Hello everyone. I know should be updating other things, but this came to me today. It's been too long since I've taken a walk along the Seine, so I decided to go there again. And then this came into mind.

This college / dorm does not exist. But I enjoyed writing about it.

I hope you enjoy!

.:|Silver|:.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hetalia.

Paris was not anything like Arthur would have expected it. Okay, that was a part lie. Paris was exactly how he had imagined it would be.

Snobs, horrendously bright weather, dreary sunny beaches, perverted people.

But it was also quite different from what he had expected.

Formal, too much walking, too many people.

Arthur Kirkland looked around, bright green gaze studying the train station with interest before hastily moving forwards and out of the gare. Blond hair twitched in the breeze, errant strands fluttering, and green eyes blinked before focusing on the breath taking view in front of them.

The evening sun was on its descent, its dark gold rays illuminating the green leaved trees in front of the station. Well-dressed people crossed the road, chattering into their phones, and walked towards destinations only they knew. A light breeze made the soft rustle of the leaves more noticeable.

A woman's hair whipped behind her in a small storm of brown curls.

The smell of bakeries, and meat, and something so utterly France drifted through the air lazily, winding itself through the Englishman's nose and settling into his brain. Arthur couldn't help the gasp that left him as the tops of old, yet still modern, buildings lit up from the golden shaft of light that dripped down on the scene.

Hands moving automatically, he pulled out his camera, pointing it at the scene before him and taking a picture.

Feeling like the moment had been captured sufficiently, he put the camera away and moved towards the nearest bus station.

Arthur loved the old university as soon as he had seen it. It was gorgeous, had everything he wanted, and was just…perfect. And returning to it had ignited the same love for the weathered walls again.

As the blond Englishman stood at the large window of his dorm, gazing out at the setting sun along the river Seine, he mused that his time in Paris had the potential to be excellent. The open window let in a small breeze that carried with it the smell of lilies (his favourite flower, after the rose of course) and palms. A slight tinge of fish came with it, and something that was being cooked. Arthur's eyes slipped close and the prominent eyebrows set on his pale face grew lax.

"You look peaceful," commented a voice from the room. Eyes flickering open, the blond Kirkland turned his head to the side and glanced at his roommate, a slight smile making his lips curve upwards.

"I had forgotten how nice it was here," replied the Englishman quietly, turning his face back out of the window and letting his eyes droop close. The faint, glimmering, dying light from the sun shimmered across the emerald waters of the Seine in a hypnotising way.

"I thought you didn't like Paris," remarked the other male. He stepped further into the room, dressed up in skinny jeans, classy leather shoes and a shirt that had been carelessly shoved to his elbows. His blond hair was open and rest gently on his shoulder, azure eyes glimmering merrily. The blond Englishman tilted his head back, letting the lingering rays of sun warm his neck, and blinked his eyes open, green meeting blue. The small silence in the room was broken only from the murmurs of the people out and about, and the slow rush of the Seine that was barely discernible.

"Oh, shut up frog. I just returned. You could act a bit nicer."

A soft chuckle from the Frenchman as he moved further into the room, holding his arms out.

"Come 'ere then." Arthur sighed and rolled his eyes, straightening up and turning around to face his roommate, raising an eyebrow.

"I think you should be the one coming here," he replied, lips quirking ever so slightly and green eyes, looking slightly dull in the reds, oranges, pinks and yellows that had spilled across the sky.

As the sun set over the gurgling emerald river, over the elegant buildings, over the old streets, Francis Bonnefoy settled a small kiss against Arthur Kirkland's lips.

"Welcome back, mon coeur."

I hope you liked this small drabble. I didn't realise how much I had missed Paris. Please drop a review. I really do enjoy them.

.:|Silver|:.

PS. A gare is a train station.