, Francis doesn't like the way he said that, as if the very notion was ridiculous. He has to save this, and fast. Time to pour on the charm.
"Why of course! You see back before I started working for PT, I was an independent photographer, and part of my work was finding fresh new faces to be models, so I know when I see potential." He grinned, pausing to try to gauge Arthur's reaction before continuing, "Don't worry, we won't do anything too taxing on your first day. We'll start of easy with a simple white drop background and something light and easy to wear, maybe a few costume changes later on, but nothing big."
"I'm sorry," Arthur blinked, shaking his head like he's trying to understand what's going on, "but you want me to model?"
Trying not to show his worry that he might lose his one shot at new inspiration, Fran smiles warmly, "Yes, that is what I said."
"Me? Model?"
Fran sighs, now getting frustrated with this circling.
"Yes. You. What about that is so hard to understand?"
He doesn't mean to sound so sharp, but he really needs Arthur to agree.
Arthur looks around at the studio again, this time clearly taking in all the pictures, and if Francis didn't know any better, he'd say Arthur almost looks scared.
"But aren't models supposed to be…" he trails off.
"Supposed to be what?"
"Never mind. You said the pay would be good? Or Al's note said that…"
Finally getting somewhere, Fran beams, "Yes, very."
"Alright then." Arthur sighs, before directing his full attention to Francis, "What do I have to do?"
Francis can easily say that Arthur is by far the most difficult model he's ever had to work with, and for some unknown reason, that delights him. He hates the makeup and hair designers, he refuses to wear any shorts, or sleeveless shirts without a jacket to cover his arms, and he absolutely won't let anyone near him when he changes. He's grumpy, demanding and unreasonable. He's an unpleasant spanner in the once smooth running machine of Francis's studio.
And that makes him perfect.
He's not play-doh, or clay, he's a rock. No, a gemstone, a diamond in the rough. It'll be tough, but with time, Francis is certain he can polish him to shine greater than any model before him.
But more than that, Francis finds himself drawn to him. He doesn't remember the last time his camera was so draw to something, when one, twenty, forty photos was never enough.
And when the day's shoot is over, never has he been more afraid of a model deciding this wasn't for them, or chased after someone to beg to know that they'll come back the next day.
And never has he been so happy when they said yes.
Author's notes: I return! And with completely unplanned FrUk. I know I need to update my other fics, but I need to get back into the swing of things before I'll feel comfortable writing them. Plus, I really need to get better at writing my fav frenchy, and what better way than with a France x world week? These are prob all gonna be FrUk, but who know's I might throw in a curveball pairing.
For now they'll just be a bunch of separate one-shots, but I may come back to them later.
R & R people.
Until next time, stay awesome!