Skipping to Smoke

While skipping class was generally frowned upon and something Arthur generally did not condone, he couldn't help but fall back into bad habits of his once rebellious life (which was close to three years ago to the date) and take a quick holiday on the roof, cigarettes close at hand (a vice he had never really given up). The roof had always been a peaceful place to the Briton; somewhere he could think and be at peace without the hubbub of noisy students and relentless Presidential duties (not that anything really got done, what with his StuCo Board members hardly able to get work done efficiently). The roof always had a slight breeze passing through, ruffling up his already-messy hair, cool against his skin. He sat on the edge of the building, legs dangling off the ends, close to three stories off the ground. Being so close to "danger", as it were, sent a small thrill up his spine, adrenaline beginning to seep into his veins. Would he fall? Most likely not. Was his brain aware of that fact? It seemed the answer to that question was no. Fear and excitement tingling in his blood, he withdrew a cigarette from the small box in his pocket, pulling out his lighter as well. Flicking the small object open, he lit the cigarette and took a slow drag, sighing out the smoke. Nothing was more relaxing.

Francis was sick and tired of math. Who even cares about stupid English numbers? Why did he even come to this school? It was English. Something he despised. Though, he had been told that this was the place to go if you really wanted to go to a nice University.
The Frenchman sighed wistfully and wandered through the halls, his hands in his pockets. If only there was a place that I could be by myself, away from les belles and the uncultured men. Ever since he got here, he always had someone attached to his hip. Whether it be Antonie, Gilbert or a pretty girl, he was never alone. He decided that now was a good time to find a place to do so, even if it meant skipping class. He turned down a hallway he didn't know existed and found a staircase that clearly said, "Do not enter". Well, why the hell not. He pushed the door open, holding his breath. Bon. No alarms. The Frenchman walked up the dirty staircase, grimacing. Disgusting. He had absolutely no clue where he was. Francis thought he knew every inch of the school. One needs to change up where one kisses people, or else the teachers will find out, right? He reached a second door and pushed that one open, ending up on a roof. He noticed someone sitting and smoking. Arthur. He let out a small cough and brought his fist to his mouth, "Honestly, Arthur, I wish you would stop smoking." Arthur is, most likely, the only person in the school he hasn't locked lips with. Though he wish he could... They were quite nice, when a cigarette was not lodged inbetween them.

The moment Arthur heard the familiar and unfortunately French voice, he stiffened, eyes narrowing and body becoming tensing. Of course the Frenchman had to come and ruin his perfectly peaceful moment. The sodding moron had to follow him everywhere and make his life hell, didn't he? As if he didn't get enough of that at home from his drunken older brothers. No, he wasn't even allowed a quiet moment on the roof. The universe truly hated him.

Scowling, he turned to acknowledge to aforementioned Frenchman. "Whether I smoke or not is none of your goddamn business," he snapped harshly, his temper flaring. Of course Francis would be the one student that looked like a model even after walking up the spider-web covered staircase to the roof. It was hardly fair. Not that the Brit found the boy to be particularly attractive, of course not. Not with his lean and slightly muscular body, aristocratically straight nose, cupid's bow lips, and silken hair pulled back with a ribbon in an oddly alluring ponytail. No, Arthur was merely judging him on an... aesthetic basis. Really, anyone could see the boy was quite handsome. Truly. The Briton did not have feelings for the Frenchman whatsoever. Certainly not; that would be vile. "What the hell are you doing out here anyway? Shouldn't you be in class?"

Francis chuckled and went to go sit beside Arthur, looking down at the three story drop and taking a second thought. He backed up from the edge with caution and sat against the door. "Oui, I should be in class right now. But I was looking some place where I could be alone." Francis looked to the sky and huffed, looking back down at the Brit, checking him out, smirking. "Though it seems that I can't get away from you, can I?" He chucked and ruffled his hair, running his hand through it to push it out of his face. "Though I should be asking you the same question." He quirked one of his perfectly manicured eyebrows, wondering exactly why Arthur was up here. Was this his first time discovering the place, just like himself? Did he come here more often? Was he likely to get laid? These were the questions Francis asked himself as he looked again at the Brit. He had to admit: Arthur smoking was trés sexy. He possessed a certain beauty that was hard to describe when he slowly killed himself by inhaling the fumes from the cancer stick.

Arthur was thankful for the fact Francis decided not the sit next to him. He could stand the Frenchman in small doses and he was much easier to handle when there was a distance between them. He took another long drag from the cigarette, purposefully blowing out the smoke slowly now that he knew it bothered the other boy. "Well, you can't get more alone than up here. Or that was the case until you showed up," he cast back a glower at the boy, before turning his attention back to the view. "And really, I should be saying the exact same thing. I was here first and then you showed up," the words rolled off his tongue with ease, his nose crinkling as if there was a particularly horrid smell about.

"Why I'm up here is hardly any of your sodding business," he snapped, "and you'd do best to drop the subject." He was unnecessarily touchy about his personal life and counted the Frenchman asking such a harmless question as approaching a dangerous subject. To admit that he was up here to escape school and home life could lead to some unwanted secrets being spilled and he certainly didn't need the Frenchman knowing about his wreck of a family, especially not when he had such a flawless reputation here at school.

Francis pulled his lips into a sneer as the Brit clearly puffed out the smoke to bother him. He is trying to bother me. Be strong, Francis. "Well, desolé, Arthur. It's nice up here. I want to stay." He played with a piece of his hair, not really sure why he wants to in the first place. The Brit had a way to put Francis in a bad mood. Though, he was determined to one day bed him. Getting to be his worst enemy is probably not the best way to do that. Though, with the way things have been going, he was just about there. He seemed to almost shrink back when being snapped at, looking offended. He had only asked a simple question. It's not like he was interrogating him for his credit card number or something. Not that Francis needed that. He had five of his own. "Well, excuuuuse-moi. You do not have to get all... Sassy with me." That's what the English people said, right?

Arthur couldn't help but snort, coughing into his palm to cover a smirk. "Sassy?" He repeated incredulously, highly amused by the fact that Francis though he was Sassy. "Hardly. You're positively mental, you know that?" Another drag from his cigarette, the nicotine slowly calming the adrenaline in his blood stream. Now if only the Frenchman would leave he could relax properly. "Aren't you aware you're not welcome here?" He pondered with a slight glare, unwilling to snap at the man (too much energy was involved in that). "I should kick you out," he muttered under his breath, quite sure his "Presidential" powers could somehow ban the frog from the roof of the school. Or perhaps that was merely just a particularly splendid fantasy. Well, whatever the case, he was certainly too lazy to go through the files and find out if he could ban Francis.

Francis smirked, "Sassy." He stuck his nose in the air, "I'm not mental. That's why I go to this stupid English school, non? You must be smart to go here." He coughed and waved the smoke out of his face, getting quite annoyed at the English man. Though he looked quite attractive when he smoked, it still did not excuse the grey puffs that irritated his eyes so much. "I'm quite aware that I'm not welcome here. What is the point of leaving? That would be giving you what you want." He smirked and winked at Arthur, chuckling. "You can not kick me out. This is school property. Maybe I should report you for smoking on it." Francis stood up and looked the opposite way of Arthur, enjoying the view from the roof. He also enjoyed not having smoke being blown in his face. He undid his ponytail to let his hair fall free in the wind. He pocketed the ribbon and put his hands in the back pockets of his pants.

"You're most certainly mental," Arthur stated decidedly, narrowing his eyes to survey the Frenchman. "Either smart or wealthy," he spat, quirking a particularly thick brow, making assumptions about Francis and his family. He had no doubt in his mind that the boy came from good money. He was always immaculately dressed with tags of designers sticking out of his coats (and once, in the locker room, Arthur spotted some hoity-toity French label on the man's shoes and was sure they were pure Italian leather). Not to mention with looks like French Aristocracy the boy had to have some wealthy to his name. Hell, his French accent was so prominent Arthur wondered how long he had been studying English.

"The point of you leaving," he stated through gritted teeth, "is to give me a moment's peace. As hard as it is for you to comprehend, what with the ladies and gentlemen of this school waiting on you hand and foot, some of us paupers enjoy being alone," the terms 'ladies' and 'gentlemen' used loosely in such a statement. As an afterthought he added, "I have access to your files, Bonnefoy. Report me and you'll be out of this school in a day flat."

Francis chuckled, thinking of how cute the English man was. Please. He was wealthy, but wealth alone would not get you into this school. You had to be slightly smart, even if you bought your way in. Arthur was not the only one out of them that had family problems. Though, Francis's problems were.. different. He barely saw either of his parents or his sister, because they were always too busy. That's why he loves being around people. "And if I do not want to give you peace?" Francis smirked, enjoying his favourite past time, trolling Arthur. Wait. Did he just call himself a pauper? Is he presuming that I'm some kind of Prince? I could be the... Prince d'amour. Oui. I like that. He flipped his hair, not denying the truth. Almost all of the students wanted to get on him. He rolled his eyes and narrowed them, "Oui, blackmail is going to make me leave. I could just ..'owyousay.. Buy myself back in? Because that's what you presume that I did in the first place?" Francis was the least bit scared by Arthur. Even if he was the student body president.

Arthur closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose. He could already feel himself developing a twitch in his right eye due to the mental stress this man caused. Really, was it so hard for the Frenchman to just leave? Apparently so. He clenched and unclenched his fists in an aggravated manner, opening his eyes only to glare at Francis. "I never asked if you wanted to give me peace. I asked you to leave," he gritted out, trying to maintain control over his temper.

"I suppose you might be right about that," Arthur stated with a helpless sigh. "Though a certain level of smarts a needed to attend this school, there's a mysterious lack of common sense. Being smart doesn't mean you're intelligent," he looked pointedly at Francis, implying his words were meant for the Frenchman. Actually, implying was an understatement. He certainly meant his words to be for Francis.

Francis rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. "And I declined that offer, clearly." He looked back at Arthur, narrowing his eyes and biting his lip to refrain himself from speaking his thoughts. Englishmen. Are they all slow? He seems to think that I lack common sense when in reality it is he that does. He would never understand the customs of those from England. He supposed that Arthur was just butthurt or blue balled or something of that sense, making him angsty all of the time. Francis frowned and pursed his lips. He didn't like being called unintelligent. "Et being intelligent does not make you smart, oui?" He pulled the corners of his mouth up in a slight smile, quirking one of his eyebrows. He figured that if Arthur did not want him here, he should stay for as long as possible without being thrown off of the edge. "When did you even discover that stairway and the door to here?" Francis thought it was a bit peculiar that the janitor would leave a door that a robber could potentially walk right into unlocked.

Arthur closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Had he sinned in a passed life to deserve this... this torture? Did the Big Man Upstairs just loathe him deeply for some unknown reason? "Clearly," he muttered under his breath, repeating Francis, wishing he actually had magic powers and was able to poof the boy away.

He struggled to maintain his temper, seriously beginning to develop a twitch. After three deep breaths (in through the mouth, pause three seconds, out through the nose), he turned to glower at Francis. "Considering I hold the Presidential position in this school, my "smarts" are quite in tact, thanks," he monotoned, the corners of his lips pulling down into a frown. Why was it that of all the people at this school to bother, he had to be the one Francis chose? Why was he any different? What made him special to pick on?

"Perhaps that's none of your business," he answered cryptically, not really wanting to divulge in the fact that he had been pushed through the door, locked in the stairwell, and had climbed up here looking for an escape, all in Freshman year.

Obviously, Arthur had sinned in his past life, because Francis wasn't going anywhere. Francis raised an eyebrow at the Brit's twitch. Was he just that sexually frustrated by France's good looks? Maybe he should be relieved.. "I was not questioning that, was I? I was just merely stating a fact~" Francis wiggled his eyebrows and smirked, winking. He was starting to get slightly bored. Obviously, nothing interesting was going to happen apart from him and Britain bickering, as usual. The Frenchman didn't have a particularly long attention span. Yet another reason to hate math class. "Were you doing more illegal things, cher? Is that why you were looking for some place that other people were not?" Obviously, Arthur wasn't the straight-laced president that everybody knew and figuratively loved. Of course, Francis had smelled smoke on him before and figured that he was a smoker, but he never really caught him in the act. He started to wonder if he did hard drugs and went to raves and things like that. Though, France couldn't deny that he had done those things once... Or twice. Or maybe more than that. Gilbert did like doing odd things, dragging himself and Antonio along. He got up and brushed off his pants, ruffling his hair once more. He figured that if nothing exciting happened in the next few minutes, he would leave Arthur alone to his stick-up-the-ass English self.