The First Colours of the Day
Pairing: Francis Bonnefoy/Arthur Kirkland
Warnings: Another universe, homosexuality, language
Hetalia is created by Himaruya Hidekazu.
Idea gotten from imagineyourotp at tumblr
Word count: 1096
The First Colours of the Day
He woke up with a groan, a frustrated, down to earth groan. Moving and feeling to his left, he could feel the body of Francis, still sleeping and still breathing. Taking a look to his right and on the digital clock, he wanted to bury his head under the pillow and sleep.
It was freaking five o'clock in the morning.
He rolled over on his back, staring up in the ceiling, finding it nearly not interesting at all (mind you, he had looked at it so many times it was bothersome), and just simply sat up, trying not to cause Francis to wake up as he moved about, trying his best to keep a collected head as he took on himself his bathrobe.
He walked out of the bedroom, looking one last time at Francis who seemed to stir a little with the lack of another body in the bed, but Arthur did not feel for returning back to bed to only stare in the ceiling.
Coming to the kitchen, he fixed a kettle with water to boil and fixed a cup, looking in their cupboard after sugar cubes. Finding them behind the pasta innocently lying in the cupboard, he took them out and placed them on the counter. While the water boiled, he looked after his precious Earl Grey tea, wanting it now – the taste consuming, the love on his taste buds and all in all, the precious feeling of warmth.
The kettle made it sound that it was done and Arthur swiftly moved to pour the water in the cup. The scent that the tea gave off made Arthur smile happily over it, putting to sugar cubes in it before walking to the living room to pick up a blanket.
Having gotten the blanket, the tea balanced in his hand, he walked over to the door that led to the backyard. He wanted to just rest and look upon the scenery. He seated himself on the steps, covering himself up with the blanket and took the cup of tea up to his lips, tasting the sweet liquid in the cup. It was peace, sitting outside.
The green scenery was laid in a shade of darkness mixed with some lightness as the sun was about to climb the heaven. He sighed deeply, drank the coffee and enjoyed the sight as much as he could. It was not often that he came to France to visit Francis' summer house, well, since he was not so much of a fan of going to this French speaking country, despite it being Francis' home country and everything.
It was not so chilly this morning as he had expected, sitting cuddled in his blanket, breathing in the air around him and feeling so much better already. Dreams should not plague him forever, even Francis had said that; "Don't get bothered by those stupid dreams, my sweet."
He did not try to let it bother him, but it still held him up some nights; the staring in the ceiling, the wondering to why he could not sleep properly and the small aching in his chest.
He heard the back door getting opened and a tired "Good morning" greeted him as he felt arms rest upon his shoulder as Francis seated himself behind him. "You are awake early, my love." Francis said, taking the big blanket that Arthur had over his shoulders and cuddled them both under it.
"Couldn't sleep..." Arthur mumbled in answer, drinking up the rest of his tea. Francis sighed and caressed Arthur's arms with comfort.
"You should try and sleep even if it bothers you so much," Francis started, kissing Arthur's cheek, earning an annoyed sigh and a sight from his lover. "You can even wake me up, and I will try my best to keep the nightmares away." Francis murmured and kissed Arthur's neck.
"I don't want you to get less sleep because of me." Arthur replied and moved so that he could look into Francis' eyes. "You shouldn't be bothered by me." Placing his hand on his lover's shoulder, he smiled kind of sarcastically to himself.
"We are in this together, Arthur, so don't try to shut me out by saying you don't want to bother me," Francis kissed Arthur's lips softly, smiling slightly as he parted away from him. "You won't ever be a bother to me, mon amour." He brushed his fingers across Arthur's cheek, letting them run across the line of his jaw, up to his ear and brushing through the blond hair.
"Do you think that I will forever have these dreams?" Arthur asked and turned to the scenery again, feeling soft lips press against his neck as light as a butterfly. His tummy churned in the common nervousness he felt whenever he was so near the other man.
"No," Francis whispered, taking a better hold on him and kissed Arthur's temple. "I won't dare to think that they would linger forever."
Arthur leant against him, looking at the sky, filling with colours of the unimaginable. He could sit here for hours in the arms of Francis, not caring the slightest about the world around – if he just could look at this magnificent scenery displaying in front of him, making him forget the horror struck feelings he often felt when he dreamt.
It was calm, and it was home, because home was not Britain alone, it was Francis. Francis was his home and Francis kept him coming back for more – and more he wanted. The safeness, the sensuality, the love and the care; he loved it so much, how Francis made him feel.
"The sun will always be there," Francis whispered, "Behind all the clouds there are – the sun will wait till it can see you again." Arthur could not help but smile at this – because this was how Francis was; finding everything romantic.
"You know, for a sap, you are really worthy." Francis laughed at this and rested his head on Arthur's shoulder, looking at the sky with him.
"Merci beaucoup, Arthur, d'être ici avec moi." The French language rolled off Francis tongue so easily, and Arthur found it always so – beautified.
"Always, Francis – I will always be here with you." Arthur replied, feeling so comfortable and so warm with him, having no thoughts of leaving now. He never did.
As the first touch of colours were dancing on the reddening sky, a shy blush from the ever so wonderful sun, Arthur smiled to himself and to the peace surrendering them both, the faint taste of tea still on his tongue.