Arthur had been working at the diner for three months when he first saw him walk through the door. He sat down at the breakfast bar, taken a menu, and when the Brit had come to take his order, flashed the brightest smile Arthur had ever seen.
"I'm not really sure what to get, but you probably know what's good. Why don't you pick?" His eyes were a striking crystal blue and his shoulder-length long hair was just a touch lighter than his own scruffy blonde mess.
"S'il vous plait?"
"Uh yeah, sure."
And that is how it began. From then on around the same time, on the same day every week (It appeared to be a Thursday) the man, whom Arthur deduced was French, with his bright blue eyes and long blonde hair would come into the diner. He would sit at the same spot and would order the exact same thing that Arthur had picked out for him, every time.
"Eggs over easy, hash and toast please." The Frenchman would hear Arthur say to the cook, by now not even bothering to write it down.
After a while names were exchanged.
"I see your name tag says 'Arthur'"
"Yes, it does."
"Does Arthur have a last name?"
The Brit scoffed and regarded him for a moment. "I don't know, I usually don't go about giving that kind of information to strangers." And with that the man's eyes had lit up.
"Ah, well then, let us be strangers no more." He extended his hand. "Francis Bonnefoy."
After a moment of hesitation, the shorter man accepted the handshake. "Arthur Kirkland."
Soon things fell into a rhythm, as repetitive things tend to do. Whenever Francis came in he always struck up a conversation with his waiter, which was always Arthur. They would talk about anything and everything. Debate and argue over worthless topics. 'It's annoying.' Arthur would tell himself. But that didn't change the fact that it was one thing that he actually looked forward to during the weeks of long shifts.
/OOO/
"Can I get your number, cheri?" It was raining that day and the Frenchman seemed to linger at his spot longer than usual.
"Sorry, I don't like to make it a habit of giving my number to our customers."
Francis, unfazed and by now use to the stubborn and grumpiness of this particular part of the staff just smiled.
"Understandable."
It was only when he had left and Arthur began clearing the dishes away did he notice a note attached to the tip with a phone number on it. It read: In case you're ever in a bind~' The Brit crumpled it up, but let a small smile show as he shoved it into his pocket.
Weeks passed as they do, and it continued to rain.
One day, a Friday now, Arthur finished his late shift at 11:00pm. His boss had asked him to stay and take inventory, and for the extra bit of pay the Brit was happy to comply. Now he stood at his car, staring at it. It was late, raining, and someone had slashed his tires.
"Just bloody great…" He mumbled to himself as he dug in his pockets for bus fare. Of course luck would have it, the only thing he found was a piece of paper with a phone number written on it.
"Damn."
/OOO/
"Bonjour~"
"Hey, this is Arthur, from the diner."
"Ah! Of course, and what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Don't get your hopes up, I just need someone to find me the number for a tow truck."
"A tow truck? What for?"
"What the bloody hell do you call a tow truck for? Too tow a car!"
"Why does your car need towed?" And so Arthur related what had happened to his tires.
"…So yeah, can you get me the number or not?"
"Oui, oui, I can but….."
"But what?"
"How are you getting home?"
"I….I'll walk."
"In this weather?!"
"Yeah."
"Can't you call for a cab or something?"
"No you bleeding frog, I don't have any money for that. Can you just call the damn tow truck please?"
"I will, I will as long as you let me come pick you up. You can't be out walking around in rain like this."
"No, you don't need to do tha-"
"You'll catch a cold and won't be able to work~"
"….Fine."
/OOO/
Fifteen minutes later Arthur watched as a black 4-door Benz rolled up to the curb. It occurred to him then that even though he saw this man at the same time at the diner every week, he had no idea what he even drove. The window rolled down and there was Francis, beckoning him to get in on the passenger side. He looked around at the rain for a moment before deciding to cut his losses and got in.
"Where to?" Francis asked as he pulled back onto the road. Arthur gave him his address. It was strange to him, to see the Frenchman in a setting that wasn't the diner. His hair had a different sort of glow to it when they would pass a street lamp and he also noticed how he tapped his finger to the beat of the songs on the radio, just like he did at the diner. 'Some things must never change.' He mused to himself.
"You look exhausted." Arthur startled a bit as his mind was pulled back to reality.
"Huh? Oh yeah, a little."
"Long shift?"
And even though the setting had changed they still slipped into the same routine of random banter and small talk. But it all came to an end rather quickly as the car slowed in front of one of the most decrepit houses that Francis had ever seen.
"Here we are?" The Frenchman asked. Arthur only nodded. This is precisely why he had wanted to walk or ride the bus. His home was a bit worse for wear, to put it nicely, and he didn't particularly care to show it off to people. It wasn't his fault; he was young, on his own, and utterly broke.
"Mon dieu…." The Frenchman mumbled. "Do you work tomorrow Arthur?"
"Um…no." And before the Brit could even ask why the car was pulling away.
"Let's go for a drink or something."
/OOO/
It had been a long time since Arthur had gone out drinking. Scratch that, not true. It had been a long time since he has gone out drinking and he wasn't alone. It was late, 12:30am at the earliest. And against what was probably his better judgment he was at a bar on the other side of town with the Frenchman.
"It astounds me." Francis said as their second round of drinks came. "You, who does not even like to give your phone number to customers, is out here with me now."
Arthur scoffed as he lowered his glass from his mouth. "We aren't at the diner are we? You're not a customer to me right now."
"So what am I then?"
"A man who dragged me here against my will."
"Non, nonsense."
By the time they left around 2 am both were a little tipsy. Neither were drunk but it was obvious that they would be taking a cab.
"That was…nice." Arthur said as he slipped into the back seat of the yellow vehicle, Francis following after. It had been nice compared to how the rest of his day had gone. Now he was just utterly exhausted.
"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."
Arthur then gave the cabbie his address before drifting off to sleep.
"Driver," Francis began when he heard the Brit's quiet snores. And the car turned in a different direction.
/OOO/
Arthur woke to the smell of food cooking. He slowly opened his eyes in curiosity and confusion. This was not his home. He sat up and looked around the room. It was a large and well furnished bedroom that was probably half as big as his entire house. Was he dreaming?
'Where the bloody hell am I?' He thought to himself as he cautiously slid out from under the covers and placed his feet on the cold, polished wood floors. He still wore his clothes from the previous day. Cautiously he peeked his head out the door before making his way towards the stairs and down them, soon entering into a kitchen.
"Ah bonjour~"
Arthur stood there blinking at the smiling Frenchman. "Um….?"
"Oh! Uh, you must be a little confused?" Arthur could only nod, words lost on him.
"Well, you see the weather was just so dreadful last night, I wanted to make sure you made it home ok."
"But, I'm not at my home." The bewildered Brit replied.
"Er…non. You're at mine." And for the first time since they had met each other all those months ago at the diner, things were awkward.
"Breakfast?" Francis asked as he tried to remain casual. Perhaps it was the alcohol the night before that had lead him to bring the Brit to his home instead of his own; it certainly seemed to have stopped him from thinking it through all the way.
"Um, yeah, sure."
As they ate the awkwardness between them eased a bit. Arthur took note of how good of a cook Francis was by the look and taste of his food. 'Why does he come to the diner and eat our slop when he can make this?' He questioned to himself as his plate was cleared from in front of him.
"So, I suppose we both need to go get our cars." Francis said as the last of dishes were placed in the sink. "I'll go call us a cab."
Arthur nodded. "I…er, do you, could I use your shower real quick before we go?" He asked a bit awkwardly.
"Sure, it's upstairs, 2nd door on the left. Towels are under the vanity."
/OOO/
Arthur arrived back at his own sorry excuse of a home around 11:30 a.m. He couldn't believe that man. He knew that he had taken him back to his own house out of sheer pity. The Brit stared at the peeling paint on his walls and the water stains on his ceiling where the roof leaked. The Frenchman's own house was huge and luxurious, and water tight, or so he could assume if the kitchen, bedroom and bathroom were any indication. The man's shower alone was as big as Arthur's own single bathroom, not including the large vanity and claw foot tub.
"Who the bloody hell does he think he is…" He mumbled to himself as he slumped onto his old worn out sofa. "And who the bloody hell does he think I am?"
/OOO/
Francis was sure that he had messed up. Big time. The next time he came into the dinner on Thursday, something had changed. Nothing horribly unpleasant, but changed nonetheless. Arthur put in his order to the kitchen and went about his way, only sparing a 'hello' to him out of courtesy. Was he angry? Embarrassed? He wasn't sure but he wanted to find out. After all, Arthur was really the only reason Francis had continued coming to the shabby little diner after his first visit.
Francis Bonnefoy was many things: A writer, musician, chef, and even a food critic from time to time. Between all of his passions in life, he did very well for himself. One of his favorite things to do in his spare time, if he made any for himself that is, was to go around and eat at places that were….out of his normalcy. Had it been any normal encounter the Frenchman would have ate, wrote in his journal how the food was, if anything, standard for a hole-in-the-wall diner in a less than glamorous part of town, and been on his merry way. But it had not been a normal encounter for him by any means. The moment he first saw the younger man (Not too much younger, he had thought to himself, maybe three years at the most) He had been struck first by his eyebrows (Yes, they were rather noticeable at a first glance) And then the striking forest-green eyes beneath them that, dare he even think it, gave the eyebrows a certain charm as well. Love at first sight was a concept that he had never believed in. But all things in this world were subject to change.
/OOO/
He couldn't take it anymore. It had been three weeks now without the Brit sparing him so much as a glance. As soon as the man went on break (Francis had been waiting around the cafe all day waiting for him to do so) He rushed out the door after him
"Arthur, wait!"
The Brit stopped and turned. "What do you want?" he asked sternly.
"I want to apologies, for whatever it was that made you angry at me." He had caught up with Arthur by now and was standing before him. He had never noticed that he was just slightly taller than the young waiter.
"What's the point in apologizing if you don't even know what you're sorry for?"
"Then enlighten me, please." The Frenchman all but begged. The shorter man just gave a huff as they stood there awkwardly.
"I'm not a charity case…" The Brit mumbled after a few moments of horrid silence. The Frenchman stared at him a moment, confused, before the generic light bulb clicked on in his head. He was talking about his house, his horribly shambled wreck of a home. (Even after drinking he could see that Francis had no desire for him to return to that place.)
"Arthur…" He began. "Arthur, I'm sorry that you think that I thought that, it's just…."
"Just what? Look, just because I may not be living the high-life like you right now doesn't mean I need your sympathy!" He snapped back, fire brimming in his emerald eyes.
"Non non non, you misunderstand, I did not mean to offend you.S'il vous plaîtlet me make it up to you?"
"No, I don't associate with customers-"
"While you are working, oui I know. But you are on break right now, and you won't be working later. Won't you let me?"
/OOO/
He had agreed. For some unknown reason he had allowed the snarky Frenchman to 'Make it up to him.' Dinner had been good, a fancy restaurant of Francis' choosing. The walk along the pier had also been pleasant enough, talking and what not.
'Is he thinking this is a bloody date?' Arthur had thought to himself as they returned to the man's black car.
But this….what on earth was this?
Arthur hadn't been surprised when the taller man had invited him back to his large home when the evening had wound down. He was slightly surprised when he had stopped and stood in his way after they had entered the foyer of the home. He was utterly shocked though when Francis was suddenly upon him, lips connected to his own.
He would have pushed him off, pushed him off and ran back out the door had it not been sweeter and gentler, and more passionate than he could ever have imagined a kiss from the Frenchman being. (Not that he ever thought about such things when business was slow at the diner or anything like that…)
This would be the second night the Brit stayed at the others large, luxurious home. Only this time some things were different. He wasn't drunk, not even tipsy. He was aware of what was going on around him, and this time when he woke in the Frenchman's bed the next morning his clothes were no longer on his person, but were on the floor, and he was not alone, as he had been previous.
"Good morning, mon cheri~" Francis purred as the other rolled over in his arms. 'This is how it should be.' He thought to himself. He hadn't realized it, but he had been craving this, craving Arthur, since the day he had first met the man at the shabby little diner.
"You're an ass." The Brit stated matter-of-factly as he made to get up. No no no, this isn't how it's suppose to go!
"Where are you running off to so soon?' Francis asked as scooted across the king sized mattress to hook an arm around the waiter's waist before he could get to far.
"I'm going home, I have work later today. Can I use your shower?" He mumbled back in reply.
"Of course." Right, work, at the diner. He let his arm slide away and allowed Arthur to get up and walk towards the bathroom, to which he followed behind.
"What are you doing?" The Brit asked as he turned on the tap.
"Sharing." Francs replied coolly as he kicked off his boxers and moved to remove the Brit's own. Arthur blushed but allowed it to happen.
"You know," He began, feeling rather stupid and nervous as he stepped under the spray. "This wont be happening again."
"And why is that?" Francis asked back as he to stepped into the large shower and faced the other, both in all their naked glory. Arthur continued to blush as he tried to avert his eyes to only the Frenchman's face.
"Because," He began as he looked through all the various bottles of soap in search of shampoo. " I have a job, I'm saving up for college and home repairs and the such and have no time to be a pointless one night stand from time to time." And there it was, the nervous sensation. In all honesty this was Arthur's first time being a one night stand, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it.
Surprisingly unfazed Francis just smiled at the other. Taking a bottle he motioned for him to turn around so he could wash his hair. "No time for having one nigh stands, hm?" Arthur nodded, feeling stupid. "Well, what about being a lover, do you have time for that?"
Quickly the Brit had spun around to stare at the other in disbelief. He'd never done this one night stand thing, but he was pretty sure an offer like that wasn't standard. "Are you serious? I don't appreciate humor like that you know."
"I am being 100% serious, mon amour~"
/OOO/
Weeks passed. Arthur had never been someone's lover before, never been in love. But he would have to admit that at times it could be...nice. They bantered, and argued, and hugged, and kissed, and went on dates, and argued some more. And still every Thursday Francis would visit the diner. And every day Arthur feared it would all fall apart. All his life he had only known two things. School and work. Love was a new and foreign territory for him. But it couldn't be all bad, especially when he had sold his shamble of a home to move into a large, luxurious and familiar one, much to Francis' delight. Or the day he had finally saved enough money to start college, and was able to write home to mom and dad that he was finally making it. Or a few years later, when he had finally quite the diner to start his career in music recording that he had agreed to take a trip to France with his lover, his boyfriend and by the end of that trip, his husband.
/OOO/
Ok, so this was a (Failed in my opinion) attempt at trying to write a longer story. I find that long stories and me don't mix. I feel like I have a good idea, but then loose sight of it and end up rambling. The end kinda sucks too but I just wanted to finish it. Maybe I will go back and revise it one of these days when i feel ambitious. Should I? Anyways, reviews are always welcome. Sorry it's not so great haha. (BTW they went to France cause Same-sex marriage is legal there now, I don't know if it is or not in the UK.)