Just a head's up, the dialogue may be a bit weird in this chapter, so yeah.
EDIT: I was looking through some miscellaneous pieces of writing for this fic, and I found a bit that fitted really well with this chapter, so I edited it in :)
Sunday morning was actually more tolerable than usual. Or maybe it was because he looked forward to this Sunday. He even got up earlier- to write.
Arthur did his morning routine before he sat down at the computer and typed.
The brainstorming from the previous day helped to give him ideas for his story. The spark from yesterday was still lit, just not burning like a forest wildfire, but rather sizzling at a more controlled, leisurely, and pleasurable pace.
Time blurred, and he wrote on, in this world of creating, experimenting.
After writing for a fair amount of time, Arthur sat back and let out a sigh of relief. That would make it… 12 pages of his rough draft already.
He revised what his story was about so far. The protagonist was a violinist who travelled to America in hopes of the American dream, but faced multiple challenges.
The plot was very average. He reasoned with himself that it was just a first draft, and honestly, they were supposed to be bad, anyway.
He glanced at the laptop's clock:
12:38 p.m.
He was surprised that he had actually been writing for two hours straight. Huh. Arthur stood up and stretched.
Just about lunchtime as well. He could have lunch, before he could clean up...
Whether it was seeing his coat when hanging from the coat rack when he turned around or how he was tired of chowing down undercooked ramen all day, an idea popped up in his head that maybe for once he should go out to eat.
After he walked out of the apartment block, he rewalked the route he took everyday when he walked to work. He passed by many businesses on the way to work, but never had the chance to go visit.
As Arthur walked, Arthur realised that there were a lot more variety of shops than he had thought. There were antique stores, book shops, cafés, all which seemed rather interesting…
He stopped in front of a white bakery.
In there beside the window was Francis patiently sipping coffee.
Arthur stood, unsure of what to do. Francis glanced to his direction, and he felt his insides tense up. Francis smiled and waved, and Arthur did the same with hesitance.
Seeing as Francis had seen him already, Arthur decided to go into the shop.
The bell rung with a clear ping! And the tandalising aroma of yeast, vanilla and surrounded him immediately. At the sound of the bell, a man emerged to the counter.
"Good morning, how can I help you?"
Arthur marvelled at the dozens of colourful treats and breads all neatly arranged in the display case. Cakes, choux pastries, breads, tarts...
After some negotiation, he bought some madeleines. He caught sight of Francis looking at him, and walked towards his table.
He shyly sat down onto the seat opposite of him, and Francis glanced up.
"Hi," Arthur murmured. Francis smiled at Arthur's ernesty.
"Hi." He picked up his coffee cup and took another sip. "First time here?"
"Erhm," he tapped his fingers onto the table's wood as he recollected his memories. This bakery…
"Yeah."
"Huh." He took a sip out of his coffee. "Quite lovely, isn't it?"
He looked around the shop. It was a calm shop, with soft peach tones. It wasn't too crowded either. There were a few other people in the shop which the shop owners attended, but otherwise, the bakery was nice and peaceful.
"It's… Yeah, quite nice here." Francis nodded in agreement, and smiled.
"I love to come here to relax sometimes." Arthur agreed. The atmosphere was very soothing. He could come back to this place from time to time.
They enjoyed their refreshments in the calm tranquility of the bakery.
Francis looked out of the window as time went by, and shortly afterwards Arthur did the same.
On the other side of the road was the park, with the trees dressed up in millions beautiful delicate leaves of flames.
He looked forward at Francis. The way the morning sun illuminated Francis' hair made him look almost ethereal. His smile, his carefree look, it all made him appear even more other worldly, elegant, even.
For a split second, his smile disappeared.
"Ah, I love Autumn, don't you?" Francis suddenly asked. Arthur was a bit surprised at the sudden change of tone. He gulped down his madeleine.
"Autumn? It's… it's nice, I suppose. But I like Spring more."
Francis nodded in agreement. "Spring's quite lovely too. I could see the appeal. But of course, I love Autumn for its aesthetics."
Arthur nodded.
Another silence followed after. Nerved by the silence, Arthur thought: what could he ask, what could he ask?
He heard a faint tapping noise, and looked down. Francis' foot was tapping to the calming piano music that played on the radio.
Music…
"What... got you into busking? Doesn't seem too much of a promising career." Francis raised his eyebrows curiously before he chuckled.
"Arthur, it's more of a hobby," he explained in his smooth accent. Hobby? So that was why he was only out busking occasionally. "It's... more of a passion." Francis paused for a moment as he stroked the slight stubble on his chin,as if he was searching for the right words. "hmm… it's also… sort of an aim as well, I suppose"
Aim? Arthur thought. What kind of goal can one achieve through busking?
Noticing Arthur's puzzled face, Francis chuckled.
"You see, Arthur… Music. It's a universal language. No matter who you are or where you came from, music will still be music. And what music does is that it can make you feel a lot of different emotions. It can make anybody feel happy, sad, fearful, lively… the list is absolutely endless." Arthur was a bit moved by Francis' passion for his craft. He personally loved writing because he could escape from the real world for just a bit.
"And… what does that have to do with your 'aim'?" He asked. Francis paused. He sat back and thought.
"Hmm… well, it's sort of heartbreaking to know that there are people who live their lives in sadness and hopelessness. That's… sort of where I step into the picture. You see? I know that I can't really do much myself, but I play my music so that perhaps their day will become brighter."
If Arthur wasn't moved then, he was much more moved now. He thought back to when Francis played a tune when he came back from work, dejected, and felt grateful. He smiled.
For the rest of the afternoon, Arthur and Francis talked.
Arthur learnt that Francis was indeed from outside of London, (France) that he had been into jazz since he was 7, and that he had been in the city for three years.
He wasn't too willing to give much about his past, and only gave out the essentials; that he was born outside of London, and that he was a writer.
"Writer?"
"Only part time."
After they've finished talking, they left the bakery and retraced their steps back to the apartment block.
When Arthur reached his level, Francis waved goodbye, and Arthur did the same as Francis went up the next flight of stairs.
Suddenly he didn't feel as nervous anymore, now that he knew Francis better.
He closed the door, and smiled with the feeling of relief, satisfaction and happiness.