Author notes: Wow! Thank you for the lovely reviews! I'm glad to see that you've all enjoyed the first chapter. I'm sorry if it was a little confusing at the beginning, what with the names and all. But I hope you will all get used to it. _; Originally, there was supposed to be another bit after the party to end chapter one but then I realised that the word count had become a little longer than I had initially planned for. As such, it made writing chapter two a little bit difficult to organise. I'm glad that it's all sorted now.
Fan-fic-Addict129, I thank you for your encouragement! alguien22792, yes, Alfred is a little annoying isn't he? It couldn't be helped! Ah, if you've watched or read Bridget Jones's Diary, I think it's a little obvious who would suit the role the fabulous Daniel Cleaver. ;) Daitou-chan, oh was it? Well! I suppose it is a little surprising, isn't it? And thank you for kind words! And I'm afraid the mysterious person with Iceland was not Turkey! That was a good guess, but the person with Emil was actuallyhuman!Mr. Puffin. I couldn't resist, especially after seeing that a (supposedly official) panel strip which featured the Hetalia pets in human forms. rollofthepenguins, thank you for your review! And yes, although Denmark and Norway were the hardest characters for me to write in the previous chapter, I do like the idea of them getting married on a Lego boat! It's a rather sweet thing for Denmark to do now, isn't it?
Well, here's chapter two, where we are introduced to the workplace, 'Perpetua' and 'Daniel Cleaver'.
Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia nor do I possess the brilliance behind Bridget Jones's Diary.
T h e B r I t L u c k
a USUK story
By su I k a's w I n d o f t h e c e l e s t I a l
Arthur's flat was in a shambolic state of mess.
Ever since he had returned back to London, a little tipsy from the bubbly at Feliciano's party, he had dismantled his drinking cabinet and took far too many swigs out of every bottle he had stashed within it. He had laughed, cried and cursed at same time through his irresponsible drinking, deciding to sod all his resolutions because, really, there will be never be awonderful girl like Elizabeta in his life. Why, who would ever want to settle down and have some children with this spectacularly dull, unconfident, professionally stagnant, caterpillar-browed person anyway? Nobody would, that's what.
And so, after collapsing to the floor from downing seven shots of vodka in one go within a span of thirty seconds, he vaguely remembered ringing up Kiku shortly after before he proceeded to wail down the telephone about his cursed ineptitude, about how his faults outweighed pretty much anything remotely good about him and how he was doomed to die alone with his head bowed over the toilet and his leg being chewed off by his nosey-parker neighbour Mrs. Johnson's Scottish Terrier. Rather than slam the phone down like many people would upon receiving a call at such an ungodly hour, Kiku had stayed on the line and listened (though he wasn't too sure if the Japanese man was because he might have dozed off, opting to hum in agreement only as Arthur bemoaned) before he stated rather calmly, in that remarkably soothing sleep-laced voice, that Arthur must be very tired and that it would be best if he set the alcohol aside (particularly the scotch) and rested. It took a lot of convincing before Arthur had finally, albeit reluctantly, set the phone down and staggered into the bathroom with the prospect of hanging his head over the toilet to puke his insides out. And so, it carried on like this through to New Years day; heavy drinking and calling Kiku in the middle of the night, watching television, eating out the contents of his fridge, smoking an impossible amount of cigarettes per day out of sheer boredom, flipping through his stash of porn magazines in disinterest, scrolling through various match-making websites in hope of finding that one special girl…
Ah, it was all going nowhere.
And so, that was how he found himself currently sporting a splitting headache from a terrible hangover as he made his way to his modest desk in the editorial wing of Elixir magazine with a bottle of still water in one hand and a men's magazine in the other. Slumping into his chair with a heavy sigh, it didn't take long for a certain co-worker to look up from his Tupperware container of smuggled steamed buns before he tucked it away in favour of swivelling his chair to face him. Arthur fought back a groan at the knowing smile which was flashed at him from across their paralleling desks and he forced a strained smile on his face out of habitual courteousness. "Yao. Morning. Happy New Year," he greeted as cordially as he could, wetting his lips the moment his ears took note of how gravelly his voice sounded. His throat was undeniably dry.
"Happy New Year," Yao replied, bobbing to his head almost sagely as he swivelled in his chair to face him. With an air of superiority, he crossed one leg over the other and rested his jaw against the palm of his hand as he looked Arthur over, his smile growing with each passing moment. It was almost as if the man knew something which he didn't and in the past, when he was new and inexperienced to this office, Yao had used his slightly older age and position in the office to squeeze a few embarrassing things out of him and use them as pivotal subjects on which he would criticise him with scathing remarks that were clearly laced with ethnocentrism. If anything, Arthur couldn't agree more with the idea of associating Yao with an overbearing, nosy aunt who liked to patronise her victims and watch them squirm helplessly under verbal lashes and cultural comparisons. If Yao wasn't commenting on his manner of dress, it would be his looks. If it weren't his looks, it would be his food (intake of food, more likely). And if it weren't his food…well, let's simply say that Yao had a lot of things he could pick to criticise on.
Lacking the sufficient amount of brainpower needed to thwart off the trap which Yao would lay by throwing a little bit of bait at him, he opted to drink his water instead to quench his thirst. But that was all the Chinese man needed. A head start in the conversation.
"You know, I really had no idea that you went to Feli-something's party," he started off with a voice which was a little too loud, too high-pitched and too thick for Arthur's liking. "I didn't think you still go to party. Hm, still young inside, eh?"
Arthur rolled his seat closer to his desk in the wild hope that Yao would have taken the hint that he was not interested in becoming his piece of entertainment for the morning. "Well, Feliciano is my friend so of course I would attend," he simply said, taking another big gulp of water as he flipped open his magazine to resume where he had left off when he was on the tube. Not that he had been able to do any reading in the first place. Trains and hangovers don't mix very well after all. He tried to ignore the phantom weight which had been placed on the crown of his head and how everything around him was far too bright and lively for his tastes. He really should have had a pint of water before falling face first on the floor of his bathroom last night, rather than allowing himself to be far too drowned in his self-loathing and misery. Why, he could have even grabbed some painkillers on his way out the door this morning but it was unfortunate that he hadn't the chance to because he had been running late. Seemingly to have dismissed the curtness of his answer entirely, Yao had decided roll his chair up beside him in order to read over his shoulder and Arthur frowned at this, distracted by the sudden closeness.
"Um, Yao, I'd really appreciate it if-"
Yao hummed noncommittally. "You Englishmen are very perverted huh. In every single piece of published material you produce in this country, there is always a picture of a half-naked woman."
Arthur's cheeks flushed in embarrassment at this and he sputtered, taking one moment to collect his muddled thoughts before he gave Yao a bewildered stare. "Excuse me?"
The man simply ran his fingers through his ponytail and munched around a steamed bun which he had reached over and picked up from his desk. "You've split up with Lauren from Marketing, haven't you?"
"Wha-h-how did you-"
Yao laughed, almost patronisingly, with bits of bun sputtering out of his mouth which landed here and there. "Aiyaa, like everyone knows. Haven't you heard? She's dating that Richie-Ricky-Mickey from Finance now. You know, the Indian guy. Ah, I really pity you, méi mao, you must be really bad. Of course you are bad. It's no secret that you do phone sex every fortnight. How disgraceful of you to do these sort of things. You English really have no shame," he remarked flippantly.
Arthur stared at him in horror, wondering where on earth had Yao actually acquired such personal information but before he could further inquire on it, the man had rolled off back to his own desk, hurriedly stuffing the rest of his bun into his mouth as another man had entered the office and strutted over to their desks in a succession of confident strides.
"Yao, I believe you have the unedited slips for pages 67 to 73 on you? Belle has sent you the email yesterday, did she not? The one with the spring dresses?" A smooth and accented voice cut between them and Arthur looked up to find his superior leaning rather gracefully against Yao's desk with a handsome smile.
Ah, yes. Francis Bonnefoy. Editor-in-chief at Elixir magazine and the very epitome of suaveness. Word around the office tells that not only was he successful professionally and damn well good at running things so smoothly in the office, but he was also a well-known bona fide sex god who enjoyed making moves on anything which was young and pretty. Personally, Arthur hadn't really come to interact with Francis much in spite of the working at Elixir for the past two years, what with his jaded outlook on life and his social skills being not of high calibre in general. That said, he rarely had the opportunity to do such a thing as well. Francis had nothing to do with him after all. He was nothing but an editorial assistant.
Francis's hair was falling in waves today rather than the usual loose ponytail he'd always don every other day. It was different but not entirely unpleasant. In fact, the change of hairstyle had caught the interest of everyone in the office. Arthur stared at it in envy, suddenly feeling very conscious of his own dull and ever unruly mop. When Francis flicked his hair over his shoulder, Arthur caught a whiff of the man's unique perfume. A pleasant smell it was, light and cool. Probably expensive and ridiculously French. Arthur frowned, resisting the urge to slam his head against his desk because of he was starting to cringe at how his boss's hair seemed to be glowing far too brightly at him. It was almost as if it was mocking him.
"Ah! You mean this one?" Yao finally emerged from behind a mountain of Tupperware containers and oriental snacks (Arthur had always wondered where the man had been stashing his endless supplies of food), brandishing a few printed papers in his relatively cleaner hand.
"Ah, yes. That is the one. Merveilleux. Merci, Yao."
Oh God, why was everyone around him foreign? Shaking his head in an effort to clear it of any ill thoughts, Arthur took another deep gulp of his water, hoping to wash his hangover out quickly.
"Rough night?"
Arthur lifted his chin and he found himself blinking stupidly into a pair of blue eyes which bore down rather intently into his own. They were a deeper shade of blue, much deeper than that insufferable Alvin person's, but startlingly dazzling nonetheless. "Sorry?" he repeated dumbly.
Francis smiled charmingly at him. "You have a…something rather…hm, somewhere right there," he gesticulated towards his own head with a smooth wave of his hand.
"Huh?" Arthur blinked owlishly at the other and before his sluggish mind could catch up with what was being said to him in a rather inarticulate way, he felt his boss's hand touch his hair. It felt far too comfortable, far too casual the way the man's fingers had sifted through his tangled locks before they finally retracted. Arthur stared at Francis, a little unsettled by the unexpected touch.
Francis held up what seemed to be a piece of cereal. The lost sibling of a Cheerio perhaps. No, make that two Cheerios. Puzzled, Arthur squinted. Wait a minute. Scratch that, it was actually a piece of bacon. Fuck, how did that get there?
"Accident in the kitchen?" his boss said, voice lilting with amusement.
Arthur wetted his lips, his eyes widening a little as he racked his brain for something rather intelligent to respond. However, all that came out of him then was: "No, I dropped to sleep with my head bowed over the toilet."
Suddenly the entire office fell silent. Beside him, Yao, who had managed to sneakily pop a snack into his mouth, suddenly choked and he coughed loudly, smacking his chest to dislodge the piece of chocolate. Francis, on the other hand, merely arched his brow before he slowly placed the piece of bacon on Arthur's desk.
"…I see. Well, bonne année…?"
"Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland."
Francis nodded at this before he coolly collected the papers Yao had handed to him and crossed the floor to his office, shutting the door with a firm click behind him.
Arthur dropped his head against his desk. "…bollocks."
Brilliant. What an exceptionally bad way to start the year.
Ever since that embarrassing incident with the bacon on the first day of returning to work, Arthur had noticed how his chances of bumping into Francis had increased dramatically over the next few days. It felt somewhat unnatural and very, very awkward. Arthur had found it difficult to look at Francis properly in the eye, in spite of the friendly smiles which had been cast towards him in polite greeting by the man whenever they happened to cross each other's path. Arthur had often wondered if he should apologise to Francis for uttering such stupidity back then and for projecting a rather bad image of himself during their first proper meeting. However, the more Arthur had dwelled on it, the more uncomfortable he began to feel with the notion of himself being anywhere near Francis. The last thing he needed was for his clumsiness to step in and confirm how much of an incompetent fool he was to his ever so cool and poised superior.
Just as Arthur was retreating back to his desk after photocopying a few documents which were to be faxed off, Yao had leapt over his desk in order to deposit an impossible amount of paperwork into his arms before he disappeared out of the office because a minor 'emergency' (which Arthur had learnt meant he had gone off to make a snack run). Arthur sighed in exasperation and ever so slowly and carefully he made his way down the corridor, struggling to keep the stack of papers tucked safely under his chin. It was a good thing most of them were bound together with elastic bands. Right, so where were these supposed to go…?
"Hello! You need help?"
Arthur halted his careful steps and he peered over the papers to meet the gaze of a pretty young woman who stood before him. He blinked, eyes lighting up interest at the sight of the ribbon fixed rather cutely in her short hair. She was an unfamiliar face. A new employee perhaps? He stared at her, a little dumbfounded, as he tried to figure out what she was saying under the heaviness of her accent. "Er, sorry?"
She giggled girlishly at this, her lips curling up sweetly. "You look…you need help?" she had repeated once more but then decided to take a step in anyway, in order to ease some of the load off of him before Arthur could even reject her in an act of chivalrousness. As she did this, he had managed to catch sight of the nametag which dangled around her neck. Belle. What a lovely name. He cast a furtive look to her low-cut blouse, catching sight of the dip of her cleavage for a split-second as she leaned over a little to cradle the papers carefully into her arms. C-Cup. Nice.
"Ah, you're too kind. Thank you," he said as they walked side by side.
Belle smiled brightly at him. "No, it's okay. I had nothing to do and you struggled so I helped," she chirped in a singsong voice.
"Are you new here?"
She nodded, her ribbon bobbing with the movement. There was something rather coquettish about Belle and Arthur found himself becoming increasingly attracted to that peculiar quality. "Yes. I'm a…transfer? No, training…yes, training here. I'm from Belgium but I really like England very much so I tried and now I'm here."
Ah, an intern. Well that was a rarity for Elixir. It wasn't often that the company would take in fresh graduates, especially foreign ones, unless they were exceptionally good. Arthur couldn't help but watch Belle from the corner of his eye as they walked, appraising her discreetly. For one thing, she was undeniably fit. That, and she seemed rather pleasant too. He recalled reading the 'Sex and Relationships' segment in the latest issue of Him. This month's article revolved around office romances, about the basic tips which would guarantee you to get the girl you had been fancying for some time. But this was different. He had just met Belle. Should he proceed with the five steps and just give it a shot? But should he really though, especially after shortly splitting up with Lauren? Would that project a bad image of him to the rest of his work colleagues? No, no. That wasn't it. The important question which needed to be addressed was what were the chances of this stunning girl wanting to go out with him in the first place anyway? Better yet, was she even single for that matter?
As Arthur struggled to reassemble his thoughts in an orderly manner and conjure up a good starting subject they could converse on in order to get to know each other, Belle had led them to the photocopier room. Setting the papers down on one of the desks, she then proceeded to sort them out into neat piles straightaway. Arthur followed suit, placing the sets of bound papers into different stacks according to the particular motifs, his back straight and stiff as a board as he controlled his movements in an effort to gather himself and make himself even more presentable. First impressions were very important after all.
Right. How to start? Perhaps he should initiate a conversation by starting off with talking about her country?
Absentmindedly, he watched Belle reach over to pick up a pen before she hunched over to scribble down a note on one of the papers. It took a lot of willpower to resist the temptation to peek at her cleavage for the second time. Arthur forcefully kept his eyes trained on the papers before him and carried on dutifully assorting them.
No, talking about a country would be a little dull. He had little knowledge about Belgium in the first place so the conversation would die off all too quickly. How about asking about her place of residence in London? No, no, that was too sudden and far beyond the lines of propriety. What about complimenting on her English? Yes, yes. Brilliant. Flatter her a little to catch her attention. Good, good. Yes, fantastic. This should undoubtedly work.
He cleared his throat but kept his eyes fixed on the papers he held. "Hey, um…you know, your English…it's very good. It's really good, especially for someone who studied it as a second or perhaps a third language even. I mean, I used to study French back during my school days and I honestly still can't speak it well, even after having learnt it for about six years so I admire how you are able to speak our language so fluently. A-And your accent is lovely too. I mean it's very pleasant to the ears. I really like it," Arthur murmured, a little uncertainly, but he hoped it was loud enough. When Belle had made no response to him, he was certain that she hadn't heard him over the loud hums of the photocopier machines. He moistened his lips a little before he mustered up the small amount of courage he needed to repeat his words or perhaps even rephrase them a little better the moment he spoke. He turned to face her. "Hey, listen, Be-"
The words on his tongue had died instantly and Arthur felt his mouth drop open in shock. Pretty intern Belle was nowhere in sight. Instead, there was a man standing in her place. A man with a stubble, a head of luscious flaxen waves and dazzling blue eyes.
Oh shit.
"Well. Wow. I'm flattered, Arthur. I did not expect this but thank you," said Francis, who seemed to be cool as cucumber in spite of being found in this rather unpleasant and arguably bizarre situation.
The moment their eyes connected, however, Arthur was stunned to find his boss looking at him in slight amusement. He stared at him, aghast at his words. Oh god. He heard. He heard, didn't he? Oh fuck. He had just, though absolutely unintentionally and very very lamely, attempted chat up Francis Bonnefoy. He had just – oh shit. No. No, he did not just bloody well blabbed about learning French now, did he? Oh fuck, he had.
He took a step back, the warmth of a blush erupting across his cheeks.
Francis simply stood there, poised rather sophisticatedly by the photocopier, watching him in interest.
Arthur wetted his lips, panicking a little as his mind groped for something, anything really to explain this act of sheer folly on his part. "You…you…" he began quite intelligently, swallowing back the lump in his throat as Francis's lips quirked.
Shit.
"You have no breasts," Arthur suddenly blurted out and Francis's brows rose to his hairline.
"Oh shit. I mean, fuck, I mean, beard – no, no, sorry! I'm really sorry, sir. I mean, fuck, that's not what I was – I didn't mean to swear, it just – well, you see what I was really supposed to say was that I thought you were a woman and I was dischuffed to say the least when I realised that you weren't but-oh fuck, that came out wrong. Bugger." He shuffled his feet and felt himself grow increasingly flustered under his boss's look of surprise as awkward silence fell between them.
Not good.
He snapped his mouth shut and held his tongue, not trusting himself to speak in fear of putting his foot in his mouth. Not that he hadn't already but it was better to be safe than sorry.
After about a minute or so, Francis had finally blinked and a look of newfound understanding dawned on his face, as if he had just finished dissecting the words in his head all this time. "Well now, aren't you a silly goose," he chuckled.
Arthur turned bright red at this and before he could stop himself, he lashed back rather defensively at his boss. "S-Shut up! I am very busy and important, Mr. Bo-nee-fuah!"
"Bon-fuah. It is pronounced Bon-fuah, Monsieur Kirkland," Francis corrected him with a small smirk. "Your French accent is terrible."
"Well I think your English accent is shit," he, for some reason, found himself saying. Brilliant. He was fuckednow. Avoiding Francis's gaze, Arthur relinquished his grip on the papers which he had been clasping onto all this time and set them down onto their respective pile. "Please excuse me, I think I need some coffee," he mumbled before he turned on his heel and bolted out of the room.
"Hey. Hey, méi mao."
Arthur looked up from his computer screen with a slight frown, a little unhappy with the nickname which had been impertinently stapled onto him by Yao ever since the infancy of their acquaintanceship. "What is it?" he asked dubiously. He didn't like the impish look in Yao's eyes.
In spite of it still being working hours, Yao was blithely making his way through a large packet of Ni hao Panda! biscuits, munching on them loudly for all to hear. He pointed towards the photocopier room, grinning from ear to ear. "I heard," he said conspiratorially before throwing his head back, laughing.
Arthur visibly stiffened at this and he scowled at the man before he turned his attention back to the document he was working on the word processor with, his fingers tapping across the keyboard with much force than necessary. It had only been about an hour or so since that embarrassing escapade with Francis in the photocopier room and it seemed as if the entire editorial wing of Elixir had heard of how things had went down on him parlously. Why, even Belle was giggling whenever she happened to spot him hunched over his desk in an attempt to make himself look smaller. He found it unnerving, the sudden attention which had been placed on him and although it was predominantly his fault in the first place for being so stupid, he couldn't help but think that Francis was to share the blame. Why, if he hadn't been standing there in the first place, none of this would happen. Speaking of which…
Arthur stole a quick glance at Francis's glass-walled office and he spotted his boss on the telephone as he worked on the computer. There was a cigarette between his lips. Arthur cocked an eyebrow. Huh.
A small beep came from his computer and Arthur peered at the screen, moving his mouse to notification bubble on the bottom corner of his desktop to access his company email. It was probably the minutes from yesterday's meeting which needed to be rephrased. He opened it.
Message to: Kirkland
Were you really disappointed that I do not have any breasts?
Bonnefoy
Arthur blinked in disbelief and he stared at the email for one good minute, particularly the email address from which it had been sent from. Francis Bonnefoy. Surely this was some sort of prank? He couldn't really have…but then again, Francis truly was in his office. There was no way some miserable sod could have hacked into his account just to send him this message.
His fingers hovered above the keys as he hesitated on how he should respond. After gruelling over the message for about seven minutes and then laboriously typing it out with much consideration and thought in the next twelve minutes, this was the final result:
Message to: Bonnefoy
Dear Sir,
I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for giving me an opportunity to contact you informally through this medium and to apologise for the mistake which I have made on my behalf earlier on. I had not been in the right state of mind and I sincerely apologise for indirectly assuming that you are a woman when clearly you are not. I hope this could be overlooked and that this event will not bring any complications within our working relationship in the near future.
Yours sincerely,
Arthur Kirkland.
Kirkland.
Arthur read it over and frowned, noticing that his reply seemed to be lacking something. But before he could get to it, Yao had suddenly turned his head towards his direction. Afraid that the man was going to skulk over to read the email, Arthur quickly pressed the 'send' button. Crap. He sighed in resignation, closing the window to resume his previous work. Ah well, what was done was done. There was no use crying over spilt milk. He would simply have to shoulder the consequences from now on. Hopefully they were favourable.
His computer beeped once more, signalling a reply. In slight trepidation, he opened the mail.
Message to: Kirkland
Tu es mignon.
Bonnefoy
Arthur stared at the words for a moment and then his chest throbbed when he realised what the message meant. Ah. He glanced around him, noticing Yao was on the now on the phone talking to some relative of his and the rest of the editors were bent over their desks busy with their own work, their cups of tea left untouched and cold. He shifted in his seat and began to type out a reply.
Message to: Bonnefoy
I believe you have sent your message to the wrong address, Monsoir Bonnefoy.
Kirkland
Not long after he sent it, a reply soon came back to him like a boomerang and Arthur wondered if perhaps Francis had actually realised his slip-up and had now sent him an apology or a threat to keep silent. He clicked on the 'open message' button.
Message to: Kirkland
Non. This message is referred especially to you, Arthur Kirkland. You are cute and your bad accent was quite endearing. I would like you to speak French from now on.
PS. You spelt Monsieur wrong.
Bonnefoy
Arthur looked up from his computer screen and his eyes widened in horror when he realised that Francis was actually watching him from his comfortable perch in his office chair, a devilishly handsome smile playing on his lips.
Oh god.
Message to: Bonnefoy
I'm afraid you've mistaken me with someone else. Good day.
Kirkland.
Quick Notes: If you were a little confused, pretty intern Belle is Belgium and that the Richie-Ricky-Mickey from Finance is India. Not that India's name is that though, it's just that Yao seems to be the sort of person who would forget the name of a person who remember his name. That being said, because I was a little reluctant to put in names of actual brands in this story in fear of copyright and such, I came up with different names to replace them instead. The snack which Yao has been eating rather happily towards the end of this chapter (Ni hao Panda!) is actually a spinoff of our world's Hello Panda by Meiji. Think of it as being the bootleg of Hello Panda with Shinatty-chan as the mascot. As for the magazine which Arthur works for, Elixir, it is slightly based on our world's Cosmopolitan magazine.
Translations:
méi mao (Mandarin) – eyebrows
tu es mignon (French) – You are cute
dischuffed (British informal) - bummed, stumped
Phew, well that's chapter two done! Reviews are always welcomed and I do hope you'll stay tuned for chapter three!
