Francis called a cab from Arthur's house, and soon began to fill with dread. What if he couldn't find this artist? What if ruined this last chance? He sighed. He thought about going right back to Arthur and asking for a bit more information on that artwork. Specifically where that mural was. But he hated to ask the Brit for help. He figured he'd say no anyhow.

Francis paid the cab driver and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

"Hmm..." His eyes wandered up his apartment building, but decided that today was a new day. He would go up there, maybe nap, drink. Who knew? He was wasting his life away. He turned the other way, and walked past the shady building.

Francis couldn't get over how fresh the air felt. He took a deep breath, and smiled, eyes as blue as the sky. He had a good feeling about today.

He needed to change.

A boy with hair so blond it was practically white laughed merrily, being chased by a bouncy ball of snow white fur.

"Hanatamagooo! Stop that~" The dog's name was curious, but Francis smiled at the happy site. The boy stopped whenever he saw he was being watched, not sure whether to wave or head back inside. Francis smiled and waved once to the boy, and walked on.

Not so long ago, if this would've happened, the artist would've been well recognized. His face had been on every cover of every magazine and his work featured in at least one gallery in every country. Maybe the boy would've smiled back or even ask for an autograph.

Francis walked on.

The sky was beginning to grow cloudy. He wondered if it were going to rain, or perhaps snow. It was January and cold enough. He shivered.

Maybe I should've gotten a scarf as well... He thought, looking down at his overcoat. He buttoned it up. The wind was beginning to bite at his torso, the temperature dropping.

Dii-iing~

The sound was that of a door being opened (or closed) and ringing a bell on the banister. It was something Francis recognized, but hadn't heard in what seemed like years.

As the door closed, the gusty wind caught a hint of the smells inside. One of them being a single artist's truest love.

"Mm~ Coffee~"

Deciding that he had a few dollars to spare-and it would be nice to get something to warm him up-Francis walked inside the little coffee shoppe, smiling cheerfully at the fact that now he had caused the little bell to ring at his arrival.

He looked around at the inside of the restaurant, round tables set in no specific pattern and dark chairs askew. Many tables had two or three people sitting at them, chatting, perhaps on a date. The neutral and dark colors had brought warmth to the blond, but suddenly he felt cold once more.

And alone.

However, he couldn't bring himself to step back outside. It seemed rude to walk back out, since that stupid bell made it clear he had made it inside anyway. So he made one more sweep of the coffee shoppe, spying a small bar. It was empty, except for another blond man on a laptop soaking up the place's wi-fi.

Francis took a seat and crossed his legs. The register was directly in front of him, so he assumed he could order here. But no one was at the desk. He looked past the various coffee and bakery items to see where everyone was. He realized he should probably be patient, the little shoppe was pretty packed, but it's incredibly difficult no matter who you are to sit and wait to be served.

He tapped his toe against the tall barstool, and hummed a tune. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of auburn hair come out of the kitchen, but turned and looked out the window, trying to convince himself that he could be patient.

A huff behind him, and then he heard a half-familiar voice. "I'm sorry, sir, but have you been helped yet?"

Francis smiled politely at the woman, but then blinked.

She blinked back, and leaned a bit closer to him. "Francis? Is that you?"

Francis nodded. "Lizzie? It can't be." He blinked down at her nametag, which read "Elizabeta." He swallowed the shock of seeing someone whom he'd gone to both college and even high school with. "I haven't seen you in ages, mon beauté!"

The woman threw the bandana over her head down on the countertop, her wavy auburn hair glimmering almost golden. "Eduard! I'm taking my break, but please get me an order of my specialty! I gotta make sure you did it right this time." She took a seat by her old friend. "In fact, make that two." She winked at Francis.

He chuckled. "I sure hope you have good taste. But if it is your specialty I assume it's fabulous."

She then punched him in the arm with a lot more forced that expected.

"Oww~" He rubbed the pain away, shaking his head but still smiling brightly. "I can't believe I've missed the feeling of you nuking me in the arm. I need those you know!"

"Of course you do, fancy pants artist pervert." Her green eyes danced as the insult left her mouth. She had always called Francis that since their freshman year of college whenever she caught him sketching some...questionable pieces. Francis continued to smile, a bit lost in nostalgia.

Elizabeta had to step up and throw her arms around him, and squeezed tightly. The blond was a bit shocked at first, not feeling that kind of contact in so long, especially from someone as attractive as Elizabeta. As she began to squeeze him in the toughest bear hug known to man, he hugged her back with an "oof."

She finally released him and his broken ribs. "I've missed you, Francis." Her eyes so sincere, her friend dropped his to the ground. "Where in the hell have you been?"

Francis shook his head. "I don't even know, mon cher. I don't even know."

The Hungarian took the two insulated cups as they were delved out to her, and passed one to Francis. That's when he noticed her left hand.

"I know this may be a personal question, but, weren't you and that music fellow engaged?" He found it strange, her hand seeming naked.

She in turn touched the empty spot and nodded.

"Roderich and I were married for about 5 years, wed directly out of college. Things started to slip out of hand, and we just thought it would be better to go our seperate ways. All it took was a paper and a judge."

Francis listened intently. "I...I was not aware. Désolé, Elizabeta."

In college, everything seemed perfect and carefree. The thought of paying the school back for the experience nonexistant. Elizabeta was a gifted flutist, and could mesmerize anyone when she danced. She and Francis had sort of connected, him being an Art student. In their small high school, the Art and Music departments always had performances together, along with the occasional theatrical performance from those in Drama. In fact, as Francis remembered correctly, he had hit on the girl after seeing her practice some ballet, and she beat the shit out of him. She then apologized, and Francis had to laugh.

"No hard feelings right?" Her accent Francis couldn't recognize, but that might've been because he'd taken three blows to the head.

"Oui, yes, yes. No hard feelings." He rubbed his head, still laughing. "I'm Francis. I should've probably introduced myself instead of making lewd comments on your flexibility."

"Elizabeta. Lizzie, preferably." She smiled, and looked a lot less fierce, and much more beautifully serene.

From then on, the two began to joke around, and Francis was awed at how much this girl reminded him of a guy friend who you'd drink with. She was a tomboy, but if you didn't see that you'd assume she were a model, probably for that hair of hers. She always wore a bandana, except for performance nights.

Then she'd wear a red carnation and Francis wished he could always take her home.

Francis took a drink of the hot beverage, finally cool enough to sip. It tasted of spice and Year 11 and courage. It tasted like her and her tongue and a punch in the face.

He swallowed.

She looked at him expectantly. "Do you like it?"

Francis closed his burning eyes. "Everything but the aftertaste."