Chapter Text
t was a beautiful Christmas Eve. The snow had chosen to fall quietly and slowly, lightly dusting the recently shoveled driveways. Arthur Kirkland had his hands in the pockets of his green coat, and he took in the night with slight awe. It was by far the prettiest Christmas Eve he had experienced, and it made his stomach flutter with anticipation.
Because, unlike all of the times he had spent Christmas Eve staring out the window, he had someone to share this night with. A certain blonde-haired, blue-eyed person who, for some reason, loved him passionately. And Arthur loved him back, more than he thought he was capable of.
Staring at the decorated houses, he smiled when he saw two boys playing in the snow. Their names were Peter and Rodney, and Arthur had properly met them exactly two years ago, when he was making his first trek to Francis's house on Christmas Eve.
He had been incredibly nervous, so much so that he had jumped about a foot in the air when a blue-eyed boy, who he now knew was Peter, had shouted, "Hey, what d'ya have roses for?"
Arthur had turned to the little boy, a bit annoyed. "I'm giving them to a friend. Actually, I'm going to be late, so-"
Peter had giggled, looking to his older brother Rodney as if sharing a joke. "Silly, you don't give roses to friends! Not red ones at least! Those represent true love! Right, Rod?"
Rodney had shifted nervously. "Um, yes, that's what Da says, but the boy can do whatever he wants, don't make him mad, Pete."
The younger boy had rolled his eyes. "Stop being so wishy washy! I'm just telling him the truth!"
At this point, Arthur was trying to sneak away when a giant blonde man had stepped outside. "B'ys, wh't 'r ya d'ing?" Then, he noticed Arthur, standing awkwardly. "Oh. H'llo. C'n I h'lp ya?"
Before Arthur could respond, Peter had leapt at his dad. "Daddy! The boy with the eyebrows said he's going to give roses to a friend and I told him he couldn't give red roses to a friend and then Rodney was being a scaredy-cat and- You can't give red roses to a friend, right?"
The man had looked up at the roses in Arthur's hand, and something like a smile had appeared on his face. "N't f'r a fr'nd, 'r th'y?"
Arthur had smiled back at the man, a bit sheepish. "No, sir. They're for my boyfriend."
"W'll, 'm s're h's m'ss'ng ya. S'rry 'f P'tr b'thrd ya." The man had motioned for the two boys to come in, and Peter had turned to look at Arthur before going inside.
"You could've just told me," the boy had said. "Oh! And my name is Peter!"
Arthur had done a slight bow, making Peter laugh. "Arthur. Thanks for the lesson on red roses."
"You're welcome! I hope your boyfriend likes them!" Peter had shouted after Arthur.
"Me too," Arthur had whispered quietly to himself.
As he came closer to the now familiar boys, Arthur automatically started smiling, and Peter rushed at him. "Arthur! You've got your roses! Ooh! They're really pretty this year."
Arthur nodded, "Yes, I thought so. Excited for Christmas?"
Peter had giggled. "Duh! Of course I'm excited! Hey, what did you get Frog this year, besides roses?"
Arthur's eyes shined, and he held out a blue present. "Guess."
Peter scrunched up his nose, thinking. "Um, is it a bomb?"
Arthur laughed, ruffling the short boy's hair. "No. I don't actually want to kill him, remember?"
Rodney shuffled over, curious as well. "Is it something French?"
Arthur nodded happily. "Good guess. Now, I have to give this something to the frog, and you two always make me late. Oh! I did bring you lads something, though." Arthur proceeded to pull two candy canes out of his pocket.
Peter smiled brightly. "Gee, thanks! I love candy canes!" He ripped the wrapping around the red and white candy, sticking it into his mouth.
Rodney thanked him as well, but he looked up at Arthur seriously for a second and said, "You should probably go kiss your boyfriend before he gets mad at you."
Arthur burst out laughing. "You, Rodney, are a wise boy. I'm going to go do just that. You two behave now, and have a happy Christmas!"
Rodney and Peter nodded, waving, before going back to work on their snowman, candy canes in hand.
Finally, Arthur found himself in front a familiar white door. Before he could knock, however, the door flew open and he was pulled inside in a rush, and found himself being kissed. Arthur didn't even bother to check that it was Francis before kissing back, his eyes closed. He knew the Frenchman's smell by heart, and, well, not very many people could kiss like Francis.
Not wanting to crush the roses, Arthur gently pulled away. "Well, you're awfully excited this Christmas. Any reason?"
Francis grinned, fiddling with his long blonde hair. "Non… I just love when you bring me roses."
Arthur blushed slightly, handing them over to the eagerly awaiting Francis. "Right, well. This is a once a year thing."
Francis smiled, fondling the rose petals. "I know. "
Looking around the house, Arthur's eyes stopped on a doorway. They quickly looked at all of the other doorways. "Um, Francis…. Not that I care or miss it, but where in world is the mistletoe?"
Francis looked at him sarcastically, crossing his arms. "I don't know, mon cher, you tell me."
Arthur looked down sheepishly. "Oh… Well, I figured you would have gotten some more by now… And, since it's almost Christmas, I'll just tell you it's all stashed in Lovino's gun safe."
Francis laughed, kissing Arthur on the cheek. "I was just teasing you. Antonio got that out of Lovi a week ago."
Arthur's eyes widened. "The traitor!"
"You ended up telling me, didn't you?"
"On Christmas Eve, when there's no point anymore! Not a week before! … But wait, why haven't you guys gone and stolen it, then? Or convinced Lovino to let you have it?"
Francis shrugged. "Well… I, I- I suppose I was pushing it a bit last year and this year. I might 'ave deserved it."
Arthur laughed. "Quite right. I would never do something if you didn't deserve it. Speaking of which, I don't know when you want to open presents, but-"
Francis's eyes lit up, and he rushed over to the giant Christmas tree in his living room. "Merde, I almost forgot! We can do presents now."
Arthur walked over to the tree, taking the time to appreciate how beautiful it was. It wasn't anything like his tree, with its mess of ornaments and colored lights, the Bonnefoy tree was all perfectly designed. Much like Francis, Arthur mused in the small romantic part of his brain.
"You can open yours first."
Arthur blinked down at his boyfriend, snapping out of his reverie. "Oh, right. If you insist." He sat down next to the tree, gently taking the package from Francis. "You really spend too much time wrapping these things."
Francis smirked. "You don't spend enough time, cher."
Arthur glared. "I wrap perfectly fine, Frog! Not everyone feels the need to use four different kinds of ribbon."
"Five," Francis corrected, placing his head in his hands as he watched the green-eyed boy delicately slip his fingers under the tape.
Arthur was one of those people who refuse to rip the wrapping paper. An unfortunate thing to be, really, when you're dating Francis Bonnefoy.
Said boy sighed. "Arthur, I really don't mind if you tear the paper. I know my wrapping is beautiful, but-"
"You wrapped it like this; you have to wait as it's unwrapped." Arthur looked over at his boyfriend smugly, before going to the other side of the present and un-taping it slowly.
Francis sighed again, using his time to watch Arthur's face under the Christmas lights. He really was beautiful. It was an understated beauty, but at the same time, it was everywhere. It was in the way Arthur held a teacup, closing his eyes and breathing in the steam. It was in the way he was grumpy and stand-offish to most people, but he loved children. He would bend down, tell them stories, pat them on the head… He really was wonderful. Yes, Francis had always had good taste, but Arthur… He hadn't known what he was doing with Arthur. He wasn't aware he was choosing the most perfect person for him at the time. He knew now, though.
A small gasp brought Francis's attention to the now unwrapped present in Arthur's lap. He watched as hands ran across the worn book and traced the title and the vines creeping along the spine, and finally stopped on the single rose.
Bright green eyes finally made contact with blue ones. "I thought you hated Shakespeare," Arthur whispered quietly.
Francis sat up, reaching out to stroke the choppy blonde hair he loved so much. "Non, I simple doubted an Englishmen's ability to write romance. You inspired me to finally read it."
"Oh," Arthur replied intelligently. "So, did he meet your standards?""
Francis smiled. "I think you'll find the answer inside."
Arthur's eyes narrowed threateningly. "If you crossed out or tore an antique copy of one of the greatest plays in literature, I will murder you." Francis only smiled, motioning towards the play in Arthur's lap.
Carefully opening the book, Arthur read the words scrawled out on the inside cover. His eyes went from word to word, sometimes widening and sometimes closing for a few seconds. Silently, he went to the next page, and the next.
Finally closing the cherished book, Arthur grabbed Francis into a tight hug, grasping his shirt in an extremely rare sign of need and dependency.
Francis hugged back, stroking Arthur's blonde hair again. A muffled voice said, "You annotated the entire thing. For me."
"W-well, I didn't mean to at first, but I found myself underlying things that reminded me of you, and I just kept making little comments. I wanted to keep it pristine for you, but-"
Arthur's grip tightened even more. "No. It's better this way."
Francis chuckled. "I'm glad you think so."
Finally letting go, Arthur was about to turn away when hands grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss. It was tender and seemed to last for ages. Arthur broke away, and quoted with a small smile, "You kiss by the book."*
Francis arched an eyebrow. "Same to you. Now, can I open my present?"
Arthur shifted nervously. "Right. Of course. Here it is." He handed the blue package to Francis, not looking at him.
A bit suspiciously, Francis took the package. "Do you want me to save the paper?" Francis teased.
Arthur harrumphed, crossing his arms. "No, it's perfectly fine. I didn't use three layers of paper like some people."
Francis shook his head, looking at the abundance of tape and wrinkled blue paper that was a bit ripped but covered up with more tape or extra paper. "You certainly didn't, cher."
Nevertheless, Francis tried to be somewhat careful with the paper, gently tearing it to see a dark brown wood underneath. Ripping away the rest of the paper, he found himself looking at a rose. One rose beautifully carved into the wood, simple yet perfect. Quite like his Arthur, Francis thought.
Examining the rest of what he saw was a box, Francis found it reminded him a lot of France, with the elegant design and gold lock. Looking over at Arthur, Francis found himself being handed a small key.
Staying silent in some kind of agreement they had made in the last minute, Francis took the key and placed it inside the lock. Opening the box, he was surprised to hear small chimes start to form a melody. An extremely familiar- Francis whipped his head towards Arthur, eyes wide.
"I thought you 'ated this song."
Arthur shrugged, smiling. "Well, it would seem we've both been lying about things we hate."
Francis smiled back, humming along to the tune as he examined the music box's contents. Inside, there was a piece of paper, crinkled and folded so that it fit inside the box. Taking it gingerly, Francis opened it. He read the words once, and then again. Confusedly, he looked towards Arthur, but his boyfriend was pointedly looking out the window. "C'est en français...(It's in French)" he muttered. "Avez-vous demandez à quelqu'un de traduire? (Did you have someone translate this?)"
Arthur finally looked over. "No, I wrote it in French. You can't just translate from English to French, it messes-"
Francis grabbed Arthur and somewhat slammed him against the window. "Since when do you understand French? When do you write poetry in French?"
Arthur looked at him in shock. "First of all, that hurt." Francis immediately softened his grip, caressing the back of Arthur's head in a wordless apology. "And second of all, it was part of your present. I took lessons online and had Matthew tutor me for months..."
"Parle en français. (Speak in French)"
Arthur looked away again. "No."
Francis bent closer, tilting Arthur's chin back towards him. "Pourquoi pas? (Why not?)"
"Hmm... let me think. Perhaps because you're actually fluent in French and you'll just laugh at how awful I am at it?"
Francis kissed Arthur fully on the lips, cupping the shorter blonde's face in his hands. Breaking away, he quietly murmured. "You learned French for me, cher. You managed to find a music box with my favorite song and-" Francis kissed Arthur one more time, "You wrote a love poem. I wouldn't dare mock you."
Arthur cringed. "It wasn't really a love poem..."
Francis laughed, brushing back Arthur's hair. "Mon amour... It was a love poem. Just admit it."
Arthur shook his head. "No. It wasn't. It was just about you and some of your more... admirable qualities. That doesn't mean it's a love poem."
Francis raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't it, though? Really, Lapin... Just say it."
Arthur looked away, firmly ignoring the pleading baby-blues looking at him. "I will not."
Francis sighed. "Well, I guess I'll have to ask Gilbert and Spain what they think about it..."
Arthur's eyes snapped towards his boyfriend. "You wouldn't dare."
Francis grinned, knowing he had Arthur firmly in a corner. "You know I would, cher. 'Owever, if it's not a love poem... you have nothing to worry about, oui?"
Arthur mumbled something under his breath.
"What was that?" Francis asked, his eyes twinkling.
"C'était un poème d'amour (It's a love poem), okay?"
So that's what an angel sounds like, Francis thought as he felt his heart burst and his mind lose all sense of thought. Luckily, he managed to tackle Arthur into the ground. Kissing him on the forehead, eyes, cheeks, and finally lips, Francis managed to say, "Mon dieu, your accent is the most adorable thing I 'ave ever 'eard."
Arthur blushed from underneath Francis. "It's really not... I'm awful at French."
Francis smiled, finally giving Arthur space. "Non, you just need practice. Repeat after me, Je 'taime."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "I know that. It was the first thing I ever learned."
"Well, then, you should be an expert at saying it," Francis replied, motioning for Arthur to speak.
Shaking his head, Arthur suddenly pulled Francis back down, whispering, "Je t'aime plus que tout. (I'll love you for life)" He then proceeded to kiss Francis, vaguely aware that "La vie en rose" was still playing in the background.
Eyes that make me lower mine,A laugh that's lost on his lips
That's the true portrait
Of the man I belong to
When he takes me in his arms,
He whispers softly to me,
I see life in rosy hues.
He gives me words of love,
Everyday words
And it does something to me.
He's come into my heart,
A share of happiness
Which I know the reason for.
He is for me and I am for him for life,
He has told me, has sworn to it for life.
And as soon as I glimpse him,
I can feel
my beating heart.
- La Vie En Rose, Edith Piaf