Promise: 2P!FrUK Fanfiction

White Lies

FINALLY I'M UPDATING THIS STORY. APOLOGIES FOR MY FUCKTARDNESS FOR NOT DOING IT EARLY.

What's even worse is that I updated this chapter when I wasn't finished-! Ugh well here it is. Also I'm dedicating this to FrUK_Is_Life_16 since she's wanting this fic since forever. Nevertheless here's the fic-!

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Promise: 2P!FrUK Fanfiction Written by: Meh

Summary: Everyone makes promises but only a select few will really do anything and everything to keep it. But the question is, how far will that person go?

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Chapter 3 - White Lies

"Welcome back home love."

It was the first thing François heard as walked into his apartment. He had known for a fact when he had left, Oliver had more than likely cried himself a river and half-expected to find his poor Oliver mopping, on the couch, curled up into a ball. The Frenchman had dealt with this before yet he never really knew how to comfort his lover. He often tried talking but that always seemed to make it worse so instead, he'd just hold the ginger head for hours until he would finally fall asleep. François was prepared to do that but when he heard Oliver's usual sugary voice, he was quite stunned.

"Oliver..." François said as he walked into the kitchen. "Are you- What are you doing?"

The Brit looked over his shoulder then gave him a large, sweet smile. "I'm making supper for you, love."

"Ah. I see..." François pulled out a chair and sat down as he eyed the Briton. He understood that Oliver did like to ignore things that bothered him but he had never acted this cheerful about it. Even if he was no longer upset over the Frenchman's earlier departure, Oliver must have had some trauma over the amount of gore he had seen that morning. Or at least he must have, right?

What is Oliver thinking about anyways? What got him in such a good mood...?

"Is there anything in specific you'd like for dessert darling?" Oliver chirped as he went on to get plates from the cabinet.

François snapped out of his thoughts.

"D-Dessert? Why would you make dessert...?"

Oliver giggled. His freckled cheeks flushed into a delicate shade of pink as his eyes shyly averted his gaze towards the floor. "To make you happy of course."

"To make me happy, huh?" François raised a brow.

What would make me really happy is if you would you tell me what you're thinking about... François thought as he saw the ginger head go back to his cooking. He might have been a cold-hearted but he certainly had a weak spot when it came to Oliver. Just the thought of all the horrible things that had happened to his Brit this day was heart-wrenching enough.

"Oliver?" François hesitated then let out a reluctant sigh. "What happened earlier today, I'm-"

A stack of plates clattered down loudly.

"Oh my-! I'm quite sorry poppet! I'll c-clean it up!" Oliver nervously stuttered as he bent down to pick up the broken plate.

"Here let me help you..." François said as he stood up only to be stopped by the Brit.

"N-No! You'll get cut if you do-! Let me pick it up!"

"Idiot you'll get hurt too." François knelled down and reached for one of the shard pieces. "Just let me-"

"No stop it!" Oliver frantically yelled as he grabbed the Frenchman's wrist. "Don't! I couldn't care less about my hands! They aren't as precious as your own-!"