Arthur walked down the clustered streets of London, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets. Winter had always been his least favourite season, it was far too cold and lonely for his liking. He preferred Spring or Fall over it. Summer was too hot.
He pushed those thoughts out of his head with ease, rather focusing on where he was going. He honestly had no idea where he was headed – his feet were just leading him absently through the streets. The Brit didn't necessarily mind, as this had almost become a habit in the past year or two. He liked to explore the streets, small notebook tucked in his pocket for instances where inspiration would strike.
His emerald eyes wandered over to a shop window in curiosity, taking in the glossy cover of books that lined the display. He smiled slightly upon seeing the tile, followed by his own name.
Once he had finished writing his novel, he sent it to a publisher on a whim, curious to see if it was as good as he thought it was. After a few emails and phone calls shot back and forth, he had a publishing deal with ease – they knew it was going to be a success almost instantly. Arthur was obviously proud, and stopped in front of the window for a moment. He preferred being an authour over an other career in the entertainments. This way he could still walk through the streets without being hassled too much. It was only once in a blue moon someone actually recognized and approached him, asking for an autograph or something.
People didn't tend to memorize authour's faces.
He looked away from the books and continued on his way down the street, trying not to let his thoughts stray too much as to what event had caused him to write the successful novel. He found himself thinking of Francis more than he should lately. He blamed it on the lonely feeling of winter, but he knew it must be something more. He wondered what the man was doing, where he was. Had he left Canada? Returned to France, perhaps. That would make sense; there wasn't much holding him here save a few friends, and previously Arthur.
Arthur had moved to England either way, so he supposed it didn't matter.
The thought saddened him. If Francis had returned to the neighbouring country, there was a good chance he would never see him again. He didn't want to think of that at all. He had messed up, and many times he had been tempted to call the man, requesting they talk it out, perhaps resolve their issues. He knew that there was no point though. Arthur had been the one at fault, not Francis. He shouldn't have lost his temper like that, hit him.
He shook his head gently as he walked down the cobble stone street, looking up at the sky momentarily. It was clouded, and he was sure it was about to snow even worse that it currently was. The small white flakes fell from the sky steadily, falling on top of what had already coated the ground. He sighed. He couldn't help but be a little pleased, at least. It would be a white Christmas in England for sure. Other parts of the country were worse off, after all. He considered himself lucky.
It wasn't until he bumped into someone a little less gracefully than usual, he turned his gaze back straight ahead of him as he quickly murmured a quick apology. He furrowed a brow at the familiar scent that filled his nose, however. He turned his gaze up slightly, openly gawking at the man in front of him. He certainly hadn't been expecting him, of all people.
"Francis?" he asked, as if to make sure that he really was in front of him. The Frenchman's lips turned up into a smile quickly, and he took a step back to look at the Brit, resting a hand on his arm where he had caught him earlier. Not much was different about Francis – his hair was still long, falling freely around his face. A black coat was buttoned up neatly, and Arthur had to grin at how British the man looked in that moment.
"Allo, Arthur," he said, finally dropping his hand from the man as he too finished his inspections for any physical changes in the Brit, "I would, ah, ask 'ow you've been, but I suppose everything in the news and reviews speaks for you. You're quite successful, oui?" he asked with a gently smile. Arthur nodded slightly, smiling back at the man.
"I guess you could say that," he nodded. He had been on quite a few talk shoes, discussing the novel and possible additions to the series. He had always avoided the inspiration for it neatly though, claiming it was unimportant to the book, and had barely any relevance. "The life of an authour is a boring one, though. How have you been?" he asked after a moment, pushing his thoughts out of his head.
He realized just how much he had missed Francis. He missed his touch, the way he smelt, his hair and his eyes. The way he bustled about the kitchen, trying to make dinner for them nearly every night. He missed the quiet sweet nothings the man would tell him in French before they fell asleep. He missed the little things, that no one besides Francis would ever be able to offer him.
"I've been keeping busy," Francis shrugged, snapping him out of his thoughts again, "I got a job transfer, so I've just been taking in London mostly. A big change from Canada," he said. Arthur smiled slightly, knowing how much Francis had always desired to work with food and people. He was definitely a people person.
"I'm glad," Arthur nodded, "It's a perfect job for you. You're a great cook, after all," he said, trying to keep his internal musings to himself. He didn't want to scare the Frenchman off. After years of being without him, he had just encountered him on accident. This was too good for him to pass up for sure. He would be damned if he managed to screw it up.
Francis nodded his head, smiling wider, "Oui, I truly do enjoy it. For once I don't mind getting up in the morning to go to work. It's nice," he said, shifting his weight onto his other foot. His gloved hands slipped into his coat pocket, and Arthur nodded his head as well, absorbing the presence of the Frenchman completely. The two stood in silence on the street as people moved about around them, before Francis spoke again.
"You know, it's fairly cold out here. Would you like to go get something to eat?" he asked hopefully, glancing around them quickly, "I know a nice cafe not far from here if you're not busy," he continued, letting his eyes rest on Arthur again. The Brit smiled slightly, nodding his head.
"I'd love to."
-Fin.-
Edit: January 19th, 2013 - Thanks for the Guest reviewer for pointing out my blunder to me. It's been fixed now!
