A/N: Seriously, the only reason this chapter is up so quick is because part of it I wrote a WHILE ago. Also, it's Bastille Day & "mercredi"...as today is ironically Wednesday...will be broken up into 2 separate chapters. So! Enjoy! And remember that I own nothing. :3

Six, mercredi – Le jour

The French sun proved to be a formidable alarm clock of nature, peeking through the window's satin sheets and shining brightly upon Arthur's eyes. A tired moan escaped his lips and he clung tighter to the warm bulk in his arms, twirling his fingers through soft hairs. He glanced down at his chest, spotting Francis' sleeping face and smiled, settling back against the pillows for another hour or so of sleep.

Arthur felt so comfortably content, but before his eyes completely closed, his mind whirled back to reality. "Shit," he screamed, trying his hardest to squirm out from underneath the snoozing French teen, waking him up in the process. Scrambling on the ground, Arthur immediately found his pants and slipped them on, an agitated moan distracting him from buttoning his fly.

"Arthur, it's too early to be this rough."

He stared at Francis, toppled in the sheets and looking seductively tired. He turned, unable to stomach that face. "We did it again, Francis," he cried, digging through his bag for a top; he rather liked the one he wore yesterday and cursed that it had to be destroyed for sex. "How could I let this happen again? And after the other night!"

"Do not fret, mon amour," he heard in his ear, arms magically appearing at his sides and wrapping around his chest.

The feeling of Francis' bare body pressed up against his only brought back mistaken memories, ones that should be forever shoved into the depths of his closet. "Francis, don't do this to me," he said, pushing his lover away. Frantically, he pulled on a T-shirt and reached towards the nightstand for his wrist watch. "I'm going for a walk."

Francis' hand gripped his wrist, pulling him back for a suffocating kiss. "What am I doing to you, hmm," he said with a flick of the tongue, his face reeking of arrogance, a sort that filled Arthur with disgust.

He slapped that greedy hand away, glaring straight into blue eyes. "You bastard, you know damn well what you're doing. Now get out of my fucking room."

"But this is my…"

"I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT!"

Francis stared, his face calming with caution, before gathering his clothes and hurriedly walking out of the room. "Bien sûr," he said, shutting the door loudly.

Feeling the quiver in his chest, Arthur collapsed to the floor, trying his hardest not to cry. All of this was getting too much for his mind to handle, and it had been two days since he last talked to Alfred. But how could he talk to him again, now that his body was soiled by infidelity? And when Francis felt so…

"Hey, do you mind if I come in?"

Perking up his head, Arthur spotted Antonio hanging in his doorway, a guilt-ridden smile on his face. "Antonio?"

The tan teen chuckled, stepping into Arthur's room awkwardly. "Gilbert and I couldn't help but overhear. Do you wanna go out for a walk of something?"

Arthur hadn't really known Antonio all that well, but this little bout of selflessness brought a smile to the Briton's face. "Actually, I was just going to do that myself. Let me grab my sweater."

|.|.|.|

Alone time with Antonio was quite a refreshing change of pace for this Spring Break. Arthur adored his optimistic attitude and the love he held for his own boyfriend back at school. Arthur only ever knew Antonio as Gilbert's annoying friend since freshman year, but this walk throughout Paris gave the Spanish-born, New York City-raised teen a new persona in Arthur's eyes.

"And you two have been dating for how long?"

Antonio laughed, a pink flush filling his face. "Almost two years, now," he said, his bright green eyes gazing at the sky. "I'm so lucky to be with Lovi. He's perfect."

Sighing, Arthur could only feel more guilt invade his mind, thoughts of his seven months with Alfred seeming more bitter than sweet. "I know what you mean," he said inaudibly, his eyes downcast towards the sidewalk.

"Ah, look! The Eiffel Tower!"

Another spark flared in Arthur's chest, his head immediately perking up and his eyes shifting to gaze upon the iron structure. Arthur's mind nearly lost all control, a certain memory of ten years passed surfacing at the sight of the Parisian icon…

It's the type of beauty that simply cannot be expressed in words; the view from the Eiffel Tower's second level observation deck. Night so expertly casts its darkness over the city of Paris and thousands of buildings illuminate in a romantic spectacle that can only compare to the night sky. Those on the tower are welcomed to witness the sight of the world's most romantic city at its finest, but one young boy experienced a far more breathtaking treat on a chilly February night.

Arthur's green eyes reflected those sparkling lights in his wide, wondrous eyes. "It's beautiful," he whispered, eager to capture more of the city's influence in his glance.

"Oui, c'est vrai," a soft voice replied, startling the boy and waking him from his lapse into fantasy.

He would've yelled, angered by the disruption of a dream come true, but the source of the voice may have been even more beautiful than the city of Paris itself. Arthur stared, unable to find the words in his limited vocabulary to describe this creature's splendor.

Coyly, the young child giggled and walked over towards Arthur, taking hold of the boy's gloved hands. "Bonsoir," the child said, blue eyes clear in the crisp winter air and long blonde hair waving in the night's gentle wind.

Arthur was shot down once more, his knowledge of the country's language nonexistent in his young mind. "Ah," he started to speak, his eyes drifting to spot the delicate hands wrapped in cream gloves, a stark contrast to the dark color covering his own hands. Looking back into the French beauty's eyes, he felt his cheek sting with blush, not due to the chill in the air. "I can't…speak French," he said, embarrassed by his inability to swoon such a bounty.

Laughter responded to his admittance of failure, those light gloved hands squeezing his hands tightly. "That is okay, I know a little English," the child said, songlike tones swirling into Arthur's smitten brain.

"O-oh," Arthur said, desperate for his mind to start working properly. "That's…that's good."

There was only more laughter and Arthur couldn't muster up the confidence to take another glance at that porcelain-perfect face. Fortunately, he didn't even need it. With incredible skill, one of those delicate gloved hands found its way under his chin, lifting it for perfect eye contact.

"I see. You are shy, non?"

This was not the night for Arthur: his view of the city disrupted, losing his cool in front of a French beauty, and being called out on it. "A-am not," he yelled, showing much defense for his fragile ego.

But the beauty simply smiled and leaned forward, placing an immaculate kiss on those fumbling lips. "Mais, je pense que vous êtes mignon, shy or not," the beauty said in a voice only for Arthur's ears.

Arthur could feel the electric shiver up his spine, the rest of his body numb from his very first romantic experience. But it was cut short, the beauty's attention being called away from the moment.

"Francis! Viens-ici!"

"Oui, Maman," the child called out. Blue eyes gazed over Arthur once more and gave a farewell wink. "Adieu. I hope to meet you again…"

The beauty began to run off, waving good-bye with the wind, but Arthur couldn't let his dreams vanish so quickly. "Arthur," he yelled out, making those blue eyes widen with curiosity. "Arthur…Kirkland. It's m-my name, so…"

Just one more smile before being called away once more, the blonde nodded and blew a kiss. "Enchanté, Arthur."

Never had his name sounded so beautiful, wrapped and embroidered in the tones of such an angel's voice. He sighed in disappointment before realizing, with a sort of horror, what he just experienced.

"Th-that," he began to say, stuttering over his words and bringing his hands to his lips. "That was my…first kiss…"

"Arthur, there you are! Hurry, we're going to be late for dinner," a familiar voice called, followed by the tight grasp of his mother's hand on his wrist.

Again, his mind had left him. He was nearly being dragged by his mother to the lifts to the ground level, and even though French cuisine was a favorite of his, Arthur could hardly concentrate on his dinner. His mind and heart had been snatched by a French angel; he had to get them back somehow…

Of course, Arthur never intended on releasing the memory to Antonio, the Spanish teen staring with wide eyes at the Briton.

"Wait, you've known Francis for that long?"

Arthur took in a deep breath, his eyes unable to look away from Eiffel Tower. "Well, we merely met back then. It wasn't until Gilbert's party two years ago that…" His voice fell, that fallen relationship feeling all too sweet in his mind.

Antonio kept silent before a soft laugh broke it. "That's weird, though, that the two of you would meet again at The Academy."

Arthur nodded, looking back towards his companion of the day. "Weird, yes," he whispered, only to have his vision return to the iron tower. For so many years, Francis haunted his mind, the vision of "the French beauty" invading his dreams nearly every night until sophomore year, when the near impossible happened. He always figured his first love would remain lost, never expecting to face it again (and in all honesty, never expecting it to turn out to be male). And to have that love destroyed the way it did, a break-up that tore at Arthur's heart for months afterwards. The pain in Arthur's chest grew, unable to resist a forbidden desire.

"Arthur, you probably don't want to hear this," Antonio started to say after a bout of silence, his voice sounding a bit meek. "But I really think you two should get back together."

A searing heat suddenly rose upon Arthur's cheeks, one of utter rage. "Excuse me?"

Taken aback, Antonio nearly curled up into himself. "It's just…that story; I can't help but think you two were meant to be together. And your break-up was so bizarre and ridiculous…"

"Bizarre? How dare you? You have no say in this matter," Arthur screamed, his blood near the boiling point. Arthur needed no one to tell him how to solve his current dilemma, especially not the dull-witted advice of Antonio. "I never should've gone with you," he cursed beneath his breath, turning away.

"Wait a minute, Arthur," Antonio pleaded, reaching out his hand to turn Arthur back.

Arthur's hand went for the attack, smacking Antonio's with brute force before he spat his final words. "Don't fucking touch me!" And before a remark could be shot back, Arthur had bolted down the street into the unknown.

I know, I'm a bit evil. What will happen to Arthur now that he's all alone in Paris? O: Wait and see! ;D
Thanks for reading! (hearts)

~erbby