Ah London. The bustling Capitol of England was always filled with people of all origin. Commuters rushed themselves towards buses or the lines of black cabs whilst tourists were forced to dart in between them as they darted past. The majority of people however, chose to take the underground to their desired destination. It was quick, easy to get to, and relatively cheap if you were planning to travel around the city. Unfortunately it was incredibly claustrophobic. Bodies would cram into every gap there was and anyone who could claim a seat was considered a god. The number one rule was to never speak, even if one was to combust, fellow passengers wouldn’t make a comment as the enflamed passenger shuffled their way to the doors.
Arthur Kirkland, a local Englishman with unintentionally untidy blond hair and bold emerald eyes, marched his way through the crowds. He was a trained commuter, every step was made to get him to his destination, never bumping shoulders, and never stopping. His company however was not as well trained. Francis Bonnefoy, a Frenchman with gleaming blue eyes and silk-like shoulder length hair, tried desperately to stick close to his British guide. Much like other tourists, he was made to dodge oncoming locals, his polished shoes scuffing at the toes as he manoeuvred himself from their path. His eyes locked with the cuff of Arthurs' sleeve, his slender fingers reaching and gripping the fabric and pulling him along with the brit.
“Let go you bloody git you’ll make me trip” Arthur glanced at the Frenchman as he fumbled behind him, frantically trying to match his pace. After multiple attempts – which consisted of an odd skip from one foot the other mid walk – Francis finally came into step, his legs stomping in time with his guides’. With a heavy breath he looked to his companion.
“Arthur I ‘ave no idea ‘ow you do it, it must take years to make yourself look like a wall, just so others will walk around you!” the sapphire eyed man gave his praise – which honestly came across as more of an insult – to his friend, but yet he generously continued, despite the irritated twitching of one of Arthurs eyebrows “but then don’t you British like doing zat? Running into walls? Platform nine and four quarters or something?”
“For the last time it is nine and three quarters! Besides four quarters would be a whole you frog, learn some maths instead of eating cheese.” Arthur continued to mumble his insults as the two men descended the stairs that lead to the underground. Soon enough there was no natural light in sight; everything was artificial and very dim in contrast. Arthur and Francis shuffled in through the turnstiles towards the packed escalators, moving into the darker tunnels. The brick walls were pasted with advertising posters before coming to the platforms. The brightest thing to be seen here was the yellow line on the floor, the words ‘stay behind the yellow line’ painted beneath it. A low chuckle came from the Frenchmans’ throat as he shuffled the tips of his shoes over the line. Arthur groaned and rolled his eyes at his companions’ idiocy before turning his head towards the oncoming train.
As the train pulled in, people shuffled towards the edge of the platform, eager to get a place on the train before it pulled away. People came flooding out as the doors opened, a wide shouldered man barging his way past Arthur, causing his smaller form to swerve from the oncoming human. With the same motion, he felt his shoulder come into hard contact with another person, a sharp ‘ouch’ being heard from behind him. Carefully, he turned to see what damage he could have possibly created. Behind him stood a young woman, (e/c) eyes squinting as she held her reddened nose in pain. Arthur felt his throat dry up; out of all the things his shoulder could of hit it had to be a nose.
“Oh miss, I am so sorry, are- are you alright?” Arthur’s eyes were wide, frantically scanning the woman for any other sign of pain. Her delicate fingers pushed the stray strands of (h/c) hair behind her ear before delicately dabbing her fingertips beneath her nose. Luckily, there was no blood to be found, but it still hurt like hell.
“It’s cool, could be a lot worse I suppose. Excuse me” Gracefully she shifted around the Englishman and boarded the train with the others before being swiftly followed by the two men. The train clattered and screeched along the rails, bright sparks flying from the metal at every turn with the lights above flickering from bright to dim at every bump. Arthur couldn’t help but look on at the young woman in front of him, although she was facing away and had forgiven his mistake, he still felt as if he had to apologise still. A snort was heard from his left and from the corner of his eye he could see Francis chuckling, his hand clasped around his mouth to stop himself from laughing. Arthur questioningly lifted an eyebrow which in turn caused Francis to lean in and whisper his response.
“I ‘ave to admit you ‘ave a rather absurd way of flirting Angleterra” Francis was now leaning his arm on Arthurs shoulder, his face buried in the crook of his elbow as he giggled. Arthur’s body tensed as a heavy blush settled on his cheeks, deciding the best thing to do in this situation was to harshly elbow his friend in the gut. As soon as he made contact the Frenchman became doubled over in pain, but unfortunately, recovered quickly.
“I was not flirting you imbecile. I’m beginning to suspect you get over pain so quickly because you’ve been beat so many times”
“Oui, zat is true, but it is usually swords or canons zat injure me and I ‘ave to say you are very inferior to their attacks” Arthurs only response this time was a death glare towards the neighbouring blond. A vicious smirk formed on Francis’ lips as he glanced towards the female before the both of them. “If you are too much of a pansy to get ‘er attention, zen I shall do it for you” The train came to a sudden stop at the next platform and before Arthur could say ‘earl grey tea’ Francis was commanding his hand to advance to the young woman’s rear and pinching it through her clothing. Disgusted, she turned in fury, her eyes catching the shocked look on Arthurs face, which to her read “oh no, I’ve been caught” Unfortunately before Arthur could even begin to apologise for Francis’ behaviour, her open palm came into contact with his cheek. Quickly she stormed out the doors, being sure to glare at the blond over her shoulder before the doors closed again.
The train had already departed and was now approaching the platform before Arthur and Francis’ destination. The brit was still stunned in silence, his cooler palm placed against his burning cheek as Francis chuckled away beside him. His emerald eyes soon lost their shock and began to burn into the side of his companions’ skull. Swiftly Arthur grasped his friends’ collar and stared him down till the train came to a stop, the doors sliding open before he menacingly whispered “My stop is the next one, this one however, is yours” With a great force, Francis was pushed onto the platform and tumbled – rather gracefully at that – onto his arse, leaving him stranded and ultimately – lost in London.