The first time Arthur and Francis met, Francis was the first one to speak.
It was raining, and Francis loved the rain. So naturally as soon as he heard the soft taps on his window, he was outside and far from his house, running around the street. His giggle echoed in the empty streets and water splashed from every step he took. It didn't rain for long, but it left puddles that satisfied Francis.
"I love the rain so much!" he shouted in joy. He ran and jumped into a great big puddle, knocking the water everywhere around him.
"Well, I don't!" a tiny voice shouted from nowhere. "Especially if stupid people splash you with water!" Francis turned around in hope of finding the source of the noise, and smiled when he looked at the young boy. He had blond hair like Francis', but his eyes were emerald and his eyebrows, now hunched up together in frustration, were wide and bushy unlike anything Francis had ever seen. His shorter hair was dripping with water, all the way to his fingers, and even tough he looked very mad; Francis couldn't help but think how adorable the boy was.
"Poor boy!" said Francis, taking hold of his small hand, "I'm sorry for getting you wet!" He really wasn't sorry at all, but his mother had taught him to say that when people were mad. He began to walk back to his house, dragging the younger with him. He pulled at his hand, with no results, and yelled angrily, "What do you think you're doing? You can't just grab me and drag me around as you like!" Francis stopped, making the boy bump into him, and he turned around and smiled sweetly.
"But it's my fault you got wet. It's the least I could do, my sweet lapin." Francis continued to walk and drag the boy again. This seemed to have been a good enough excuse for the boy, because he stayed quiet for most of the walk. By the time Francis could see his house at the end of the street, he heard the boy pipe up again.
"Your boots are funny." He looked down at the subject at hand. They were plastic boots his mother had bought for him ever since she found out Francis' love for the rain. They were bright green and they had eyes that were mostly off since he used them so much.
"They're frogs. Don't you like them?" asked France. They boy only pouted and said, "I don't like frogs. You're a frog." Francis laughed as he opened the door and came inside his house. This boy was starting to grow on Francis.
After some time, the boy was changed into a borrowed shirt, fed by Francis' mother, and now he was sitting on his bed while Francis dried his hair with a towel. As he slightly massaged his head, he thought about the cute boy he had found. He was loud and brash, but when he was introduced to his mother, he was nice and charming, just like a gentleman. When he was offered food and dry clothes, he tried to refused, and he blushed in the most adorable way as his mother insisted.
"I almost forgot. My name is Francis. What's yours?"
He was silent for a moment, but he muttered softly, "Arthur."
Francis smiled softly as he took off the towel from his head, "Alright," he wrapped his arms around the boy and laid his head on top of his, "Arthur it is then."