A/N: Argh, I'd just love to thank everyone for the lovely reviews. It's people like you that really make me feel good about this story. ^^ Again, thank you SO much. I appreciate your support. c:
Anywho, now that's over, read on. :3
Arthur's eyes narrowed; thick, signature eyebrows furrowing one time.
"Apologise!"
Stacking his and the other's plate on top of each other, Francis felt his stomach twisting that made him bend his torso over a little, speaking up with fits of laughter between each breath, "Okay! Okay! For the millionth time, I'm sorry!"
"You're unbelievable!" Arthur replied, fighting the urge of the smirk that begged to mark his lips. "I can't believe you did that to me so early in the morning!"
"At least I made you coffee though, right?"
"…yes, but still! You could have just asked to eat out for breakfast."
"I had a feeling you weren't quite the morning person, so I didn't want to risk it."
"Again, you're unbelievable."
Francis replied with laughter, folding his right leg over his left, as the sweet aroma of coffee beans and freshly baked goods filled the small café he and Arthur were currently seated in. The morning sun shone ever so beautifully into the building, giving off certain balminess and allowing Arthur to reach for the sun rays to keep the tips of his fingers warm. His soft, fairly coloured skin radiated the light gently, Francis having to take note of how remarkable the sight was. He always has appreciated the human body – he never always saw nudity as sexual. Although, because he believed in such, there was many moments where he was accused of being a pervert – hence why Francis tends to keep his hobbies to himself. Maybe, hopefully, Arthur had the same point of view to him, and so Francis could really open up more.
"May I have a photo? I just thought you look really nice, with the sun on you and all," the Frenchman asked, causing Arthur to turn his attention from keeping his hands warm, to instead look up at the other. "I could add it to my portfolio."
Arthur smiled awkwardly, sitting upright, as his natural hazel eyes really began to glow an amazing abundance of emerald that looked almost fantasy-like.
"I-I'm not photogenic, let me take one of you instead—"
"Non, that's okay," Francis said quickly, cutting the other off to Arthur's surprise. Playing with the sleeves of his sweater and frowning greatly, a faint blush coursed over Arthur's cheeks as he pouted, soon replying with, "You know I don't like having photos taken of me."
Francis nodded, smiling. "I know," he replied, resting his elbow upon the table as he moved the empty plates to the side, resting his cheek against his knuckles. "Just this once and I won't ask you for another as long as we're together."
"You'll probably still take photos without my consent, so it doesn't matter either way," Arthur sighed, smiling weakly. Francis hummed at the back of his throat, lips parting the slightest to speak, "That's true. But let's get one of you smiling."
"Bien," Arthur huffed, moving his hands to grab the edge of his seat, in between his legs. "Just this once, though. You're gonna have to owe me something in return."
Taking his Polaroid camera from his bag, Francis checked that there were blank films in there, before holding it up so he could peak through the lens. "Your wish is my command," he said, Arthur's face shifting into one that held surprise, just as the Frenchman had taken a photo.
"Woah! Hey! I wasn't ready!" Arthur yelled, gaining the attention of some of the other customers in the café alongside the two, as he sat up in his seat defensively, reaching for the film that was coming out of the camera. This time, Francis was too quick, and so he pulled the camera away and retrieved it for himself, shaking it a little so it could produce at a faster rate before looking at it himself.
"Doesn't matter, you look quite cute here," Francis said, smiling as he held the picture up so Arthur could see. "See?"
"Delete it—no, wait, Jesus, rip it up!" Arthur demanded, rosy cheeks from the mixture of cold air but warm sun, going a little deeper in colour. "Don't make me set fire to it when I get the chance!"
"I don't know, it's a little hard to rip," the other stated, even proving it, placing his camera down on the table to try to rip the film. "I don't use that cheap stuff you'll find online; this is very expensive, so the quality must be good, don't you agree?"
Francis looked up when he had asked that, flinching when the sound of a shutter had gone off, and he found Arthur laughing in triumph as he had the Polaroid camera in his possession. Sitting up to place his hand over the lens, grabbing a hold of the camera, the Frenchman retaliated by snatching it off of Arthur and quickly shoving it into his bag alongside the other film.
"Naughty," he said, his tone of voice sounding as if he were speaking to a pet or a mere child. With a sad sigh – to Arthur's surprise – Francis gathered his things, ready to stand up. "We should go, the drive to the magazine company I work at usually takes about 10 minutes, but traffic can be a pain in the ass – so I'd rather be safe than sorry."
Arthur felt as if he had done something to offend the other, and soon hated himself for it. It was either that Francis didn't want his expensive films wasted on playful shots, or…
"Come along, Arthur," Francis said once more, before leaving.
…or that he really hated photos being taken of him. Why, though? Francis was gorgeous. Even the film that Arthur held in his hands; the amazing front on view of Francis hunching his shoulders the slightest, blue eyes peaking upwards as the sun captured his face, the blond hair that wasn't held back by a ribbon falling down the sides of his face mesmerizingly… even the little details – like his facial hair defining the strength of his jaw, or the pink lips that stood out against his creamy skin, or those thick eyelashes that made him look just a tad feminine, but otherwise a total lady-killer.
Just staring at this picture of Francis looking right back at him, Arthur felt his insides twist. He hated the other for making him feel like this – as if he were so dependent on him, or that his emotions were strung up for Francis to pull at any time he pleased, with either his words or his smile. Not once have Arthur ever believed that someone could gain a crush on someone they had just met, and yet he felt like this already. He guessed it was just psychical attraction, though – although being a blond himself, he did prefer blond hair and blue eyes, and that's exactly what Francis was.
Standing up with a smile, Arthur stuck the photo he had scored into the pocket of his jeans, wrapping his usual grey scarf around his neck once more.
He had just hoped the other did swing the same way, or even both ways – he didn't care. It's just because Arthur had a feeling he would not only have an overwhelming amount of psychical attraction towards Francis, but he'd also get emotionally invested in him; and it's never good to like a straight man. The Frenchman was an interest person to begin with; and his mysterious personality only added on to it more.
Though, thinking like that, Arthur did feel that impending hatred.
"About time, what were you doing?" Francis asked after Arthur had regained his thoughts and made his way out of the café, to where the car was parked.
"Hey, at least I showed up," Arthur replied with just as much sass as the other, before entering the passenger seat as the other blond got into the driver's seat. Strapping himself in, hazel eyes turned to gaze at Francis gently, before thick eyebrows caused an idle expression to turn into an annoyed one. The car ride there, not a single word was exchanged between the two – the only sound was music, specifically from the French band, Noir Désir; old, but one of Francis' favourite.
Arthur's stomach began growling, and so he looked up from the desk he was assigned to for the year to check the time – where the hands didn't seem to move at all. And, so, he sighed heavily, hating his life as per usual. His office was like the one back in England – smelling of coffee, cluttered with books and paperwork, the sound of an occasional breakdown of a journalist overworked with stress. He shouldn't have expected that things would be any different.
With a heavy sigh of defeat, Arthur laid his head down on his desk, his wrist sore for writing up little things that his editor had given him to do. Francis was nowhere in sight, he seemed to have disappeared as soon as the Englishman had gotten to where he had to go, and that only made Arthur pout because he didn't feel so comfortable in a room full of strangers.
"Je suis désolé," a female voice apologised, causing Arthur to raise his head and stare blankly at his editor. Noting for the 100th time today, she was beautiful, and the way she dressed showed that she knew it, too. With a tight, pencil skirt framing her hips perfectly, a white dress shirt that was unbuttoned to show the gold necklace that was around her neck, her bulging cleavage gaining anyways attention, and black heels that made her look so tall and dominant. Any man preferring someone as sexy as her would go crazy.
Snapping from his thoughts, Arthur shook his head, before straightening his papers.
"No, no, that's okay," he replied, placing the papers flat upon his desk, before taking the pen that was rested upon his ear and discarding it into the stationery container. "Don't apologise at all, you're the boss here, ma'am."
"Oui, that may be true, but it's rare to have someone as valuable as you working for me, I'm honoured," she said, earning a weird look from Arthur, before he eventually accepted the flattery with a small smile and thanks.
Before Arthur could get back to what he was doing – writing, although mostly whining about how hungry and bored he was – the editor turned, and Francis had entered the scene between the two. He felt a slight stab in his heart when his emerald eyes witnessed Francis grazing his hand upon their boss's hips, before both had greeted each other with a kiss on each cheek. That's when Arthur decided that these two were practically perfect for each other – they were both stunningly gorgeous. He began to feel silly and hate himself for ever thinking about such shameless things about Francis; getting his hopes up was one way to completely hurt himself. Of course the Frenchman was interested in women.
"I'd hate to have you in the office all day, you deserve something more exciting," the editor said, after she and Francis had broken apart. "So, you and Francis have a little job for me."
She moved her hand in a come-hither motion, red painted fingernails shining in the light, before departing and making her way to her own office. Francis, not having seen Arthur for the whole day, held his arms out for an affectionate greet when he was rejected. The Englishman had simply avoided eye contact – not because he was irritated with Francis, but rather with himself – and moved pass him to follow the clicking of the editor's high heels.
Turning his head to follow where Arthur was going, Francis stayed behind a little, confusion washing over his thoughts. If it was denial, then it was, and so he thought that the other was simply not used to greeting like the French, hence why Francis was overlooked. With that figured out for himself, he soon caught up to Arthur, to the other blond's slight dismay. Don't get him wrong, though, Arthur didn't despise Francis' companionship – in fact, he enjoyed it half of the time – he was just… awkward, especially after shamelessly wanting Francis to have an interest for guys, and possibly him.
"Arthur, I have one thing to ask you before assigning you with Francis," the editor said when both males had entered her office. She was perched up on her desk; back facing them with her legs crossed over each other as he reached into the drawers and retrieved papers. "What sort of work have you done before?"
Arthur was a little taken back on that question; he's never been asked it before. However, because he was, he was guessing what the two was about to do may be a little illegal.
"Well, interviews, reports on the scene, stuff like that," Arthur replied, earning a little scoff from Francis – which made the other blond glare at him – before the editor had turned her head to smile gently at him.
She replied, "Have you ever trespassed or broken into places?"
This time, it was Arthur to smile smugly.
"There's no need to trespass or break into places when you can always persuade your way in, mademoiselle," he said with earnest, sounding as if he was innocent of such deeds. Upon feeling Francis' shoulder brush against his, however, he broke from his state of being that 'super cool' journalist that never got caught, to shuffle away a little – unnoticeably. "Uh—well, why do you ask?"
His boss had removed herself from her desk, going over to both boys, before handing Arthur the papers she had gotten and read over one last time. As hazel eyes scanned over them, the Englishman had taken a mental note for himself that these were mostly rumours and hot topics about a certain celebrity that was staying in France for the time being. This was different for him – he usually didn't report on celebrities, but rather crimes and major events. So, maybe this'll be a journey for him.
"An aristocrat who's here for his performance in a couple of days," the editor soon said, gaining Arthur's soft gaze once more.
"It'd be best to fish anything we can out of him, before his performance," Francis added on, smiling sheepishly. "But not have the report on him published until after; we don't want to soil his riches."
"Yes that'd be… not good," Arthur than mumbled, trying to look confident in sneaking up on celebrities. He knew security would be much harder than ducking beneath some police tape – Francis had better know what he was doing. "Merci, I think we'll be going then. I'll have the reports stacked up on your desk by this Saturday."
"I'll see through with that, have fun," the editor replied, before shooing them out of her room. Once they had exited, the boys exchanged eye contact – Francis smiling brightly whilst Arthur looked away nervously. With a frown, the Frenchman soon grabbed a hold of the other's wrist, forcing eye contact out of him.
"Is everything okay, Arthur?" he asked, Arthur retaliating by pressing himself up against the wall with large, emerald eyes peeking back at the other.
"Oui," he eventually replied, placing a hand over his stomach. "I'm just hungry, and… nervous, I guess. Excited, maybe? I don't know… please let go."
With a curl of his lip, Francis obeyed, and placed his hands in his pockets after readjusting the strap of his bag that was slung carelessly over his left shoulder.
"Well alright," he mumbled, looking obviously annoyed for knowing that he hadn't retrieved the truthful answer. "You don't have to hide your feelings away from me. Like you said, we're roommates, so we're in this together."
"Don't speak so cliché, what are you… an American film actress?" Arthur replied, lightening up the mood when the both had laughed gently. However, he soon put on a smile, looking at the other man with a gentle gaze. "Everything's okay, Francis, I promise. Let's just focus on our job; we can speak of such personal things when we're off hour."
Francis rolled his eyes, smirking a little.
"Fine, don't try to act so professional," he replied. Arthur frowned, and softly punched him in the shoulder before yelling, "I am professional!"
"Alright, alright! But so am I, so you can't treat me like a kid!"
And that's how the two kept on going for the next 10-20 minutes or so, bickering over little things about each other, and simply speaking as if they were trying to gain authority over each other. Eventually, after coming to silent terms that they were equal – and after many laughs and playful punches – Arthur and Francis had regained focus on what they were to do, and so they made their way out of the building and to Francis' car once more.
Francis looked over to Arthur, sitting comfortably in the passenger seat with the papers in his hand, before asking, "Where to?"
Mumbling, Arthur pointed to a spot, having Francis lean over to read, as he replied, "Here. I don't know where that is, or how to pronounce that."
"Oh, that's on the outskirts of the city, which would make sense…," Francis observed, his husky voice like music to Arthur's ears, but also a painful, awkward reminder. "Celebrities staying in the middle of a city isn't always a good choice."
"So, you'll be taking pictures, I'll be taking notes?" Arthur than asked; double-checking. Francis nodded in response, the two locking eye contact for a while with a smile on their faces, before Arthur eventually shamed his way out of that position by blushing a faint shade of pink and looking the other way. "Let's get going, then. We don't even know where he is."
"True, but we'll find him," Francis said, with a voice like he had done this multiple times before, as he put his vehicle into drive. "We always find them…"
Arthur, with a soft sigh, kept his gaze on Francis whilst Francis kept his gaze on where he was going. The Englishman had just wished he'd be able to go through the rest of this afternoon – running on an empty stomach – without getting super awkward with Francis or anything. He reminded himself to just… focus on his job.
He was sure that he'd be fine.
Yeah, he'd be fine.