for truefangirl23 ^-^

chapter them all

'Candied Dreams' confectioner's.

Arthur Kirkland sighed, pulling his reading glasses off of his nose in defeat. His partner, a rather tired-looking Francis Bonnefoy, diverted his attention from reading to the Brit on the other side of the room.

"What's wrong?" Came the voice, rich with a French lilt.

"This bloody design." Arthur narrows his eyes at the threads and fabrics in front of him, mocking him with their presence.

"Is it really that terrible?" The Frenchman arose from his chair, and dragged himself to the other side of the room. He was being rather slow, but who could blame him? Having just fought in and survived a war, and all. Arthur himself had also signed up for the army, but was sent home after a bullet getting trapped in his leg. He used to just sit at home, the rooms above the sweetshop, and await the arrival of Francis' updates. He was brought food by various members of the village, as he rarely left the house, but mainly by one of Francis' best friends, a Spaniard by the name of Antonio Fernández Carriedo, whom Arthur didn't like very much, a mutual feeling between the two, but was temporarily united with by their worry for Francis' well-being. Antonio would bring food, and Arthur would return the favour by knitting scarves, hats and the like for Antonio's two nephews that had recently moved in.

"Yes!" Arthur shrieked. "Look! This makes no sense!" He jabbed an accusing finger at the fabric, apparently directing his finger towards one single hole. "I'm supposed to be able to get six threads through here! I know my needlework is impeccable, but this is asking far too much." Francis didn't know an awful lot about embroidery, or any type of sewing, really, but he tried his best to be consoling.

"Why don't you take a break, mon cœur? You're going to stress yourself out."

"Don't you go telling me what I'm going to do! I'm perfectly fine, thank you." Arthur crossed his arms defiantly, eyes closed with absolute disgust, but his expression softened when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Cher." Arthur turns his head away. "Come on, you bébé grande!" Francis chuckled, leaning down to Arthur's level.

"Shut up, bastard." Came the reply. Well, he could only manage a 'bast-' before he could feel another pair of lips pressed against his own. The Brit pulled away, quite red in the face, adamant.

"Don't you try to win me over, you flirt!" Arthur pushed the Frenchman in the stomach, which didn't do an awful lot, seeing as Francis was now sitting on top of him. Francis brushed his partner's hair to one side, tilting his head, and holding Arthur's chin in his fingers.

"Now," he purred. "Are you going to allow me to steal just one more kiss?"

"Over my dead body." Arthur spat.

Francis never got that kiss, due to an abrupt knock on the door. The Frenchman sighed, dismounting Arthur and making his way downstairs. Arthur followed relatively closely behind; even if he didn't admit it, he was still concerned about the Frenchman's well-being. He also may not have been able to hold in his laughs if Francis had fallen down the stairs.

The interior of the near-abandoned sweetshop was quaint, yet strangely appealing. It was dusk, so the orange glow of the sky had leaked through the windows, and was colouring all the jars on the shelves with a tangerine hue, giving the whole establishment a very cosy and all-around homely feel. It warmed Arthur's heart to glance around the shop, Francis' shadow distorted on the ground, on the walls... He was happy that he could still see that shadow.

"Oui? Ah, Toni!" Francis beamed at his friend, arms open for a hug. Of course, Antonio squeezed him as tightly as possible.

"Francis, Francis, buenos, mi amigo!"The Spaniard grins, a sparkling grin that brightened the dully lit room. Arthur didn't particularly like this development.