Dear Annabelle,

I know this really isn't an advice question, but will you show us your face? And are you dating anyone currently? Because if not, I'm still available.

-Curious

Dear Curious,

I know you all must be aching to know my identity, but I prefer to keep that a secret. It's more exciting that way, no? And as to your other question, well, that's up to me and my possible suitors. But I'll make sure to add you to the list.

With love,

Annabelle

Arthur dreaded every meeting of the newspaper staff. It wasn't that he didn't like the newspaper… It's just that there wasn't much that was enjoyable about it, especially the first meeting after a new issue, where they talked incessantly about topics. Arthur sat in his chair, foot tapping as he tried to listen to the editor and chief go on and on about the damn football team…

He didn't even know why he got on the staff to begin with. Despite what many people had told him, Arthur didn't find himself to be a very good writer. He just knew how to spell and where to put in periods. There were many people in the school who he thought were much more qualified in writing talent than he was.

But he was accepted, and Arthur never went back on his word. He was much too prideful and stubborn for that. He'd work on this paper, sit through thousands of meetings and stare at computer screens until his eyes bled, and by God he'd like it.

There was extra pressure to be great, though, with the paper becoming so popular. The damn dating advice column seemed so idiotic to Arthur, but apparently everyone else in the school loved it. Every day Annabelle's mailbox was filled to the brim with letters, obviously many of them wouldn't get answered.

"Psst," Arthur's head jerked up and someone slapped him on the arm. Lukas, his best friend, gave him a stern look before turning back to the editor and chief.

"…This position is very important, and we'll need someone very talented to do it." It seems that right then, he saw Arthur's head raise. "Arthur? Are you up to it?"

"Um, why, of course!" Arthur talked before he noticed the dreaded looks on everyone's faces. He immediately regretted his decision.

"Great! You'll make a great assistant for Annabelle."

"A-assistant?" Arthur stuttered as the editor grabbed his arm, taking him down the hall and into another, unassuming room. He unlocked the door and opened it, motioning for Arthur to go inside.

It was an office, with one, large window, that had an absolutely gorgeous view of the town. A desk sat there, with a computer upon it, and a table with envelopes scattered one it in all shapes, sizes, and colors.

The most noticeable thing, however, was the large desk chair, with a blonde sitting in it. So this is the infamous Annabelle… He starting building an image of her in his brain, but he didn't expect what happened next.

The chair turned, and sitting there was a… Man.

A very handsome man.

He flipped his long golden locks over his shoulder, wearing a charming smile. Clear blue eyes looked directly at Arthur- did his smile widen - and for a moment, everything was silent.

"Francis, this is Arthur," Arthur's eyes meandered down from his eyes, although he tried to keep himself in check. "He'll be you're new assistant," Down past the crisp white shirt that hid an obviously perfect chest. "Arthur this is Francis Bonnefoy," Down to the man's crotch, exactly where they shouldn't have been. But there was something else that shouldn't have been at Annabelle's crotch as well… "Or as you probably know him, Annabelle…. Arthur?"

Arthur's eyes snapped back up and he cleared his throat. "It's a pleasure," He said almost robotically, and stuck out a hand to shake.

"The pleasure is all mine, Arthur," Francis had a distinct French accent, that mutilated Arthur's name in the best way possible.

"…Well, I'll leave you two to work." The editor left without another word, obviously noticing the tension between the two of them. It was evident that they were polar opposites.

Arthur stood quietly for a moment, unsure just what he was supposed to do, and an awkward silence slowly crept across the room.

"Well, we should work, non?" Francis turned around in his chair and continued to type without another word.

Shocked, Arthur stood their awkwardly for a moment before quietly pulling up a second chair. But the quiet didn't last for long. "…You misspelled that."

"I know."

"…Then why aren't you fixing it?"

"Because I want to finish the reply."

"But you're going to have to go back and fix it anyway, why don't you just-"

"Hush," Francis put one finger to Arthur's mouth. "I know what I'm doing."

Arthur was silent for a moment. "…You need to put a comma there."

Author's Note: So why was England staring at France's crotch? That's up to you, my lovely readers. ;D Stay tuned!