Dormez-vous? Chapter 1

Francis stood in the shadows, a wide smile plastered on his face, hands tracing the tree he concealed himself behind as he observed his neighbor Arthur Kirkland go about his work. Arthur was a strange child, there was no denying it, and each morning, just as the sun was rising, Francis would watch from the window as the child snuck off into the woods. It was just a week ago that he had begun following him, and quite often the younger boy caught him doing this, but this only made it more fun, and so Francis continued his game of stalking the young Englishman every day.

Arthur was giggling and talking to himself, the shadows dancing off his green cape. "Oh, Tinkerbell you're so funny!" He squeaked, dancing around with his mystical friends that only he could see and waving about a holly berry stick, pretending it was a wand. Suddenly he bowled over, as if someone had headbutted him in the stomach, and broke into a fit of laughter as he sat on the ground, catching his breath. "Silly Uni!" He chuckled, reaching out to stroke the thin air. Francis was watching this whole time with bright eyes, and his hand over his mouth to keep him from giggling aloud. What was wrong with this child? He wondered as Arthur continued to look around him and laugh.

All of a sudden Arthur grew quiet, and he looked over his left shoulder, face serene. "But...I can't do that well." He murmured, looking almost shy. A cool wind blew through the forest, ruffling the fallen orange and red leaves, and Francis felt his spine tingle. England was looking around now, lips pressed together in a hard line, listening. Finally, he smiled, and said, "Well, I suppose so, but only for you guys."The spy hidden behind the tree couldn't help but turn red at the thought of what the child's friends could have asked him to do. Francis had a naturally dirty mind, though he was young, and he was currently imagining the smaller boy na-

Arthur stood up and tilted back his head, interrupting Francis from his perverted thoughts. He made a sound in his throat, then peeped out from under his lids for a minute, before continuing in a nervous voice:

"Are you sleeping? Are you sleeping?

Brother John, Brother Jon.

Morning bells are ringing! Morning Bells are ringing!

Ding. Dang. Dong. Ding. Dang. Dong."

Francis almost died inside when the child started singing, and that song too. He felt a strange feeling inside, a good feeling, and he smirked. 'Too bad he's not singing it in the right language.' He yearned, the soft, sweet voice of Arthur still ringing in his ears. He wanted to hear it in French.

As soon as he'd stopped, Arthur began laughing again. "Oh, I'm not that good, Captain Hook~." He squealed, rolling about in the grass with a giggle. "You're all so nice!" When he was done rolling he ended up laying on his back, staring at the sky. "I'm so glad I have friends like you, I-" He stopped in mid sentence, and that was when Francis knew he was in trouble. "Is that perfume?" Arthur said, wrinkling his nose.

'Damn!' Francis thought, wanting to slap himself on the head, but there was no escaping now. He watched Arthur patiently, deciding on what to do.

It turned out the boy was beginning to get rather scared (he was by himself in the dark woods, mind you) and he started to look around despairingly in search of an enemy. "Show yourself!" He snapped, whisking his holly stick through the air as little tears budded in his frightened, green eyes. "I'll fight you!" He challenged, and his face blossomed red.

Sighing, Francis emerged from the trees. He no longer bore a smile upon his face. "You sung the song wrong." He pointed out quietly.

"You! Frog!" Arthur spat furiously, waving the holly stick around threateningly. He no longer looked afraid, but rather angry that he had been afraid in front of this boy he was suppossed to hate. "I told you to leave me alone, Francis Bonnefoy! You know our parents don't like us hanging out!"

"I don't care." Francis stated bluntly, hands in his pockets. He was adorned in a flashy blue cape, a foppy shirt, bright red pants and tall boots and he stepped daintily when he walked.

"You stink." Said the other boy, whose dull earthen colored clothes were spattered in mud and had leaves stuck on them, with a dismissive twist of his wrist. "You smell like a woman. It's unnatural." He looked away.

Francis kept getting closer. "Ahonhon, mon ami, you're just embarrassed because you thought I was some kind of sexy demon girl when you smelt me here." He was now only inches away from Arthur, and his eyes were twinkling sharply, hands twitching. He didn't have time to react when a sudden blow from the holly stick caught him in the chest and sent him sprawling upon the ground, stunned, on his rump.

Arthur looked down at him smugly. "That'll teach ya, snail-slurping bastard."

His words stung, maybe worse than the rising welt on Francis' chest, and he leapt to his feet angrily. "It's not nice to hit people!" He cried out, rubbing his hands along the length of his front. "And stop repeating those things your parents say!" In a flash Francis' hand had darted forwards and retrieved the stick from Arthur's hands. The littler boy whimpered and raised his hands protectively in front of him, but Francis merely threw the stick away. "You're a gentleman, mon cher, not a jerk."

Arthur gave him a quick look of thanks for not striking back, but his eyes soon flickered away and buried themselves into the ground near his shoes. He remained standing like this, not meeting Francis' eyes, and breathing in little quick and angry breaths. Francis gave him a moment to calm down before he said, "You know, you weren't singing that song right." He finally murmured, putting a hand on Arthur's shoulder.

The latter shrugged it off. "I was too!" He chirped half-heartedly. "That's how it goes!"

"Non." Francis ignored this boy that he considered a friend, flipping his shoulder-length blonde hair out of his face. "The real song is in French." Arthur didn't look too pleased to hear this, but he did give Francis a prodding look, and Francis took this to heart and sang out:

"Frere Jaques, frere Jaques,

Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?

Sonnez les matines! Sonnez les matines!

Din. Dan. Don. Din. Dan. don."

Arthur was silent for a moment, staring at Francis' shoes as he contemplated his. He looked so tiny - short and stout, eyes glazed downwards underneath his bushy eyebrows, teeny hands balled into fists. Finally he looked up. "So...Frair-eh zhak-a?" He attempted to pronounce, and this caused France to go into a giggle fit. Arthur turned red. "I-if you're just gonna make fun of me-" He began.

"Non, non, non!" Francis interjected, patting Arthur's messy blonde hair with his hand. "Sit down, I'll teach you how to sing it right." And he took the smaller boy by the hand and led him over to a falled log in the clearing. They sat there for the rest of the day, practicing, until, finally, Arthur was able to say the words right, and remember them. There had been a sparkle in the child's eyes when he had been praised, and a glow about his very being that made Francis feel right... All the former negativity they bore towards each other had vanished within the heat of the moment, the excitement, the squalls of laughter, and the sweetness of victory.

When the sun was setting on their day, Arthur was the first to head back towards home. For once, he was smiling when he waved a hand behind his back at Francis. "See you around, Fra-Franc-Frog!" He stumbled over his words, fighting the red color that threatening his cheeks again, then turned and sprinted through out of the woods towards where his home stood, and out of sight.

Francis watched him go with a smile on his face, and once he was out of sight for good he started heading back towards his manor. Something had gone right in his life, for once, and it soothed his inner pains. In fact, he wished he could stay with Arthur forever, and cover up all that inner pain that was threatening to burst from his chest and make him weep blood on the floor. 'Inner pain,' He thought to himself, closing his eyes as he trudged home, 'but for now, everything is perfect.' and he smiled.

XXXX

Back at Francis' house, Auguste was wondering where his ever-annoying never-present bastard of a son was, and why he wasn't home like he should be. The man paced the room, bottle of whiskey opened and drained halfway in his hand, eyes surrounded with red rings of incoherence. His wife lay somewhere, but not in bed, and he didn't feel like searching for her. Maybe she wasn't even home, and besides, he didn't want her revolting, complaining body around right now. He wanted Francis. "Merde, Francis, you little brat, where are you?" He asked aloud, though his words were slurred together when he spoke. He took another swig from his bottle, and the darkness began to grow inside of him, slowly consuming all remnants of logic and mercy inside him. "Stupid brat." He snarled, downing the rest of his bottle before throwing it against the wall hard. He laughed when it broke, a deep, drunken laugh, and fell back onto the couch in waiting.

It was at that moment Francis walked in, and his smile was shattered.

At the same time, somewhere away, Arthur lay on his bed and wept for the scolding and slap to the face he had just received from singing in French, and slowly he began to hate Francis. It was all his fault.