FrancexReader Drabble

François couldn’t quite tell whether it was the icy rain or his hot tears on his cheeks, and, to be perfectly honest, he didn’t care. It didn’t matter anymore. His mind was in a state of shock, one thought running through his head over and over, like a record on loop.

His breath came in short gasps, the air almost like a knife in his chest as he ran. He wasn’t quite sure where he was headed, but as he surfaced from his mental stupor, he began to take in some of the scenery. He was on Arthur’s side of town.

Yes, Arthur would know. Arthur always had a plan. He would go see Arthur.

It was as if his legs had been waiting for that conscious decision before accessing their full capacity. He was suddenly careening down the wet sidewalk attempting not to fall.

When he arrived at his destination, he had to pause and catch his breath. A clammy hand clutched at his heaving chest and nearly ripped the sodden silk shirt covering his skin. He was bent nearly in two, his gasps for air and hiccupping sobs almost too much for his body.

All in all, it was quite a racket, and Arthur was a light sleeper.

“What in blazes is going on out here?” The heavy English accent interrupted François’ gasps.

“François, what the bloody hell-“ Arthur cut off abruptly as he surveyed the sorry sight before him. François’ usually perfect locks were mussed and frizzy, his face pale and his eyes bloodshot from the tears still leaking from them. Arthur’s face instantly lost its stern façade. “Shit mate, you alright?”

François straightened shakily and braced his arm against the doorway for support. He ran his still shaking hand through his hair and shook his head.

Arthur was quite worried. “What’s wrong, mate?”

“Wrong?” François laughed. His French accent seemed to dance in the air, a fact that shocked Arthur. When François finally looked up, his face was wild with joy. “She said yes!”