Seven Days of Rain (2/7?)
Title: Seven Days of Rain
Author: mslavender
Characters: AU!France and AU!England
Pairing: FrUK <3
Rating: T
Summary: Seven days of rain, seven days of innocent romance.
Arthur loved the rain.
He loved the soft pitter-patter it made, like a soothing melody, as it dropped onto the ground. He loved the mist that played around with the air, like the magic that he wished he was surrounded in. He loved how crystal and beautiful it looked against the dark city, like innocence during war. Arthur could list so many things he loved about the rain; however, there was one reason that pleased him the most: Arthur loved the rain because something good always happened when it did.
This was not one of those rainy days.
Arthur's day had actually started out well, his classes went smoothly and his test scores were close to perfect, as usual. He was able to spend quiet quality time in the library with his books while listening to some classical music (and maybe a bit of Arctic Monkeys) on his iPod. And when classes ended, he had a nice little chat with his best friend (or so the American would like to think), Alfred.
"Fuck off, Al."
"Aww, but Arthur!" An American with blonde hair, blue eyes and glasses pouted at said Englishman.
"I said no, and that's final." Arthur glared at Alfred as he fixed his books. "I don't want to go to some lousy party with some lousy people."
"But it won't be lousy at all, man! Elizaveta will be there! So will Roderich, Matthew, Antonio, Gilbert, Lili, Kiku, Feli, Fra-"
Arthur's hand flew to Alfred mouth. "Shut up, you bloody idiot! I said I'm not going and you can't make me go, understand?"
Alfred's pout was obvious even through Arthur's hand, and sure enough, when the Englishman had removed his hand, his pout was still as clear as day. "Fine! But I'm dragging you myself if I catch you wandering about the streets on Friday."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," muttered Arthur, slinging his bag on his shoulder and preparing to leave. "Now, sod off, I'm going home."
Alfred's pout was gone now, replaced with a bright smile, as if the conversation earlier hadn't happened. This was something Arthur was grateful for. Even if he never admitted it, Alfred's smile was always catchy and it did at least brighten some part of Arthur's day a bit.
"Bye, Arthur! Take care on your way home~"
Arthur only put his hand up as a reply and hurriedly left the classroom. He had his umbrella on one hand, expecting the rain to come as always. And he was right, it had started drizzling as soon as he got out of the school gates. Despite the contentment he was feeling however, this was where his day had gone haywire.
As soon as he opened his umbrella, a strong gush of wind passed. Arthur was right to hold his umbrella tightly, but was also wrong for pulling it back close to him. The umbrella inverted out of the sudden pull and push. By the time the wind had gone and the heavy rain had dropped, Arthur's umbrella had holes where its metal joints were supposed to be. It was totally useless now, and Arthur's idea of a dry walk home totally perished from his mind.
The angry Englishman stood still for a moment, seething rage apparent as his huge eyebrows now covered at least half of his eyes in a heavy scowl. Looking at the gray sky and at his nearly-wet clothes, Arthur figured (grumpily) he might as well start running if he wanted to get home without catching a cold.
The thought of this suddenly reminded him of his short but weird and slightly embarrassing encounter with a certain frog that still seemed to irritate him. As he broke into a semi-run, he thought of the umbrella that the Frenchman ("Francis, was it?" Arthur shook his head as he vaguely remembered the frog's name.) held, and how nice it would have been to be sharing that umbrella with him at the moment. The warmth he had brought compared to the cold that he now had to endure... Then Arthur realized the thought sounded silly and incredibly cliché and romantic and disgusting-
Basically, he hated frogs and this one specific frog was an exception- he hated him even more.
With an annoyed sigh, Arthur reluctantly crossed the bridge that made it possible for him to meet the bastard. He swore that if he saw the frog, he'd push him off the bridge right there and then, without mercy. Contrary to what he expected however, he didn't see the bastard frog anywhere, and so he continued to run, a bit cheerfully this time, to the direction of his home.
And it was probably because he wasn't paying attention or that he was just too happy, but a short tumble and a few bruises later, as fate would have it, he did meet the frog once again. Only this time, in much awkward circumstances.
"Merde! Monsieur, please get off me," grunted the Frenchman. "You are quite heavy for a skinny Anglais."
"How about you move, you heavy piece of-"
Only when the Englishman's eyes fluttered open, did he realize the awkwardness of the position they were in and who it happened with. Right there below him was the frog that he had wanted to push off the bridge just a minute ago, and his face was only mere inches from his. Arthur realized at that moment that he hated his life as well as that damn bridge.
"Uh, mon che-" Smack.
If Arthur can't push him off the bridge, then he can punch him in the face!
"Ow! What was that for?!" growled the Frenchman. His hand covered his now-reddened cheek.
Arthur was already back on his feet, his arm covering his face. He knew it was as red as a tomato at that moment even with the rain splashing down on them, and he hated himself for it. He'd rather die in a ditch somewhere than have the French bastard noticing how (unintentionally, he wished) flustered he'd become.
Having nothing to say, Arthur just said whatever came to his head. "Fucking frog, watch where you're going!"
"What?" Francis stood up, his face clearly showing his disbelief. "I was just standing right here, in front of my apartment, when you came out of nowhere and knocked me over!"
"Then you should've-" Then, as realization (and maybe a bit of the rain) hit Arthur cold in the face, he froze and ever-so-reluctantly asked, "Wait, did you just say this was your apartment?"
"Oui." Francis answered matter-of-factly.
Nothing much was left to be said when Arthur suddenly walked around the corner of Francis' apartment, stopped in front of the house beside it, took out his keys, unlocked the door, went in, and slammed it shut. Never mind the small puddle that was now forming on the floor where he was standing on, for even from the inside of his warm home, Arthur could hear the Frenchman's chuckling from the other side of the wall.
And that was the first time Arthur ever cursed the rain.
Author: mslavender
Characters: AU!France and AU!England
Pairing: FrUK <3
Rating: T
Summary: Seven days of rain, seven days of innocent romance.
Arthur loved the rain.
He loved the soft pitter-patter it made, like a soothing melody, as it dropped onto the ground. He loved the mist that played around with the air, like the magic that he wished he was surrounded in. He loved how crystal and beautiful it looked against the dark city, like innocence during war. Arthur could list so many things he loved about the rain; however, there was one reason that pleased him the most: Arthur loved the rain because something good always happened when it did.
This was not one of those rainy days.
Arthur's day had actually started out well, his classes went smoothly and his test scores were close to perfect, as usual. He was able to spend quiet quality time in the library with his books while listening to some classical music (and maybe a bit of Arctic Monkeys) on his iPod. And when classes ended, he had a nice little chat with his best friend (or so the American would like to think), Alfred.
"Fuck off, Al."
"Aww, but Arthur!" An American with blonde hair, blue eyes and glasses pouted at said Englishman.
"I said no, and that's final." Arthur glared at Alfred as he fixed his books. "I don't want to go to some lousy party with some lousy people."
"But it won't be lousy at all, man! Elizaveta will be there! So will Roderich, Matthew, Antonio, Gilbert, Lili, Kiku, Feli, Fra-"
Arthur's hand flew to Alfred mouth. "Shut up, you bloody idiot! I said I'm not going and you can't make me go, understand?"
Alfred's pout was obvious even through Arthur's hand, and sure enough, when the Englishman had removed his hand, his pout was still as clear as day. "Fine! But I'm dragging you myself if I catch you wandering about the streets on Friday."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," muttered Arthur, slinging his bag on his shoulder and preparing to leave. "Now, sod off, I'm going home."
Alfred's pout was gone now, replaced with a bright smile, as if the conversation earlier hadn't happened. This was something Arthur was grateful for. Even if he never admitted it, Alfred's smile was always catchy and it did at least brighten some part of Arthur's day a bit.
"Bye, Arthur! Take care on your way home~"
Arthur only put his hand up as a reply and hurriedly left the classroom. He had his umbrella on one hand, expecting the rain to come as always. And he was right, it had started drizzling as soon as he got out of the school gates. Despite the contentment he was feeling however, this was where his day had gone haywire.
As soon as he opened his umbrella, a strong gush of wind passed. Arthur was right to hold his umbrella tightly, but was also wrong for pulling it back close to him. The umbrella inverted out of the sudden pull and push. By the time the wind had gone and the heavy rain had dropped, Arthur's umbrella had holes where its metal joints were supposed to be. It was totally useless now, and Arthur's idea of a dry walk home totally perished from his mind.
The angry Englishman stood still for a moment, seething rage apparent as his huge eyebrows now covered at least half of his eyes in a heavy scowl. Looking at the gray sky and at his nearly-wet clothes, Arthur figured (grumpily) he might as well start running if he wanted to get home without catching a cold.
The thought of this suddenly reminded him of his short but weird and slightly embarrassing encounter with a certain frog that still seemed to irritate him. As he broke into a semi-run, he thought of the umbrella that the Frenchman ("Francis, was it?" Arthur shook his head as he vaguely remembered the frog's name.) held, and how nice it would have been to be sharing that umbrella with him at the moment. The warmth he had brought compared to the cold that he now had to endure... Then Arthur realized the thought sounded silly and incredibly cliché and romantic and disgusting-
Basically, he hated frogs and this one specific frog was an exception- he hated him even more.
With an annoyed sigh, Arthur reluctantly crossed the bridge that made it possible for him to meet the bastard. He swore that if he saw the frog, he'd push him off the bridge right there and then, without mercy. Contrary to what he expected however, he didn't see the bastard frog anywhere, and so he continued to run, a bit cheerfully this time, to the direction of his home.
And it was probably because he wasn't paying attention or that he was just too happy, but a short tumble and a few bruises later, as fate would have it, he did meet the frog once again. Only this time, in much awkward circumstances.
"Merde! Monsieur, please get off me," grunted the Frenchman. "You are quite heavy for a skinny Anglais."
"How about you move, you heavy piece of-"
Only when the Englishman's eyes fluttered open, did he realize the awkwardness of the position they were in and who it happened with. Right there below him was the frog that he had wanted to push off the bridge just a minute ago, and his face was only mere inches from his. Arthur realized at that moment that he hated his life as well as that damn bridge.
"Uh, mon che-" Smack.
If Arthur can't push him off the bridge, then he can punch him in the face!
"Ow! What was that for?!" growled the Frenchman. His hand covered his now-reddened cheek.
Arthur was already back on his feet, his arm covering his face. He knew it was as red as a tomato at that moment even with the rain splashing down on them, and he hated himself for it. He'd rather die in a ditch somewhere than have the French bastard noticing how (unintentionally, he wished) flustered he'd become.
Having nothing to say, Arthur just said whatever came to his head. "Fucking frog, watch where you're going!"
"What?" Francis stood up, his face clearly showing his disbelief. "I was just standing right here, in front of my apartment, when you came out of nowhere and knocked me over!"
"Then you should've-" Then, as realization (and maybe a bit of the rain) hit Arthur cold in the face, he froze and ever-so-reluctantly asked, "Wait, did you just say this was your apartment?"
"Oui." Francis answered matter-of-factly.
Nothing much was left to be said when Arthur suddenly walked around the corner of Francis' apartment, stopped in front of the house beside it, took out his keys, unlocked the door, went in, and slammed it shut. Never mind the small puddle that was now forming on the floor where he was standing on, for even from the inside of his warm home, Arthur could hear the Frenchman's chuckling from the other side of the wall.
And that was the first time Arthur ever cursed the rain.