Arthur sat with his head in his hands perched over himself, breathing heavily. He could feel the sweat clinging to him, except it was more vicious than sweat, more like a sheet of cooking oil. It was hot today, he mused, trying to think of something cold. He raised his head up, taking in his current surroundings. Groups of people over passed him, all equally exhausted and tired. Arthur moved himself to the side lines and allowed himself to slide down onto the ground, grasping onto his forehead. Even a small action like moving his hand had started to begin using too much energy.

As he caught his breath back, a large slap was earned onto his shoulder and the small blonde released a pained yelp. He glared up above him at the beaming Frenchman. Most of his form was blocked from the sunlight, only his large silhouette signified who it was.

"Piss off," Arthur grumbled between gritted teeth, "If I wanted you here, I would have called you over."

"Your words wound me, mon petite lapin," a coy smile etched its' way onto Francis' features. "You seem tired." he mused, obviously internally laughing and mocking Arthur's current state. The irony of it all was that Francis' didn't take part in the track running. Instead, he opted to take scores and time the runners.

Arthur didn't fight back, much to Francis' amusement. He lifted up a clipboard, looked at a stopwatch and wrote something down. "3 minutes and 37 seconds," he said, laughing, "Not bad for an unfit slug such as you."

The Englishman only scoffed and trailed his gaze to watch the remaining runners, until he noticed that these were the people who opted to run the 1500 metres instead, and then he groaned. He couldn't quite fathom why anyone would want to run that much. Alfred was one of those people, he noted. He found himself watching him most of the time, going at his own pace; he was still very much in the lead of the group. His muddy blonde hair clung to his face with a light slip of sweat. Arthur felt a pang of jealousy fill him up as Alfred crossed the finish line, collapsing as he did so.

He continued watching the younger man, seemingly fascinated by the ways his muscles moved against one another. Alfred had a muscular build; they weren't quite as defined as they could be, but good enough to give anyone a good example of the strength he possessed. He worked out after school sometimes, in the gym. Arthur would often see him as he walked past the room to get club applications from the staff lounge for willing pupils, he would also get momentarily distracted if Alfred had his back turned to the window, lifting weights. He also saw him outside playing some stupid sport called football, but if anything, it just looked like an idiot version of rugby.

"Has someone caught your eye, mon petite lapin?" Francis smirked, following Arthur's eyes to rest on the American still spread over the ground. Arthur jerked his head and frowned, he hadn't noticed he was still watching. A small blush crept over his face as he rose to stand up from the ground. He was momentarily impressed that the ground didn't dampen his shorts today, like it usually did.

Arthur simply batted Francis off, instead choosing to watch his feet idly. Wiggling his toes within his shoes, he could feel the sweat sheeting his skin and grimaced slightly at the feel. He wasn't at ease, however; he could still feel the Frenchman's gaze bore holes into his side, slowly but surely tearing about his defences. Arthur knew as well as Francis that if they both continued to do nothing, Arthur would become agitated and surely spill something from his mouth; be it curses or something worthwhile listening to. Francis knew the former would come, but still, he pressed on, confident in his abilities.

Eventually, Arthur shifted uncomfortably and rose to snap his eyes into Francis' only to watch the smirk grow wider on the frog's face. The Englishman inevitably groaned and swatted his hand at the air slightly, as if trying to fend off a bug. "Would you stop that?" he started, "It's kind of irritating." A laugh tore through the hot air, the sound almost mocking to Arthur's ears.

"Well, you managed to skilfully avoid my question," Francis' eyes suddenly grew serious, focusing straight into the emerald that shone in front of him, "I've noticed you stealing glances off of him."

Arthur played dumb; fondling the edges of his sweat ridden shirt slightly after tearing his locked gaze with Francis, only to dumbly stare at the fence surrounding the playing fields. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Letting the accusation die down slightly, Francis only nodded and turned his back to Arthur. He began moving, leaving Arthur to walk to the finish line of the track to greet Alfred; his eyes suddenly filled with amusement. Good, Arthur thought, At least he can go bug him and not me. He tried to ignore the slight pang of jealousy that accumulated inside.

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That had been the first time Arthur had felt that way. He hadn't noticed it before Francis had mentioned it, but he had began looking at Alfred during classes. Arthur had brushed it off previously as just making sure he was behaving himself and not passing notes between Matthew. He started to become suspicious of his own actions after some time however, when he caught himself watching Alfred in the changing rooms, undressing himself and dressing back up. He had noticed the American had a few scars across his body; sport injuries he thought; that, and he knew Alfred had a habit of climbing trees.

It wasn't just in the changing rooms; in the Art classes, Arthur had noticed that Alfred looked simply adorable splashing paint onto himself and Matthew. He had began to wonder why he didn't get as filled with anger at the waste of school supplies like he usually did, instead opting to watch the brothers mess around a little bit before actually deciding to storm over and rip the brushes out of their grasps, earning groans of annoyance. Alfred apparently had noticed too, since after a few days of this, Arthur heard the American whisper to his brother "He's been slow to react recently". The Englishman wasn't sure what annoyed him more: That fact that they had used more paint than usual that day, or the fact that they did this merely just for the sole purpose of pissing Arthur off.

Lunches were the only times Arthur felt put off with his constant American watching; the way Alfred would shovel food down his throat was frankly quite disgusting. Crumbs would spill over the table, bits of lettuce hung out of his mouth and very often, there would be this vile smear of ketchup across his cheek. He used his hands most of the time, Arthur noted, not the perfectly good cutlery provided at the cafeteria.

Arthur's favourite time to watch Alfred? During his music practise. It was silly, Arthur mused, Alfred was a talented pianist, but he was so shy about it all he often kept it to himself.

There was a small practise room at the back of the school; it was a tiny recording studio, the first one before a newer one was build on the west side. Alfred opted for the quieter room, located at the less occupied side of the school; it also just happened to be next to the Council room, a room that Arthur preoccupied frequently. It also just happened that Alfred, in his always so happy tone of voice invited Arthur to come visit him and keep him company from time to time. Those moments were Arthur's favourite: he would watch Alfred's fingers glide gracefully over the keys in perfect time, watch his eyes fill with concentration, as if one wrong note would damn him forever. He watched as the American's glasses would every so often catch the light and they would glisten so wonderfully.

Whenever Alfred finished his piece, Arthur felt a part of him sadden at the realisation that he'd have to go back to his work, only to get a reassuring smile from the man in front of the musical instrument. Don't worry, He would say, smiling the whole time; I'll invite you next time. I like it when you're here with me. It puts more pressure on me and I feel as if I need to play it perfectly.

Arthur would smile and nod, thanking him before picking up whatever files he took in with him and briskly leave the room. He realised as this went on, that he was becoming a sad, confused and sentimental man.

A/N: I totally have no idea where this came from, but I think I know where it's going from here. Excuse the bad typing, I'm not god at grammer or anything. I can usually type better than this. Honest. Also, this has onesided FrUk in later chapters, sorry if it's not your thing.