Authoress' Random Ramble

I came up with this at- you guessed it, 3:17 on a Saturday morning, challenged by a lightning storm and a brief bout of insomnia. I own nothing, reviews might help me get to sleep, and I really wanna finish writing so I can go outside and stand in the rain too!

Less than three. Less than three.

Arthur sat up impatiently, unable to sleep. He'd tried changing positions, messing with his pillows, even just staring at the ceiling and counting, but nothing helped. Tossing and turning all night long, and he had to admit, being an insomniac was not that pleasant. He'd gone to sleep early at the insistence of Francis; the man said that he worked too hard. Preposterous, but Arthur listened to him nevertheless.

Which brings us to where we are, 3:17 on a Saturday morning, Arthur unable to sleep, and Francis right next to him, unconscious more effectively than if Arthur had knocked him out with a well-aimed rock. After falling into a brief, fitful rest, the flashes of lighting and crashes of thunder, accompanied by the shower of rain woke Arthur and made sure that he stayed up. He had a short internal debate, stay here or out there? The air in the bedroom was hot and stifling, and that was what clinched it. He murmured a short apology to Francis, knowing he'd never hear it, and got outside as fast as possible.

In fact, Arthur doubted even the Italies running from his army could match his pace. He skidded through the hallway, took the stairs at a bound, dashed through the downstairs maze of his house-in total darkness (except for the lightning), so it was not a feat to be taken lightly- and wrenched the back door open, running full speed into the deluge.

He stood in the middle of his yard, reveling in Nature's fury. He knew it wasn't that safe, but he didn't care. Lightning was so close he could see its blue rimmed edges, and the thunder was almost deafening. Rain whipped down, given speed and direction from the wind, rapping sharply against Arthur's skin. The thunderstorms today were just as grand as they were thousands of years ago, just as terrifying and just as exhilarating. Arthur had stood in the storms then, too, because there is nothing England loves more that the rain.

Arthur made his way back inside, sopping wet and grinning from ear to ear. He was dripping on the carpet; his thin pajamas soaked through, and knew that his hair must look an utter disaster. He didn't care though, because it was worth it. And also because Francis was waiting with a towel to help dry him off. Because really, he might catch pneumonia, and where would that leave his country? Or maybe he could've been struck by lightning, despite his small stature. What if the lightning had hit a tree, and it fell on him? Not sleeping was bad enough, but standing outside in a lightning storm? What was he thinking? Wait- never mind, none of the usual rules apply to Arthur, because why should he have to care about

Arthur silences the insufferable frog with a kiss, trapping him against the hallway wall, and during the split-second flashes of lightning, he can see that the git is smiling. With his eyes, of course, his mouth is otherwise occupied.

And later, after Arthur is all dried off and cuddling with Francis under the thin blankets, he decides that maybe insomnia isn't so bad after all.