Seven Days of Rain (3/7?) Part 2
Title: Seven Days of Rain
Author: mslavender
Characters: AU!France, AU!England, AU!Hungary, AU!Feliciano, AU!Rome
Pairing: FrUK <3
Rating: T
Summary: Seven days of rain, seven days of innocent romance.
Arthur sat still on his chair, his hands balled into fists and eyebrows hanging dangerously low on his forehead. He was not comfortable, and Elizaveta knew this as she glared at him from the front of the classroom. She just had to have him sit beside Francis. The Englishman figured she was doing this out of spite for the mess he- the Frenchman, not Arthur (Why would Arthur start a mess? Everyone knew he was the good gentleman. Sort of.)- created a while ago. It wasn't Arthur's fault that he was born with thick eyebrows and that Francis was being a total git about it.
As soon as Elizaveta had left the room, Arthur's silent rage had already boiled into a fitful cloud of steam that was about to force its way out of his head. Francis' incessant smirk and amused glances were keeping Arthur tense, distracting him from his work. Arthur didn't like distractions, especially if this distraction involved smug Frenchmen.
"Frog," he started, gritting his teeth. "Stop."
"Stop what?"
"That. Stop looking at me like that." Arthur turned to the Frenchman and pointed at his still-bruised face. The Englishman now felt proud of his work, the bastard deserved it.
Francis only looked at the finger then back at its owner, and laughed. "Oh, cheri, I was just staring at your sourcils. You have beau sourcils," commented the Frenchman, that irritating smirk still lingering on his face.
"What?" Arthur spat. "We're in England; Why don't you show off your annoying language somewhere where it's actually appreciated, frog?"
Francis raised an insulted eyebrow and turned away, huffing, "Your eyebrows," a dramatic pause, "they're monstrous."
Arthur could only blink before stomping his way to the Frenchman. "Why you...!"
Elizaveta, Feliciano and the adviser had arrived shortly after the fierce battle of slaps and blind punches began, and for that, the Hungarian wasn't happy.
"You idiots!" Elizaveta slapped Francis and Arthur upside the head, her angry hushed voice starting to sound like a deep growl in the small space of the classroom's corner. She briefly glanced at Mr. Roma, their adviser, and when she felt content that he was not paying attention to them but at his grandson Feli, she slapped them upside the head once again and put her hands on her hips.
"What the hell were you two thinking?! You can't behave that way in front of Mr. Roma or else he'll change his mind about all of this!" She sighed, rubbing her temples as she did so. "We finally got the help we need, and if either one of you," the Hungarian thrust her finger closely to Arthur and Francis' face, glaring as they gulped, "ruins this for me, I swear I will whack you with a dozen frying pans until you will rue the day you were born." Arthur and Francis could only nod and whimper in reply, afraid to say anything against a Hungarian woman and her frying pans.
With one last huff, Elizaveta turned her back to them, and with a cheery, "Mr. Roma!", bounced back to the adviser before taking one last look of evil in the direction of cowering duo."I'm watching you," she mouthed menacingly. Francis and Arthur could only look at each other, scared out of their wits, and walked away to different directions, afraid of provoking the scary woman any further.
Arthur could only grimace when Elizaveta had grabbed both him and the Frenchman in the arm after her small meeting with Mr. Roma, and shoved them both to one table with two chairs.
"You should both try to get along," she smiled, but an aura of danger had formed around her, and both the Frenchman and Englishman knew that they had no escape.
And thus, started their meeting, and the occasional glares Arthur and Francis would throw at each other. The Englishman 'hmph'ed in his seat, arms crossed on his chest and slumping in his chair. He had decided not to listen to the meeting anymore despite his eyes looking (glaring actually) at the front of the classroom where the smiling adviser stood. Whatever it was, he could just ask Elizaveta about it, and if she got mad because he wasn't listening, then he could just blame her for having him sit beside the disgusting frog. He could take the rage of her frying pans... sort of. Arthur couldn't concentrate anyway, what with a Frenchman sitting beside him, nose high up in the air like the stuck up man that he was. He glared at Francis once again, and received the same, except with a 'hmph' ending with the silence of being ignored. The Englishman sighed, knowing he'd have to deal with this thing, especially since he lived right next to him. Eyebrows still furrowed, he cursed whatever fate it was that wanted to torture him this way and scowled once again, facing the whiteboard and feigning attention.
"You look funny, making faces like that," Francis mumbled in a quiet whisper. His smirk was hard to miss.
"Oh yeah?" Arthur scoffed, replying in an irritated whisper. "Well, you don't even have to make faces to look funny. You just do." Smirking himself, Arthur crossed his arms in triumph, feeling glad he actually threw something else at the Frenchman's face other than his fists.
To Arthur's surprise, however, Francis only chuckled. "Tell that to your eyebrows. They don't even do anything; they just hang awkwardly on your face looking gigantic and bushy." Francis let out an airy giggle as he flipped his hair dramatically. "At least my face has a purpose- to look beautiful and gorgeous."
There it was again, the mention of Arthur's eyebrows. Were his eyebrows really that ugly and thick? He knew it ran in the family, in the mother's side actually, but never before were they teased much about it. Maybe it was just some horrible coincidence that his was much thicker. Snapping to his senses, the Englishman shook the thought away; he mustn't let the Frenchman's words get to him!
Arthur growled, crossing his arms and huffing in reply, "Beautiful and gorgeous, my ass. All I see is shit," a glare, "mixed with corn-colored regurgitated straws of wet cat hair hanging disgustingly from its sides."
"You are just jealous," said Francis with a wave of his hand. "You do not have the magnifique hair that we French people have."
"The only thing 'magnifique'," Arthur said in a mocking French accent, "about you French people are your lack of balls." Arthur saw Francis' eyebrow twitch at this comment, which only gave him more willpower to continue. "Looking at you proves just that."
There was a slight pause in which Francis stared amusingly at Arthur, a sly smile playing on his slightly tanned face. Come to think of it, now that Arthur looked closely, it looked very smooth, not a single blemish in sight. He did look at least a tad bit handsome, but, of course, Arthur would never admit this to himself, even if he had thought about it at that moment.
"Balls, you say."
Arthur had snapped out of his short trance, and noticed just how close the Frenchman's face had gotten. He wished he hadn't turned a slight shade of pink as he leaned back and tried to put as much space between them as possible.
"You've never seen my balls, have you, Arthur?" Francis said almost too innocently, chin on his hand and blue eyes glittering deviously.
"Wha-?" Arthur, taken aback by the sudden obscene question, stuttered and looked at the Frenchman as if he were a half-eaten rotten tomato with maggots spewing out of it. "Wha- I mean, of course not, why would you-?"
"Well then how would you know I don't have balls?"
"I-It was a rhetorical question! A fucking figure of speech, for fuck's sake-"
"Unless," the Frenchman continued, as if not having heard Arthur's frantic yelps of discomfort, "you want to see th-"
"No!" came the reply of the Englishman, hand flying at Francis' mouth. The Frenchman was laughing beneath the hand, making Arthur want to punch the other side of that cheek so much, he wouldn't even mind Elizabeth's A Thousand Frying Pans to the Face attacks for a week. However, Arthur was saved from the frying pans for, at that moment, they had heard a slight cough to the front of the classroom, and saw two smiles that chilled both men's spines.
"I don't know what you two are talking about over there," came the ominous voice from a certain Hungarian, "but I do hope it is about teamwork and grouping up for the school newspaper."
"Teamwork?" At first Arthur was clueless, and then he glanced around the classroom and saw at least three people close to each other, the other half of these people not familiar to Arthur at all. People belonging to the art club perhaps...?
"Grouping up?" came the muffled voice of Francis, Arthur's hand still covering his mouth in their confusion. It seems he had caught up to his surroundings as well, glancing at Arthur with nervous eyes.
"Well, yes. However," Elizabeth paused, her smile unnerving as she strode to their table and put herself in between them, arms hooked around both of their necks into an awkward almost-strangling group hug, "since we have an uneven number of people and it seems like both of you are so eager to be together," her grip on their necks tightened, her snarl coming back into its rightful place on her face, "then why not have you team up," and mockingly, a "hmmm?"
"W-what?!" Arthur struggled to free himself from the monster grip of the Hungarian woman but to no avail. Sometimes he wondered if Elizaveta was a woman at all. In short grunts as he tried to free himself, Arthur gasped, "I do not... want to be... paired up... with this... pervert!"
"M-me as we-" came the Francis' reply, then a sudden realization, "-excusez moi?! Me, the pervert? You were the one who-"
Elizaveta's vein popped. Tightening the grip she held on both of them once more, she banged their heads together and, in the middle of their protests, said as menacingly as she could with a smile still on her face, "It's either this or your life. Which one is more important?"
Two gulps and a few seconds of cowering later, Elizaveta let go of her prisoners and propped up their chairs to face her. She glanced at Mr. Roma, who was talking to Feli once again, then glared at the wheezing men in front of her. "Sit!" They gulped, then obeyed.
Sighing heavily, she crossed her arms and paced in front of them. "Now, there's actually a reason why I wanted both of you to pair up."
"So this is a set up?" Francis cocked an eyebrow, irritated.
"That is totally unfair!" Arthur crossed his arms, a slight pout visible from his thin lips.
"Hush!" snapped Elizaveta. "Let me explain. We, Mr. Roma and I, have chosen two people to over-see the process of all the groups. And-"
"Don't tell me," sighed Arthur, rubbing his temples in annoyance. "You chose me and Francois over here."
"Francis, if you will, Anglais," the Frenchman sighed at Arthur in annoyance, then turned his attention to the Hungarian. "Anyway, why us two? There are so many people around here who qualify better than we do, oui?"
Arthur only glared at the Frenchman in reply then added, "Also, isn't that your job? Over-seeing things, I mean."
Elizaveta stopped her pacing, taking one glance at the two boys then crossed her arms and explained as best as she could. "First of all, yes we chose both of you. As to why, I think you both should take a look at the abundance of talent you both have. And no need to be humble, Francis," she added quickly just as said Frenchman was about to protest, "Feli has shown me your work, and as much as I want to doubt as well that it was you who made such gorgeous pieces, ("What's that supposed to mean?" mumbled Francis.) it seems that you are indeed one of the best in the club. Now, Arthur- don't give me that look. We both know you have-"
"I know, I know," grumbled Arthur, covering his face with his hand in slight embarrassment. "You don't have to say it." He felt Francis' stare at him, but he only glared in his direction and looked away.
Elizaveta only chuckled and continued, "Who better to lead than those who have the best in talent, yes? Anyway, I already have my hands full with coordinating and organizing everything, that is why I need both your help to watch over what comes after this. You will both help me with editing and discussing ideas. No butts." She strictly added as Francis and Arthur were about to open their mouths. "The deadline for the first drafts are this Friday-I know, I know it's too soon," Elizaveta added quickly just as the men were about to protest once again, "But we are pressed for time. This was supposed to be announced last week but," a sigh," Mr. Roma wasn't really available for meetings and so was I. That's why I've been so busy these past few weeks, working my and your asses off, trying to finish faster- nevermind. Anyway," a cough as Elizaveta regained her composure from the rant, "It's also a chance for you to get to know each other as well so you'll stop biting each others' asses all the time." When all was quiet and no protests were given, Elizaveta felt she was free to leave and so, with one final wave of her hand, said, "I'm giving you guys some time to discuss this then. I'll see you both later."
The silence ensued even as they both heard the Hungarian's footsteps fade away to the front of the classroom. Arthur could hear the chitter-chatter of ideas all around him as people started to plan for their assigned articles, but even this wasn't enough to break the awkwardness that started to grow between the two men. He started to play with the cuffs of his shirt, deciding that he didn't want to be the one to start a conversation. It wasn't that he was shy or disliked people, he just thought he didn't necessarily have to feel obliged to speak if he didn't want to. Besides, knowing the Frenchman, he thought, he'd be the one to start chatting away a few seconds now, given his talkative streak of weirdness and perversion.
To Arthur's surprise, however, the Frenchman had not said a thing. One glance at Francis and Arthur knew he wasn't even paying attention, just staring at the clock which read ten more minutes 'til their long lunch break ended. This was good then, for Arthur. At least he wouldn't have to put up with this bastard's nonsense any longer. Then a sudden thought hit him: the school newspaper. On one side, Arthur wished for the frog to go away, but on the other, his duty and obligation as a perfectionist Englishman pushed him to do his work. Elizaveta also did need his help. Watching her so drained and stressed these past few weeks- he could at least do this for her. Half-fuming, he decided to give in to the latter. Besides, he only had a few more minutes to talk to the Frenchman and then he could go about his day without having to worry about him. Or so he thought.
Arthur turned to the Frenchman, ready to speak when all of a sudden he was cut off with a, "So, have you decided whose house to go to for this?"
"Eh?" Arthur's mouth twitched. He stared at the Frenchman, surprised at the spontaneous question. "What?"
"House, Anglais, house. Maison!" Francis replied almost impatiently. "As in home. Or am I not speaking English here?"
"Wha- Of course, I know what a house is, you idiot," Arthur huffed. "What I mean is what about it?"
"It is what it means! Whose house are we going to to have this done?" Francis replied in amusement, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Arthur growled. He knew what the frog meant now, and he didn't even want to think about it. "There is no way I am letting you into my house, school-related or not."
Francis chuckled. "I knew you'd say that. That is why for tonight," he leaned towards Arthur, a playful smirk plastered on his face, "I am inviting you to my house."
Arthur felt himself turn a shade of red and without hesitation, smacked Francis upside the head. "Who the hell wants to go to your bloody house, you fucking pervert frog?!"
Francis' vein snapped- he'd had enough of being tossed around by this Englishman. His hands shot up in front of his chest, and just as he was about to latch on to Arthur's shoulders, Arthur did the same, both their hands meeting half-way into the front of their chests and locking into a form of deadly mid-air wrestling.
"Why do you always take everything I say sexually?!"
"Because you always say everything with sexual connotations, you git!"
The people in the class room started to gather around them as they bickered at one another. The men started betting who was going to win while the women started whispering and giggling to one another.
"Do you hate me that much?! What did I ever do to you?!"
"Yes, I hate you, you frog! Your mere existence annoys the shit out of me!"
The crowd started to part and the room turned silent, save for the quarreling men. Muffled sounds of clangs were heard as a frying pan was being readied on the palm of a Hungarians hand, accompanied by slow dangerous footsteps.
"I just wanted to invite you to dinner, you English bastard!"
"Well, maybe you should... eat... shi- what?" came the dwindling response of the Englishman as he realized what Francis had just said. Before he could reply, however, a loud clang was heard in the room and all Arthur could hear next were the ringing in his ears and a few indistinct French swearing beside him.
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Note: There's going to be a Part 3 coming for this chapter. The ideas are coming in really slow, that's why I want to post ahead what I have so far to keep you guys from the wait. XD Thanks for all your comments! I really appreciate it. :) (Constructive criticism is always welcome, too!)
Author: mslavender
Characters: AU!France, AU!England, AU!Hungary, AU!Feliciano, AU!Rome
Pairing: FrUK <3
Rating: T
Summary: Seven days of rain, seven days of innocent romance.
Arthur sat still on his chair, his hands balled into fists and eyebrows hanging dangerously low on his forehead. He was not comfortable, and Elizaveta knew this as she glared at him from the front of the classroom. She just had to have him sit beside Francis. The Englishman figured she was doing this out of spite for the mess he- the Frenchman, not Arthur (Why would Arthur start a mess? Everyone knew he was the good gentleman. Sort of.)- created a while ago. It wasn't Arthur's fault that he was born with thick eyebrows and that Francis was being a total git about it.
As soon as Elizaveta had left the room, Arthur's silent rage had already boiled into a fitful cloud of steam that was about to force its way out of his head. Francis' incessant smirk and amused glances were keeping Arthur tense, distracting him from his work. Arthur didn't like distractions, especially if this distraction involved smug Frenchmen.
"Frog," he started, gritting his teeth. "Stop."
"Stop what?"
"That. Stop looking at me like that." Arthur turned to the Frenchman and pointed at his still-bruised face. The Englishman now felt proud of his work, the bastard deserved it.
Francis only looked at the finger then back at its owner, and laughed. "Oh, cheri, I was just staring at your sourcils. You have beau sourcils," commented the Frenchman, that irritating smirk still lingering on his face.
"What?" Arthur spat. "We're in England; Why don't you show off your annoying language somewhere where it's actually appreciated, frog?"
Francis raised an insulted eyebrow and turned away, huffing, "Your eyebrows," a dramatic pause, "they're monstrous."
Arthur could only blink before stomping his way to the Frenchman. "Why you...!"
Elizaveta, Feliciano and the adviser had arrived shortly after the fierce battle of slaps and blind punches began, and for that, the Hungarian wasn't happy.
"You idiots!" Elizaveta slapped Francis and Arthur upside the head, her angry hushed voice starting to sound like a deep growl in the small space of the classroom's corner. She briefly glanced at Mr. Roma, their adviser, and when she felt content that he was not paying attention to them but at his grandson Feli, she slapped them upside the head once again and put her hands on her hips.
"What the hell were you two thinking?! You can't behave that way in front of Mr. Roma or else he'll change his mind about all of this!" She sighed, rubbing her temples as she did so. "We finally got the help we need, and if either one of you," the Hungarian thrust her finger closely to Arthur and Francis' face, glaring as they gulped, "ruins this for me, I swear I will whack you with a dozen frying pans until you will rue the day you were born." Arthur and Francis could only nod and whimper in reply, afraid to say anything against a Hungarian woman and her frying pans.
With one last huff, Elizaveta turned her back to them, and with a cheery, "Mr. Roma!", bounced back to the adviser before taking one last look of evil in the direction of cowering duo."I'm watching you," she mouthed menacingly. Francis and Arthur could only look at each other, scared out of their wits, and walked away to different directions, afraid of provoking the scary woman any further.
Arthur could only grimace when Elizaveta had grabbed both him and the Frenchman in the arm after her small meeting with Mr. Roma, and shoved them both to one table with two chairs.
"You should both try to get along," she smiled, but an aura of danger had formed around her, and both the Frenchman and Englishman knew that they had no escape.
And thus, started their meeting, and the occasional glares Arthur and Francis would throw at each other. The Englishman 'hmph'ed in his seat, arms crossed on his chest and slumping in his chair. He had decided not to listen to the meeting anymore despite his eyes looking (glaring actually) at the front of the classroom where the smiling adviser stood. Whatever it was, he could just ask Elizaveta about it, and if she got mad because he wasn't listening, then he could just blame her for having him sit beside the disgusting frog. He could take the rage of her frying pans... sort of. Arthur couldn't concentrate anyway, what with a Frenchman sitting beside him, nose high up in the air like the stuck up man that he was. He glared at Francis once again, and received the same, except with a 'hmph' ending with the silence of being ignored. The Englishman sighed, knowing he'd have to deal with this thing, especially since he lived right next to him. Eyebrows still furrowed, he cursed whatever fate it was that wanted to torture him this way and scowled once again, facing the whiteboard and feigning attention.
"You look funny, making faces like that," Francis mumbled in a quiet whisper. His smirk was hard to miss.
"Oh yeah?" Arthur scoffed, replying in an irritated whisper. "Well, you don't even have to make faces to look funny. You just do." Smirking himself, Arthur crossed his arms in triumph, feeling glad he actually threw something else at the Frenchman's face other than his fists.
To Arthur's surprise, however, Francis only chuckled. "Tell that to your eyebrows. They don't even do anything; they just hang awkwardly on your face looking gigantic and bushy." Francis let out an airy giggle as he flipped his hair dramatically. "At least my face has a purpose- to look beautiful and gorgeous."
There it was again, the mention of Arthur's eyebrows. Were his eyebrows really that ugly and thick? He knew it ran in the family, in the mother's side actually, but never before were they teased much about it. Maybe it was just some horrible coincidence that his was much thicker. Snapping to his senses, the Englishman shook the thought away; he mustn't let the Frenchman's words get to him!
Arthur growled, crossing his arms and huffing in reply, "Beautiful and gorgeous, my ass. All I see is shit," a glare, "mixed with corn-colored regurgitated straws of wet cat hair hanging disgustingly from its sides."
"You are just jealous," said Francis with a wave of his hand. "You do not have the magnifique hair that we French people have."
"The only thing 'magnifique'," Arthur said in a mocking French accent, "about you French people are your lack of balls." Arthur saw Francis' eyebrow twitch at this comment, which only gave him more willpower to continue. "Looking at you proves just that."
There was a slight pause in which Francis stared amusingly at Arthur, a sly smile playing on his slightly tanned face. Come to think of it, now that Arthur looked closely, it looked very smooth, not a single blemish in sight. He did look at least a tad bit handsome, but, of course, Arthur would never admit this to himself, even if he had thought about it at that moment.
"Balls, you say."
Arthur had snapped out of his short trance, and noticed just how close the Frenchman's face had gotten. He wished he hadn't turned a slight shade of pink as he leaned back and tried to put as much space between them as possible.
"You've never seen my balls, have you, Arthur?" Francis said almost too innocently, chin on his hand and blue eyes glittering deviously.
"Wha-?" Arthur, taken aback by the sudden obscene question, stuttered and looked at the Frenchman as if he were a half-eaten rotten tomato with maggots spewing out of it. "Wha- I mean, of course not, why would you-?"
"Well then how would you know I don't have balls?"
"I-It was a rhetorical question! A fucking figure of speech, for fuck's sake-"
"Unless," the Frenchman continued, as if not having heard Arthur's frantic yelps of discomfort, "you want to see th-"
"No!" came the reply of the Englishman, hand flying at Francis' mouth. The Frenchman was laughing beneath the hand, making Arthur want to punch the other side of that cheek so much, he wouldn't even mind Elizabeth's A Thousand Frying Pans to the Face attacks for a week. However, Arthur was saved from the frying pans for, at that moment, they had heard a slight cough to the front of the classroom, and saw two smiles that chilled both men's spines.
"I don't know what you two are talking about over there," came the ominous voice from a certain Hungarian, "but I do hope it is about teamwork and grouping up for the school newspaper."
"Teamwork?" At first Arthur was clueless, and then he glanced around the classroom and saw at least three people close to each other, the other half of these people not familiar to Arthur at all. People belonging to the art club perhaps...?
"Grouping up?" came the muffled voice of Francis, Arthur's hand still covering his mouth in their confusion. It seems he had caught up to his surroundings as well, glancing at Arthur with nervous eyes.
"Well, yes. However," Elizabeth paused, her smile unnerving as she strode to their table and put herself in between them, arms hooked around both of their necks into an awkward almost-strangling group hug, "since we have an uneven number of people and it seems like both of you are so eager to be together," her grip on their necks tightened, her snarl coming back into its rightful place on her face, "then why not have you team up," and mockingly, a "hmmm?"
"W-what?!" Arthur struggled to free himself from the monster grip of the Hungarian woman but to no avail. Sometimes he wondered if Elizaveta was a woman at all. In short grunts as he tried to free himself, Arthur gasped, "I do not... want to be... paired up... with this... pervert!"
"M-me as we-" came the Francis' reply, then a sudden realization, "-excusez moi?! Me, the pervert? You were the one who-"
Elizaveta's vein popped. Tightening the grip she held on both of them once more, she banged their heads together and, in the middle of their protests, said as menacingly as she could with a smile still on her face, "It's either this or your life. Which one is more important?"
Two gulps and a few seconds of cowering later, Elizaveta let go of her prisoners and propped up their chairs to face her. She glanced at Mr. Roma, who was talking to Feli once again, then glared at the wheezing men in front of her. "Sit!" They gulped, then obeyed.
Sighing heavily, she crossed her arms and paced in front of them. "Now, there's actually a reason why I wanted both of you to pair up."
"So this is a set up?" Francis cocked an eyebrow, irritated.
"That is totally unfair!" Arthur crossed his arms, a slight pout visible from his thin lips.
"Hush!" snapped Elizaveta. "Let me explain. We, Mr. Roma and I, have chosen two people to over-see the process of all the groups. And-"
"Don't tell me," sighed Arthur, rubbing his temples in annoyance. "You chose me and Francois over here."
"Francis, if you will, Anglais," the Frenchman sighed at Arthur in annoyance, then turned his attention to the Hungarian. "Anyway, why us two? There are so many people around here who qualify better than we do, oui?"
Arthur only glared at the Frenchman in reply then added, "Also, isn't that your job? Over-seeing things, I mean."
Elizaveta stopped her pacing, taking one glance at the two boys then crossed her arms and explained as best as she could. "First of all, yes we chose both of you. As to why, I think you both should take a look at the abundance of talent you both have. And no need to be humble, Francis," she added quickly just as said Frenchman was about to protest, "Feli has shown me your work, and as much as I want to doubt as well that it was you who made such gorgeous pieces, ("What's that supposed to mean?" mumbled Francis.) it seems that you are indeed one of the best in the club. Now, Arthur- don't give me that look. We both know you have-"
"I know, I know," grumbled Arthur, covering his face with his hand in slight embarrassment. "You don't have to say it." He felt Francis' stare at him, but he only glared in his direction and looked away.
Elizaveta only chuckled and continued, "Who better to lead than those who have the best in talent, yes? Anyway, I already have my hands full with coordinating and organizing everything, that is why I need both your help to watch over what comes after this. You will both help me with editing and discussing ideas. No butts." She strictly added as Francis and Arthur were about to open their mouths. "The deadline for the first drafts are this Friday-I know, I know it's too soon," Elizaveta added quickly just as the men were about to protest once again, "But we are pressed for time. This was supposed to be announced last week but," a sigh," Mr. Roma wasn't really available for meetings and so was I. That's why I've been so busy these past few weeks, working my and your asses off, trying to finish faster- nevermind. Anyway," a cough as Elizaveta regained her composure from the rant, "It's also a chance for you to get to know each other as well so you'll stop biting each others' asses all the time." When all was quiet and no protests were given, Elizaveta felt she was free to leave and so, with one final wave of her hand, said, "I'm giving you guys some time to discuss this then. I'll see you both later."
The silence ensued even as they both heard the Hungarian's footsteps fade away to the front of the classroom. Arthur could hear the chitter-chatter of ideas all around him as people started to plan for their assigned articles, but even this wasn't enough to break the awkwardness that started to grow between the two men. He started to play with the cuffs of his shirt, deciding that he didn't want to be the one to start a conversation. It wasn't that he was shy or disliked people, he just thought he didn't necessarily have to feel obliged to speak if he didn't want to. Besides, knowing the Frenchman, he thought, he'd be the one to start chatting away a few seconds now, given his talkative streak of weirdness and perversion.
To Arthur's surprise, however, the Frenchman had not said a thing. One glance at Francis and Arthur knew he wasn't even paying attention, just staring at the clock which read ten more minutes 'til their long lunch break ended. This was good then, for Arthur. At least he wouldn't have to put up with this bastard's nonsense any longer. Then a sudden thought hit him: the school newspaper. On one side, Arthur wished for the frog to go away, but on the other, his duty and obligation as a perfectionist Englishman pushed him to do his work. Elizaveta also did need his help. Watching her so drained and stressed these past few weeks- he could at least do this for her. Half-fuming, he decided to give in to the latter. Besides, he only had a few more minutes to talk to the Frenchman and then he could go about his day without having to worry about him. Or so he thought.
Arthur turned to the Frenchman, ready to speak when all of a sudden he was cut off with a, "So, have you decided whose house to go to for this?"
"Eh?" Arthur's mouth twitched. He stared at the Frenchman, surprised at the spontaneous question. "What?"
"House, Anglais, house. Maison!" Francis replied almost impatiently. "As in home. Or am I not speaking English here?"
"Wha- Of course, I know what a house is, you idiot," Arthur huffed. "What I mean is what about it?"
"It is what it means! Whose house are we going to to have this done?" Francis replied in amusement, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Arthur growled. He knew what the frog meant now, and he didn't even want to think about it. "There is no way I am letting you into my house, school-related or not."
Francis chuckled. "I knew you'd say that. That is why for tonight," he leaned towards Arthur, a playful smirk plastered on his face, "I am inviting you to my house."
Arthur felt himself turn a shade of red and without hesitation, smacked Francis upside the head. "Who the hell wants to go to your bloody house, you fucking pervert frog?!"
Francis' vein snapped- he'd had enough of being tossed around by this Englishman. His hands shot up in front of his chest, and just as he was about to latch on to Arthur's shoulders, Arthur did the same, both their hands meeting half-way into the front of their chests and locking into a form of deadly mid-air wrestling.
"Why do you always take everything I say sexually?!"
"Because you always say everything with sexual connotations, you git!"
The people in the class room started to gather around them as they bickered at one another. The men started betting who was going to win while the women started whispering and giggling to one another.
"Do you hate me that much?! What did I ever do to you?!"
"Yes, I hate you, you frog! Your mere existence annoys the shit out of me!"
The crowd started to part and the room turned silent, save for the quarreling men. Muffled sounds of clangs were heard as a frying pan was being readied on the palm of a Hungarians hand, accompanied by slow dangerous footsteps.
"I just wanted to invite you to dinner, you English bastard!"
"Well, maybe you should... eat... shi- what?" came the dwindling response of the Englishman as he realized what Francis had just said. Before he could reply, however, a loud clang was heard in the room and all Arthur could hear next were the ringing in his ears and a few indistinct French swearing beside him.
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Note: There's going to be a Part 3 coming for this chapter. The ideas are coming in really slow, that's why I want to post ahead what I have so far to keep you guys from the wait. XD Thanks for all your comments! I really appreciate it. :) (Constructive criticism is always welcome, too!)