A.N First I just want to tell you all how much it makes me smile to see that my story has another follower/favourite or review. This is my first fan fiction EVER and I'm so glad you guys like it! My chapters may not be very long and some may contain lots of dialogue, but I really try my best and I appreciate all of you who read my story. THANK YOU 3

Chapter 3: Company

Arthur's POV
With a smile plastered on my face I exited the café. Who would have thought I'd bump into him again? Yes, I mean Francis Bonnefoy. So far, he was the only good thing about moving to Paris. Well, that may have been exaggerated, but still. Not much good had happened so far. The whole bloody reason for moving to Paris was nothing but drama and bad news.

Though it wasn't that bad to live in Paris. I mean, I had a well-paid job. That was something, right? I could barely speak a word French and it was the most boring kind of office job you could imagine, but money was money and my apartment had quite a high rent.

I rolled up my sleeve to check the time. Almost 1 'o clock, I had to hurry. I quickly made my way to the business' office, where I had been working for a few weeks now. I usually had to start at nine, but I sometimes went out to get lunch around twelve. While crossing the street some idiotic Frenchman nearly ran over me. Git! I just could not get used to their terrible way of driving. First of all, they had no patience, second of all, they drove on the right side of the street. Enough said, right?

I arrived at the office and entered through the big, glass, front doors. Since I was late I decided to take the elevator. I pushed the button and had to wait a few seconds for the doors to open and let me in. The third floor, that was where I worked. As I left the elevator and entered my department I was greeted with the scolding of my boss.

"You're late, Mr. Kirkland," He complained, "again."

Fucking hell, I work my arse off for you day in day out, give me a bloody break will you? That is what I thought, what I did was apologise for being late before sitting down at my desk. Let's see what kind of job awaits me today. I checked my work schedule and with a deep sigh I started working on the computer.

Several hours later I was finally finished and I only had to take a small part of my work home with me. I collected my papers, put them in my briefcase and left the department. I walked down the stairs toward the exit of the building and made my way home.

The streets of Paris were never really silent, I noticed. Cars were still driving absurdly fast and impatient through the street and lots of people were sitting outside at all kinds of cafés and restaurants. The sky had become a dark shade of orange and only a few stars were visible.

It was not long before I arrived at my apartment complex. The last apartment on the fourth floor belonged to me. After I unlocked the door I put down my briefcase, hung up my coat and made myself a pot of earl grey tea. I took two cups and filled them with tea, realising only after I put the pot away that I was alone. Darn it. I still needed to get used to living alone.

It had only been a short few weeks since I moved to Paris. No, my reasons for moving here were never about work. To be honest the whole reason was kind of vague.

I used to have a wife back in London. Well, I should say girlfriend, since we were not married yet. We were engaged and we loved each other so very much.

At least, that is what I thought. To be real it was just me loving her. She loved men in general, not just me. So after the marriage was cancelled I moved to France for some reason. I told you it was vague.

I ended up drinking both cups of tea since I did not want to waste any of it. I finished the last bits of my work and went to bed, suddenly remembering something a certain Frenchman said. "Would you like to visit sometime? It's kind of lonely, living alone." That question kept crossing my mind that night.

I turned around in my bed several times, pondering my decision. There was something about this man that I was… curious about. Was that the right word? Was I just curious? No, this man just made me smile with all of his silly actions. I even smiled when I thought about it.

The next day after work I stood before Francis' door with trembling fingers. What the bloody fuck was I so nervous about? I rang the doorbell after taking a deep calming breath and a nice looking lady in her mid-30's opened the door.

"Bonjour, you must be Mr. Bonnefoy's guest." She switched to English for me.

"Yes, Arthur is the name, nice to meet you." She shook my hand let me in.

"He's in the dining room, second door on your left." She told me in her poor English accent before returning to whatever she was doing. What a kind lady, she must have been one of those people who voluntarily help people with disabilities. Disabled, it sounded like there was something wrong with him. I shook the thought out of my head and hung up my coat before continuing through the hallway to the second door on my left.

I opened it and Francis looked up in my direction.

"Hello, all right?" I greeted him. He smiled and put down his book. Wait, a book? How could he read?

"Arthur! I didn't expect you this soon." He motioned for me to take a seat. "I'm fine, et toi?" I grinned at how he switched back to French now and then. "I'm good." I took the seat opposite from his and sat down.

"Would you like some tea? The water just finished boiling."

I nod, quickly correcting myself by answering verbally. "Yes, please. Earl grey is fine."

He stood up and went to the kitchen. I could see how he had trouble finding the right tea, but he had gotten quite good at it; I know I would not be able to do that without my eyesight.

"What is the book for? Pretending you can read?" I teased him.

"I can read, merci beaucoup." I could see him smile nonetheless. "Unlike you."

"What about me?" I said in a challenging manner.

"I bet you couldn't read even one word from that book." He returned to the table with two cups of tea and sat down, shoving the book towards me after putting both cups down.

I took the book and opened it, realising what he meant: The book was written in braille. "Alright, you win." I said with a defeated grin. Not that he could see me grin, but still. "Git."

He laughed victoriously. "I told you so."

We continued chatting for a while when we both started to get hungry.

Francis suggested to go to the restaurant around the corner, but I declined. Then he suggested making dinner, which surprised me… a lot.

"I thought you quit cooking?" I knew he didn't like the question, but I wondered.

"Well, I could always give you directions on how to cook." Bad idea, Francis. Really, if only he knew what a terrible cook I was. "I don't think that's a good idea. I can't cook.."

"Nonsense!" He exclaimed. "Anyone can cook! Get off your lazy butt, we're going to make Tarte Tatin."

"Tarte-what? Wait, hold on! You don't understand, I really cannot cook. I literally ruin everything I—" By now that frog had pulled me out of the chair and into the kitchen, searching for the needed supplies. He surprised me every time again with how well he could fend for himself. After a few minutes the counter was filled with a pan and all sorts of ingredients.

"Bien, start with-" Francis started explaining the whole recipe.

"Woah, slow down, git. I don't even know what we're making!" I complained.

"Tarte Tatin," Francis explained, "it's like a French apple pie." He smiled in my direction, even though he missed my face by a quite a few inches.

"Apple pie? That's not dinner Francis." I once again complained.

"Allez, Arthur, live a little." I couldn't help but to smile slightly and eventually agreed to try and make one.

He explained to me how the recipe worked and I did as he told me. I had to cook the sugar until it caramelised and slice six apples in four in the meantime. It all seemed to go well up to that point, and even if I might not admit it out loud, I actually had a pleasant time.

I poured the caramel into the baking form and placed the apples on top just like Francis told me. Then I had to take the dough, which had to go on top of the pie, and roll it out. Well, that was no success.

After huffing, puffing and trying again for the fifth time Francis slowly approached from behind me. I felt his arms around me and his hands searching for mine. For some reason, as he did so, my heart skipped a beat. Arthur, what the hell is wrong with you? Once he found them he showed me that I had to be more gentle. Bloody hell, he was so close… I could feel the stubbles on his chin brushing past my cheek and my face heat up. No, I was NOT blushing. Damnit.

"Like this, understand?" He asked me with a smile.

"Y-Y.." I tried to speak but I was tongue tied. I made an understanding sound before telling him as serious as possible, "You can let go of me now." He finally released my hands and moved back to his spot behind me to give me directions. "Bloody frog." I muttered.

I could hear him chuckle as I was gently rolling out the dough.

"You're still blushing." I dropped the rolling pin and stared at him in awe. How did he..!?

"How would you know?" I was sounding serious enough, wasn't I?

"I could just feel your face heat up and now you're all quiet. I'm blind, Arthur, not stupid."

I fell silent once again and his by now famous laughter sounded once more through the room.

"You can admit that you're attracted to me, Arthur. Who wouldn't be? After all, aren't I by far the most fabulous man in town?"

"I am most definitely not attracted to an idiotic French git like yourself. I am merely here to keep you company." I'm too blatant, even for a blind man…

"Honhon, I was just pulling your leg, relax." I sighed in relief. Not that I was attracted to him, absolutely not. So it was not a sigh of relief because of me.. but because of him. Because of course it would have been awkward if he had been attracted to me. Because I was not into men, of course. No, no I wasn't.

My train of thought kept continuing for a while as I rolled out the dough and placed it over the caramel and the apples, putting it all in the oven.

Meanwhile Francis and I chatted on for a while. Well, really he was just teasing me and I was denying every little thing. And, of course, we forgot about our pie.

Hell, my name was Arthur Kirkland and I was blessed with the skill to never burn anything I tried to bake. Nice to meet you. In case you didn't get it, I was being sarcastic.

The rest of the evening went quietly. I helped Francis clean up the kitchen and in the end we went to that restaurant around the corner anyway.

As I lay in bed that night I couldn't help but to doubt my feelings for him. I was absolutely not curious about that man. This was something completely different.

Life, where are you taking me? I couldn't get any shut eye that night.