Okay I did this oneshot, I just had to.

This is based on real events, the story of my neighbours. It's just too heartbrakingly romantic, and it inspired me to write this. It's short, but dammit it made me cry while writing.

"It's not nice when you go around in dresses like that", Arthur scoffed and glared. Francoise grinned and spun around, just to tick him off.

"Why? What does it matter to you? We're both almost adults now-"

"15 is hardly an adult to me."

"-and both are free to do as they please. So why it is not nice when I wear pretty dresses?"

"Because boys will stare you."

Ah, Francoise liked where this was going.

"And why is that a bad thing?"

Arthur turned his gaze, cheeks reddening. His answer was barely audible.

"Because I don't like it."

"Are you...jealous, perhaps?" she smirked, stepping closer to the Brit. Instead of saying something, Arthur gave her a kiss.

London was being bombed. The attacks had begun a month ago. People were evacuated to the countryside. So were families Bonnefoy and Kirkland, but it's a cruel world we live in.

Arthur and Francoise were sent to different places, far from each other. They didn't know where the other one was, they didn't even know were they alive.

The first three months were the hardest. Whenever she could get a newspaper to her hands, she browsed it carefully, double-checking every article about the bombings and who had died, fearing the worse. In a way, she was hoping to find something that would indicate where Arthur was, or had been. She just wanted to know about him.

Slowly Francoise began to face the fact it was almost impossible to find Arthur. She accepted she might never be able to see him again. So she let go, moved carefully forward with her life.

She still read every article.

The war had ended. Too many had died for Francoise to care. In the end, she didn't know what had happened to him. Was he dead, was he alive, was he in London? Too many questions and not a single ansrews.

The Bonnefoy family decided to stay in the countryside and not return to London. Francoise accepted it, being aware of their house's state. It had been bombed down soon after they had fled.

She got married. The man was a cheery Spaniard who knew exactly how to make her smile. She loved him dearly, and wished to stay with him as long as she was breathing.

Years went by. Antonio had died two years ago. As cheery as the man was, he could not fight cancer anymore than of the others who had it. She was left alone with three children and eight grandchildren. She was happy in her small cottage, yet often wondered where her life would've went if she had found Arthur.

Her brown locks were now gray, and her skin had turned wrinkly. In her younger days, she had been a wild one, teasing young males for fun, but she had calmed down. Matthew, her son, often said the elderhood suited her. Maybe he was right.

One day someone rang the doorbell. Francoise wasn't expecting any visitors. Puzzled, she bookmarked her book, and stood up (even if she was 71, she was in excellent shape!) and walked to the door. The door opened with a creak, revealing an unfamiliar older man, around the same age as her, behind it.

"Yes, may I help you?" she asked politely. The man had a gentlemany feel, a nice shirt and a black, stylish jacket. His hair was a mess though.

"As a matter of fact you may", he said, accent thick and british, voice somehow familiar, "would you happen to be Francoise Bonnefoy?"

"Yes, except the last name is different nowadays. And you are?"

"Guess."

She raised an eyebrow. A gentleman, sure. Looks may deceive. She didn't say anything though. Her eyes studied the man's facial features, body type, eyes...all so familiar. She knew this man, but who was he?

The eyebrows.

They were thick.

And black, a weird contrast to the white hair. How had she missed such thing?

It hit her hard.

"Arthur."

He smiled.

"Correct answer."

Francoise couldn't help but grin.

"You've grown old."

"So have you."

"I guess it comes with the age", she replied, a tear escaping from her corner of the eye. After all these years, he was alive, and he had found her.

Arthur hugged her tightly, and Francoise began to cry.

"So we're both widowers", Arthur said and sipped his tea. "It's a lonely life."

"Maybe. I have my children and grandchildren. They visit me often."

"I don't have visitors. Amelia and I didn't have any children, it was never the situation for us. And then, the time had gone."

"You would've been a great father."

"Could be."

They talked. They talked for hours. Arthur stayed for the night, and then they talked some more. They had a few decades of events to go through.

Eventually the Brit had to leave, but he promised to come back to see her. And he did. Many times. As the year went by, his visit became more often and they were longer.

It would've been great for Francoise, if her back hadn't taken a turn to the worse. She was beginning to have problems with everyday chores. Luckily Arthur was there to help him, but every time he left she was alone again.

Until that one time when Arthur had a suitcase, larger than usually.

"I'm not going to leave you alone anymore."