It was morning. He could tell by the streams of light the spilled across the span of the bedroom; and across the white sheets lain over his body in a sloppy gesture. To many, the sight might be titled along the lines of "the beginning of a beautiful day." But not for Arthur Kirkland. Oh no, Arthur hated mornings with a passion. The light was further fueling the beginnings of a migraine: a result of the alcohol he had taken in other night, and probably the many nights before that. So, he turns onto his stomach quickly and shoves his head into the nearest pillow with an irritated groan.

But just as his head hits the pillow, he's up again, untangling the sheets from his legs to get a better look about the room. His hair is in disarray and he has to squint through that god forsaken light that seems to be taunting him—

Not his room. This wasn't his room.

No, he wasn't going to freak out. He had woken up in situations like this before, right? He had went to the bar last night and picked up a girl—yeah—that was it, he picked up a girl and he had nothing to worry about. Running a hand through his messy hair, he finally peels the rest of the sheets from his body and moves to stand. A sharp pain shooting down his back makes Arthur sigh and plop back down on the bed. He reaches a hand around his side to rub at his lower back.

There was only one way to make coffee, correct?

I heard a woman saying once that there was no way you could ruin a cup of coffee. It was an older woman, and she said it with such generosity that I believed her then. Now, I wasn't so sure; because the coffee I had just brewed smelled like disgusting burnt hair.

I try to brush off the smell by adding milk and sugar to it. It seems to help a bit, but I'm not sure if it tastes the way it smells.

With one last irritated glance at the coffee set I had bought this morning, I grab hold of the mug I had just poured and head towards the bedroom.

Light is spilling through the room in all different directions, so I choose to stop at the doorway. My little friend from last night is awake now – his back is turned to me, however – and he's rubbing at his lower spin with the tips of his fingers.

All the skin I can see is beautiful, especially now that I can see it in the sunlight. The sun tends to make everything looks lovelier, in my opinion; and the way it's almost reflecting off his peach colored skin takes my breath away.

"You are finally awake." Green eyes lift and snap towards the doorway as I say this. I greet him with a calm smile. He doesn't return it; but I half expected him not to, so it does not bother me. His eyebrows crinkle and he makes this expression that makes him look like he's try to will his memories from last night to return. I think it's kind of… appealing? …cute?

"I made some coffee," I say, lifting my left hand to show him the steaming mug that I'm holding.

"Thanks," he says slowly, and sends a small nod my way, "just… let me get dressed first."

He looks me up and down openly from over his shoulder, and then merely shrugs. I think the gesture is a little disrespectful but I brush it off quickly.

"You're cloths are folded in the corner," I say. He glances at said corner and then back at me.

"Thanks," he says slowly.

"When you are done dressing, you can meet me in the kitchen." I flash another smile before turning and heading back into the kitchen, where I set his mug down on the table with a sigh. Being awake during the day was indeed a difficult tactic. Although the sun doesn't make us combust in flames, like many books and movies made you believe. It does tend to… burn every now and then. It's tiring, and wares us out easily, so we usually sleep during the day. But I could not leave that little human there in my bed and have him wake up to an empty house. Non, that would be disrespectful.

A few moments later Arthur exits the room with his clothes from last night tossed on; except they look tasseled, along with his hair.

"You're coffee is on the table," I point out, motioning to the mug with a wave of my arm.

"Ah, thanks," he mumbles.

"I take it you don't remember last night?" I ask with a light chuckle. I take in the way his eyebrows wrinkle in the middle ever so slightly and he shakes his head, a bit too quickly.

"No, no," he says. "Don't get me wrong… I remember talking to you, at the bar…"

"Oui, but you don't remember coming home with me."

"Exactly," he sighs as he finally reaches forward and picks up the mug. And, with all honesty, I'm kind of frightened on what he will think of the coffee. I had never made food before, because it's not necessary for my kind to eat. I don't realize I'm staring him down until I notice he's glaring at me out of the corners of his eyes.

"What?" he snaps. "Do I have something on my face?"

"Non," I say quickly, holding up my hands in surrender. "I was just looking at you."

"Well quit it," he growls and turns his back to me. "It's creepy."

"Merci," I reply calmly. And I smile again, despite the fact that his back turned and he can't see it. Humans have such trivial minds; getting mad over nothing - tsk.

After taking a large gulp of coffee, he sets the mug gently back onto the table. "This tastes awful."

There goes my pride.

"Merci," I repeat. "I don't make coffee too often, because I don't like it."

"You should try tea..." Arthur murmurs. And I can't help but thought that him liking tea is a little too stereotypical.

"What kind of tea?" I ask. Not for myself of course. I already made it clear that I don't eat or drink human comsumptions. But, if Arthur would happen to end up in my house again, I would like to know what sort of things to make him in the morning.

For the first time that morning, he turns to me with a smile – quite similar to the one I seen him wearing at the bar when I had first seen him. He looks so beautiful when he smiles; I wish I could see it more often. "I prefer black tea's," he says, "but Japanese sencha is also very enjoyable."

"I see," I say, attempting to make myself sound curious. "I'll make sure to try those."

"I should get going," Arthur says after a moment of silence. "Thank you for the coffee… and everything."

I don't want him to leave yet. There is a lot more I would like to ask of him - there is a lot more I would like to learn. But if the man wants to leave, I can't keep him from doing so.

So I follow him to the door and hand him his coat once he has his shoes on. He shrugs on the garment and sends me another stunning smile.

"I want to see you again," I hear myself saying before I can even comprehend myself. He seems to start at this; his green eyes widen and his lips part into a sort of bristled gap. I think I see a light pinkish tint lift in his cheeks too. "You were great last night," I go on, purring. "We should go out together again sometime."

"W-What?" he gasps. "I don't even know your name."

"I told you it last night; you should be kind enough to remember it, Arthur." I object with a slight pout.

"I can't help it," he snorts in reply, "I drank too much."

"Then maybe you shouldn't drink so much, oui?"

"I'll drink as much as I like!"

"But drinking your memories away isn't healthy," I counterpart. He does not reply. Instead, he turns and barrages right out of the apartments door and down the hallway. "Wait!" I call, stepping out after him. "I still want to see you again!"

"Sod off!" he shouts over his shoulder.

He sure is different, that little human. I can't help but smile to myself when I hear the slam of the apartment's front doors.

Don't worry, Arthur Kirkland, we'll be meeting again soon.

After you get a taste of something, you always crave afterwards. And you won't stop until that craving is fulfilled.

My little human – my little master – I want to get to know you better: that is what I crave.

He slept with a man last night – that's all right, that's okay, there's no big deal behind sleeping with another man. It's not like he had never slept with another man before or anything like that. He had once; once. It was a terrible experience. But now that memories from last night were flowing back into his head, he realized that his and… that man's… experience was anything but terrible.

From first glance you could tell that that man was gorgeous. Wavy blond hair and a stubble beard that poked at Arthur's own chin when they kissed but it fit him – he made it look sexy. And those deep blue eyes were amazing – tauntingly so. They had a look of hunger in them.

Arthur shoves his hands into his pockets and groans. He shouldn't be thinking about this stuff.

He left. They would never meet again. It was over.

The Englishman, however, for some unknown reason way beyond him, felt a wave of warmth whenever he thought about the Frenchman.

Saying things like, You were great last night and I want to see you again. That bastard; he must have been teasing him!

When a bus pulls up to the curb Arthur is standing on, we allows an elderly women to board before him kindly, and then follows after. His head was pounding and his cheeks felt way too hot. He didn't want to go home though, because he knew no one was going to be there. No lover, no family – no one.

He takes a set in the back of the bus and slumps against the plastic seat with a huff.

But going home a drinking himself to sleep didn't sound like a very bad idea.

It's not like anyone would care.

I apologize that this took so long to update. I've be working on Disintegrate (my main story) so I haven't been able to get any time to write this.

But, here ya go! It's short but please enjoy.

Reviews will keep this story going, guys. I feel encouraged when I get reviews because I know that I am doing a good job. Help me out?

P.S. Tell me if you like the fact that I'm switching between France's 1st POV and England's 3rd POV. If you would like me to stick strictly to France, just let me know. But if you like having Arthur's thoughts in the mix, I can do that too.