Arthur gazed out of the window at the heavy rain and the slight fog that lingered in the sky. He sometimes wondered if the weather was a reflection of his despicable life. Something else he had to endure day upon day. Another wound added to the many that adorned his relatively small body. Not that he would ever admit that he was vertically challenged in any way. He sighed. Why did the sky have to be so...so... goddamn gloomy when he needed to feel the sun rays on his skin? What did he need to do to make the clouds disappear? And not only from heavens but from his own---Let's not go there. He needed light in his dark life, he wanted that little sliver of hope. He would cherish it forever-even kill to have it for just a few minutes. Hah, kill.

Arthur sighed heavily, no-longingly, at the sky. One last time for the time being. This is how much I want you. You can't even fathom just how much I would sacrifice for you... what I would do to have you---

"Kirkland!" Arthur was rescued from drowning in his sorrows by the stern teacher in the front and of course had to narrowly avoid being hit by the chalk that was aimed at his head. "Now, would be a good time to answer my question Kirkland." Arthur glared at his teacher behind his lashes. "The name of the 4th Roman Emperor is...?"

Arthur was now immensely pissed. He molests me because of a question like THAT?! Even my oldest brother can ans---

Arthur's mouth clamped down at mid speech as he saw the latecomers saunter into the classroom. The first one was an Albino boy, who winked at the Hungarian girl at the first row upon entering the class. The second arrival was a tanned Spaniard trying to talk to Mr Empire about their lateness and devising ways in which they could avoid an after-school detention. Lagging a few steps behind Gilbert and Antonio was the person who had rendered Arthur speechless.

Francis came into the classroom having been soaked in the rain outside. Yet, unlike Antonio and Gilbert he was not wearing his coat, instead it was draped over his muscular arm, serving as nothing more than a hindrance to the French guy. Arthur tried his absolute total best not to stare at his "friend"'s body. He did his best not to notice how tight his wet shirt clung onto his torso like a second skin, rippling as Francis moved his ligaments or flexed his perfectly formed muscles. Arthur was in Hell. He could feel the Devil taunting him, the flames of the underworld crawling too close to his skin for comfort. There was simply no way he could take his eyes off the divine sight before him.

I'm going to Hell anyway, so might as well make sure that pre-reserved seat in the thorns is well deserved. Not being able to tear his gaze from the boy walking towards him, Arthur nearly let out a frustrated groan. Francis was letting his long, beautiful fingers toy with his hair, trying to locate the ribbon that kept his golden hair tied back. He finally found it, only to swiftly remove it from the depths of his wet hair and ruffle his blonde locks as he reached the desk Arthur was seated at. Offering a what could only be interpreted as a heavenly smile, Francis scraped his chair back. Remind me of what my shameful life will make me miss out on, why don't you? Arthur attempted to viciously tear his eyes from the angel that was now sitting next to him. He just hoped he didn't look as lustful as he felt.

"Kirkland! For the last time, answer the goddamn question!"

Arthur only turned his head to glare at his sorry excuse of a teacher. "Tiberius Claudius Drusus." He pronounced each syllable as if he was talking to a little kid. "Sir, if you wanted to catch someone off guard, then I would suggest you at least do it justice by asking them a challenging question." He then proceeded onto rising to his feet and gathering his books from across the desk. His fingers brushing the French teen's wrist as he made an attempt to grab his pen. Arthur bit his lip, wondering if the moronic being before him also felt the electricity that passed between them through that brief touch. The bored expression on the other boy's features was all he needed to see to come to a negative conclusion. Git.

As he walked behind Francis' desk towards the door that would grant him brief freedom he felt something hold him back. His eyes sharply snapped to his wrist, which was encased in an iron grip at that particular moment. "Leaving so soon are we, mon amour?" His slight accent and deep voice nearly elicited something that was suspiciously like a groan from the English boy. Mon amour...

"Go to Hell, Bonnefoy." Arthur spat, suddenly very afraid of meeting those eyes and seeing that face. Come to the depths of Hell where I reside and pull me up from the despair I am in.

"Avec plaisir but only if you will accompany me there." He tightened his hold on Arthur but if it displeased the shorted male, he was very good at hiding it. "Maintenant, where do you think you are going to Kirkland?" He imitated the teacher to absolute perfection. "It is not yet the end of---"

"Let me go, frog." Francis scrunched his face up in mock hurt at Arthur's words but did not loosen his hold on the others' wrist. By which time the whole class had turned back to their textbooks, having witnessed Arthur and Francis' antiques enough times to be able to predetermine the end of their conversation.

Arthur was determined to hold his ground against the extremely alluring boy that was gazing openly at him. The English boy finally gave in to the part of him who wanted to see the expression Francis was making whilst studying him. As soon as their eyes met, Arthur felt his breath catch. It was very rare when one saw Francis make a face like that; so serious, so mesmerising... so... Arthur clenched his free hand, letting the nails dig in well below the surface, hoping that the pain would keep him rooted and refrain him from doing something he would regret later.

"One would think you were running away from me, Arthur." His name on Francis' lips felt at home, thought Arthur whilst suppressing a shudder that came deep within his body. Have I called him an "angel"? No, he is the embodiment of temptation itself and boy, wasn't it so easy to give right into the temptation that had taken the form of a French teen to haunt him.

"Wouldn't you think so, you selfish bastard? Everything has to turn around and be about you is it not?" Arthur found the oppressed anger within him. Anger that was not meant for Francis. Anger that should under no circumstances should have been directed at Francis. He was being unfair but this was the only way he could distance himself from the sex god that was Bonnefoy. However Arthur still couldn't help the act that as far as he was concerned everysingledarnthing was about the "frog" before him. Not a single hour of the day passed without a thought concerning the French boy that he now wanted to beat the shit out of. When have I become so attached to this person... so dependant on him to make me feel normal again? "I am leaving because your ego and I cannot fit into a room this size without one exploding."

Francis slowly, almost hesitantly, let go of Arthur's now red wrist, laying his head on the desk, facing away from him. Yeah, make me feel like shit. Make me feel small and low. You do that too Francis... Arthur needed to get out of the classroom before the moisture that resided in his eyes for the past few seconds could make their journey across his cheeks. It was truly amusing how a sole thought of a certain French boy could bring tears into his eyes but the numerous beating he received from his elder brothers didn't even make him blink...

Arthur didn't necessarily intend to, but still managed to shut the door with a loud bang. Once out of the actual building, out in the open, Arthur swung his bag securely over his shoulder and sprinted at full speed to the fence that surrounded the school. Before he begun climbing over it, he slowly tuned around to look at the direction of the classroom. Perhaps, if he was not crying as he had been he would have seen a pair of concerned blue eyes staring back at him from the window of the class he had just ran out of.

Arthur climbed the fence and wall mixture with ease, having done this many times in the past. He only paused for a few seconds when he was on the top, looking down at the floor 3 metres below him. He held out his arms, his bag still secure over his right shoulder and then let himself fall forward; a smile bordering on agony on his lips, newly formed tears in his eyes and a single thread of thought in his mind:

Francis Bonnefoy, you will be the death of me.


Francis winced as he heard the door shut with a bang. How am I so successful at making him angry all the time? He willed himself to sit up straight but the best he could manage was resting his face in his hands, his back hunched and putting all his upper weight onto his elbows. He rubbed his forehead and eyes with his fingers, Trying to even out his breathing. Only if he knew how much I was looking forward to see him... And he was. He had spent the whole night painting and thinking of the English boy. Thinking of those green eyes and the way they looked so sincerely at him. Tu es dans toutes mes pensées.

What was wrong with Arthur? Why did every time they were in each other's presence something had to ruin it? Francis cursed as he replayed the events of a few minutes ago. He wouldn't have been bold enough to hold Arthur back had not the male looked like that. That tortured look on his worn out face. And why was Francis afraid of looking into the shorter male's eyes anymore? Because I am afraid of seeing too much in those eyes. Seeing the hurt, the pain and the hatred.

Oh, what he wouldn't have done for the chance of kissing his worries away but knowing Arthur he would have ended up in a hospital before he got close enough to do anything to the shorter blond. Vous êtes un lâche! Then he remembered the way that electricity seemed to travel through his wet body at the mere brush of Arthur's fingers on his skin. And suddenly his wet shirt felt very uncomfortable as did his black school trousers. Mon dieu!

From the corner of his eye, Francis detected a movement on the usually deserted playground. Seeing Arthur's form moving in a very agile manner towards the fence he scooted down to the Englishman's seat, his eyes fixed upon the form of the boy that was trying to run to his freedom. He watched as Arthur looked straight at him from the playground. Watched with new found intensity as he climbed the fence with unnatural ease. Francis had to say, he was worried. It was high. He, himself didn't like heights but apparently now he found a new dislike for them as his beloved was standing upright on tope of the fence, his balance so perfect that he stood there for a few seconds, just looking down. Then he spread his arms out like an angel. Mon ange... mon petit ange.

Suddenly Francis woke up from the spell Arthur has put him in, realising what the English boy was going to do only seconds before he did it. Francis got to his feet so fast that his chair fell back with a huge thud as he stood up. His whole body was shaking. A thin layer of sweat covered his skin from head to toe, mixing with the slowly drying water on his clothes. Arthur! He didn't... couldn't, tear his eyes away from the short blond as he fell, no jumped but fell to the ground. Francis didn't care that the whole class had turned in their seats to watch him, Arthur, his Arthur was going to fall face first onto the concrete floor. Non!

But as if a God unknown to him had heard his mental cries for help, Arthur flew to the ground, landing gracefully. Or was it that Arthur was really an angel and had stretched his wings in the last second to fly? Francis didn't care either way. Instead he slowly let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and sunk into his chair. His body was still shaking with the aftershock.

Then Francis became aware of two things simultaneously:

1. He had tears in his eyes.

2. He was going to be sick.

He ran towards the rubbish bin located near the door whilst his classmates observed him from their seats. He barely made it to the bin before he vomited the contents of his breakfast. After a minute of retching and constant vomiting, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around slightly to see Antonio offer him a pack of tissues. He accepted them gratefully, feeling dizzy as he wiped his hands and mouth.

"Antonio, take Francis to the infirmary and class, you all better settle down or I will whip your backsides until you die of blood loss." Even the teacher seemed to calm down after Elizaveta's threat. Everyone except one person that is.

"Ewww, Francis, that was so unawesome!" The albino jerk flustered on, turning to the green eyed girl, "Will you whip me now then, Elizaveta?" The Hungarian smiled kindly at the white haired boy whilst throwing a thick hardback book at him before returning to the sick French and the supporting Antonio.

"But like, seriously, that was totally uncool, class rep! Like eww..." Elizaveta only spent half a second to glare at the Polish boy who was now too busy flicking his hair.

"I advise anyone that wants to speak out against me to shut the hell up or I will hospitalise everyone of you." And as she spotted Gilbert about to speak she turned to him and whispered sweetly. "That goes for you too, szemétláda."

Francis was too busy trying to work out if the events with Arthur had actually happened to hear Elizaveta and Gilbert bickering as usual. He refused any help from Antonio and insisted that he would be able to make his way to the infirmary by himself but to no avail. Antonio still followed him even if from a safe distance. They had only taken 4 steps out of the classroom before everything became blurry and Francis lost his footing. The last thought he had before hitting his head on the cold linoleum floor was; Je t'aime, Arthur.

Je t'aime tellement.

Je t'aime trop.

A/N

Hi there. Glad you made it trough all that. :D

Now for some translations:

FRENCH

Mon amour --- My love

Avec plaisir --- With pleasure

Tu es dans toutes mes pensées. --- You are in all my thoughts.

Vous êtes un lâche! --- You are a coward!

Mon Dieu. --- My God.

Mon ange... mon petit ange. --- My angel... my little angel.

Non! --- No!

Je t'aime, Arthur. --- I love you, Arthur.

Je t'aime tellement. --- I love you so much.

Je t'aime trop. --- I love you too much.

HUNGARIAN

Szemétláda --- Scumbag

Okay excuse me for the crappy French and and the crappy Hungarian and do tell me if anything is wrong.

Oh and to encourage reviews I am going to do this:

The first reviewer for each chapter will get something they'd like to see the next chapter. It can be anything! (Just not mindless sex - but if you still want sex then I will do one-shots connected to the story. :D or even in this story maybe) So yeah. Tell me what you thought of this chapter and then do a "Suggestion". I meant it when I said anything people. Like candy raining from the sky, and Arthur wearing nothing but socks... what rocks your boat. I like to challenge myself.

Oh and THERE WILL BE SMUT (Both Arthur and Francis are too hormonal for there to be none). This is rated M for a reason. Just bear with me for a few more chapters and you shall get UKxFRANCE.