The Hunchback
The man is deformed.
That is the thought that first crossed Arthur Kirkland's mind. He looked down, a barrier between them in the door frame, a glass case that separated the two very different people. The rain poured down, thunder rolled in the distance, piercing the stormy sky with light and booming like drums.
The deformed man looked up at Kirkland, a hood over his body, black as night, and wrapped tight to his hunchbacked form. His gangly hair fell into his face, one eye larger than the other, both blue and moist.
Sir, could you allow me in?
Arthur hesitated, clutching the door handle.
Sir, I have no place to go.
Arthur continued to hesitate, looking past the man and out into the night. The countryside went on until the staccato mountains burst from the earth. Arthur looked back down at the man.
What's your name?
Francis Bonnefoy, sir. I am French. I have no place to go. I have been kicked out of any other place. If you could offer even the smallest amount of kindest, I would be most grateful. I can sleep in the attic, but I just need somewhere warm for the night. Please, sir, I beg of you.
Arthur stepped back, holding his bathrobe to his body. The man gingerly stepped in, thanking Arthur a thousand times and more, his spindly fingers trembling. He dripped water on to the rug. Arthur ordered him to stay put and went to the bathroom. When he returned Francis had not changed position and remained wide-eyed and hunched over. He was not too short nor was he too tall. He was bent at the shoulders, for he could not contend with the mound of flesh misplace upon his back to stand to his full height. His thick knees clattered together, thighs and calves of stringy muscle and not fat were separated by empty space and held with patchy, shoddy fabric of no use to all. Strings play in the background, Adagio for Strings by Samuel Barber, from the old record player. It fills the room, casting a veil over the clatter of rain.
Come to the guest room.
Francis nodded and shuffled after Arthur.
I'm sorry for waking you and your family.
I don't have a family. I don't have a wife.
I'm sorry for assuming.
It's all right.
Arthur led him to the guest room, still eerie and unable to quite cease his quivering whenever he looked at Francis. Francis only smiled, crooked yellow teeth, but it was a genuine smile of all heart and soul set into it.
I'll make you breakfast, but I can't make any promises as to what I can do after that.
You've already done me a great kindness.
It's nothing.
Arthur shut the door gently and returned to his room, sitting down on his lonely bed, and placing a book before him and continuing to read.
I do not own Hetalia nor do I own Adagio for Strings.
Possible continuation...?