By day, Francis Bonnefoy was a very skilled and talented head chef at a high class restaurant. He commanded the kitchen with grace and dignity, cooked fast and fantastically. But when he returned home to his small third floor apartment in the evening, Francis was just another tired person with sleep issues. All through culinary school the young man struggled to rest after a long day, his eyes and body weary but his mind racing ahead of him, questioning the quality of his work, anticipating the tasks ahead. It was maddening, and he had tried everything from home remedies to seeking a doctor's advice and everything had failed until one day, going down the YouTube rabbithole after work, he discovered his channel.
Francis had tried listening to ASMR before at the recommendation of his friend, Antonio. He liked it just fine, had even managed to doze off to a couple videos, but it hadn't been consistent enough for him to consider it the cure. Now though, each night when Francis returned home, had pet his cat, had made and ate his meal, had done all of his nightly routine to prepare for bed he would switch on his laptop and go to watch Read and Relax ASMR's new video. As the video began he would see a fireplace going in the background of what appeared to be a library or study of some kind. In the foreground, a young man with mess blonde hair and fuzzy eyebrows sat in cozy jumper smiling warmly into the camera, and he would begin to whisper with a soft British accent -
'Good evening ladies and gentlemen, wonderful people of all kinds, my name is Arthur and welcome back to this channel, tonight I am drinking a wonderful Lapsang tea and thought we might dive into a particular favorite of mine,' The man holds up a worn hardcover book. 'The Hound of Baskerville, a Sherlock Holms story of course by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I hope you don't find it too spooky, lets see if we can get through the first few chapters here, shall we?'
Arthur would open the book, the sounds of his fingers running across the pages of the worn tome filling Francis' headphones as he curled under his covers. He would watch him read as long as his drooping eyes would allow, and without fail, he would be asleep before the end, a restful sleep, one he could wake up from and be ready to take on the day with. He couldn't explain why it worked when nothing else had. Sure Arthur had a lovely whispered tone but so had so many others he had watched. He couldn't explain it, but watching the man do something as simple as read a book aloud was so endearing and comforting, it made his little apartment feel less empty.
Sometimes Arthur would mix it up a little, he would do some scratchy ASMR with his favorite jumpers, or tap on his favorite mugs, but more often than not it was that whispered reading that put Francis to sleep. One evening, after a particularly long day, when one of the stoves went out, and the shipment for fresh fish was overdue, and one of the new guys had spilled a green sauce all down his jacket, the Frenchman was more ready than ever to fall into bed and sleep forever. He pulled open his laptop as him and his cat, Laforet, settled in.
'Good evening ladies and gentlemen, wonderful people of all kinds, my name is Arthur and welcome back to this channel, tonight I am drinking a classic Earl Grey, which is perhaps a little ironic considering tonight I thought we might try something new and hopefully exciting, well ok It would be next week's video. You all have expressed the want to send me some fanmail, and I am extremely humbled and flattered by that. So I thought it might be fun for you to send me stuff you would like to hear me read. Of course if you would like to send any personal letters you wouldn't want read on here that's perfectly fine, but if you draw a little star on the top, I'll do my best to read you words in a whisper, how does that sound darlings? Leave a comment below letting me know what you think, and I've put a mail address in the description. Anyways, let's get back to finishing up Sherlock's adventure in Baskerville…
/OOO/
Arthur was dumbfounded at the amount of mail he had received. The poor postman had to haul this big bag up to his front porch and he struggled with it some, which meant Arthur struggled with it a lot. Mail kept coming in droves and by the time it was recording day his whole study was filled with piles of opened envelopes. Each day when he returned home from his day job, a simple office assistant, he would pull into his drive, great his cat, and sit in his favorite chair and read letters until he couldn't keep his eyes open. He had no idea so many people watched his videos. Sure he could see his growing subscriber count, but he could hardly believe it, but here was letter after letter letting him know how much he was cared for.
On a particularly rainy sunday he opened a letter that smelled of musk and find wine. He opened the letter to find a small star at the top, indicating which pile it would go in. It was from a man in Paris who was a chef and included a picture of his cat watching one of Arthur's videos, it made the Brit smile and he showed the picture to Merlin, his own cat, who seemed wholly uninterested. The letter went on to say how Arthur's videos had been a cure for impossible insomnia, as he continued reading, a grin grew on his face. He couldn't wait to read this one to his watchers.
"...And I cannot for the life of me figure out why! You British have such stuffy accents, and your fashion, mon dieu sir so drab and one note! Your hair is messy, your eyebrows take up most of the screen and yet...I can't take my eyes off the screen, and when the finally close and I just hear your voice it's enchanting. You are enchanting Arthur.
Merci beaucoup,
Francis"
Well Francis, thank you for that...charming letter. I must say rather amazing of you to compliment and criticize me all in one go, but that's the French for you.
He chuckled a moment.
And for any non-european watchers out there, please don't get mad at me or Francis here, I promise it's just a thing we Brits and French do to each other, really Francis thank you, this means a lot to me, I'm glad that someone out there finds me enchanting.
Arthur winked at the camera before moving on.
/OOO/
"You seem more chipper than usual."
Francis grinned at his sous chef, a lovely young woman from Belgium.
"Oh Emma my dear, it is another wonderful day, what isn't there to be chipper about?"
She smiled almost sympathetically. "Must you do this happy happy routine every day after a date?"
A date? Francis looked at her puzzled for a moment but the orders were beginning to come in and he had art to make for the eyes and stomach's of Paris.
/OOO/
"Wait, you want me to help you what?"
"Alfred please, I just think it's time to switch things up that's all."
"All because the anonymous French dude called you lame? Cmon man that's dumb!"
"He did not call me lame you wanker! He called me drab. Now will you meet me at the shopping center or not?"
"Sure sure Artie, whatever you say. Gotta keep those viewers happy."
Arthur hung up the phone almost in defeat. He looked down at his ratty green jumper and sighed. What was he doing?
/OOO/
'You look so dashing Eyebrows, and all for moi? I feel so special!'
Francis clacked out these words into the comment section as he nodded off, Arthur's voice filling his head as he read from some selection of Shakespeare. The man had ditched his usual garb for a, very flattering, waistcoat and shirt, his hair combed and styled back.
This one's for you Francis, you froggy git.
He couldn't help but smile as he fell nodded off. Yet he heard Emma's words echo in his head from earlier that week. What was happening to him?
/OOO/
He had never been much for dreaming. Francis chalked this up to getting all of his creativity out during the waking hours, but that night the young man dreamt the most vivid dream since he was a child.
He was on his way home from work, nothing unusual there. He hops off the train and makes his way through the streets to his apartment. The skies open up just as he slips inside the lobby, and he listens to the rain prattle on the roof and windows as he makes his way up three flights of stair. He fumbles with his keyes and finally opens the door. He goes to flick on the light but it's already on, a soft glow illuminating the tiny space. As he enters he hears a kettle go off. He looks to the stove to see his there, whistling.
"Can you grab that for me darling?"
He looks up to his sofa and sees him. Sitting on his sofa, casually flipping a page of the book poised perfectly in his hands. The whistling continues on and Arthur lifts his eyes from his novel and that forest green gaze settles onto Francis, standing dumbly at the threshold.
"Hello, Francis? Hosetly, is all the shouting in that kitchen making you go deaf?"
The Brit sets his book down before standing and moving to take the kettle off the stove. He pours the boiling water into a mug Francis hadn't even notice, the ugly brown one he always drank from in his videos.
"Well anyways welcome home darling, I missed you."
As Arthur moved in to place his lips on Francis' own the man jolted awake, a cold sweat across his brow. Breathing heavy for a moment, francis looked down to his computer. Arthur's face no longer graced the screen, the battery having died in the night.
"Oh no no no no no…." He groaned to himself as he lay back down. This couldn't be good.
/OOO/
Damn, long time no see huh? I can't believe it'e been three years since I written a Fruk, or a fic in general. I don't know where I'm going with this here, it likely will be a two or three parter that I'm determined to finish. Probably focus on Arthur's end more next. Glad to be back, hope you enjoy.