France x Reader Oneshot: Just A Cloud Away

Francis sidled slowly along the path by himself, for once without the company of his friends, or a seemingly one-time-use woman, on a rather grey and dreary day, a wet ground beneath his shoes. Lately, he’d felt like his carnal habits were no longer satisfying; how long had he been stuck in the same routine, indulging himself in the basic desires of the human body, wine, and short-lived romances? He’d forgotten how long it had been since he started, he’d been doing it for so long.

So, he’d moved, in the hopes his notoriety in his private life (which wasn’t really so private), wouldn’t follow him, for a fresh start. That was nine months ago, and he’d fallen back into his old habit, and still entertained his friends Gilbert Beilshmidt, and Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, who still upheld their habits. So, even in though he had moved to another small town, he was the reason the rumours and his erratic love life had followed him. Of course, that put off few women if he really tried romancing them; which he did, but even this lifestyle had become monotonous.

He liked his life even less now, now that he’d proven to himself he still lacked drive to change his attitude.

Suddenly, he was dragged almost rudely from his self-pity when a slow, smooth song started to float into his ears, as he walked by the new café that had opened up in town; ironically enough, it was a French café, but from what he had heard, the owner was not French, nor the chef, which had made him skeptical about the café’s integrity. But, he’d walked by it quite a few times, and each time, he was genuinely intrigued by the scents that wafted through the doors and windows of the classily-painted store. Every time he passed, he was thrown back into the streets of Paris.

He halted his steps to listen as he heard two female voices singing along to the song. One was average enough, and the other couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket with a lid on it, and it made him wince. But it didn’t sound like the voices wanted to sound like they were going to be idols; they were simply enjoying themselves. He gazed through the window as three rather satisfied-looking customers patted their stomachs and complimented the food as they exited the cute little abode. While the taller girl with dark brown hair, green eyes and curvier figure was pretty and all, he couldn’t help but glue his gaze on you, the one who seemed to be butchering the song, and not giving a damn about it at all with your big dazzling smile.

“~This rainy day is temporary
The contrast is why we got 'em
‘Cause sun shining through is just a cloud away

So, what, you blown a fuse?
Well that happens to us all
Well, I come with great news
The day could change~”

He felt like he’d been struck by lightning.

Those lyrics resonated within his soul, like they were being sung for him, and he felt as if his feet were moving with minds of their own as they carried him through the door, the bells jingling as he entered the café warmly painted and decorated in shades of white, warm chocolate brown and a comfortable baby pink here and there, to break up the contrast of light and dark. It was lit with the natural light of outside, which was slightly uninviting today, further warmed with subtle, but bright, pale yellow lighting. The counter was lined with pastries of all kinds that he recognised and nearly drooled over.

The young women, having heard the bell, turned their attention to the newcomer and turned down the music, and you smiled across at him invitingly, your (e/c) orbs seeming to glow with the whole world’s kindness, and he could feel heat travelling up his body, like he was blushing from his toes upwards.

“Bonjoir, et bienvenue sur Café Paris!” You greeted him warmly, and Francis blinked at you, and his eyes shone with delight.

“Ah, si merveilleux pronunciation!” Francis felt aglow with giddiness that he heard his native tongue roll out of such a lovely, and young, woman.

You stared, then smiled ecstatically. “A Frenchman! Autumn, we have a French customer!”

The brunette, or Autumn, as she seemed to known, smiled, and spoke in a thick accent Francis could just barely pinpoint as being Australian. “Wow, that’s great! We can show off!” This caused her yet-to-be-named associate to let out an infectious laugh.

Francis laughed too, invaded by the young (h/c) haired woman’s cheerfulness. He almost felt dizzy with feelings of warmth and gentility. He’d not even been in the quaint little shop one minute.

“I ‘ave been curious; the zhings I smell walking by ‘ere summon zhe most wonderful sense of….” He searched for the word. “Nostalgie.” He smiled charmingly, which caused your cheeks to start turning red.

“Well, check out what we have on offer, Monsoir! Vous ne serez pas déçu!” Autumn grinned confidently.

Francis walked close to the counter and eyed the pastries with his cerulean eyes. “Since it is breakfast, I shall take two croissants for now.” He smiled warmly, but mostly in your direction as you walked quickly behind the counter to retrieve his food. “So, dames, what makes you confident in your baking and French language enough to open a French restaurant, when neizher of you are French?” He inquired politely.

You smiled as you placed the croissants in a small cardboard box. “Well, both Autumn and I met when she transferred to my school through an overseas exchange student program, and when we graduated, we decided to begin training as professional pastry chefs, and what better place to go than to Paris herself?” You smiled with sparkling enthusiasm. He felt his heart swell with pride at picking up you had adored the city he loved.

“After we did finish, however, we had nothing much left to do.” Autumn shook her head and went out to the back, talking loudly so he could hear. “And seeing as we specialise in French cuisine, we decided to move back to ________’s home country of (your country’s name), and open a little café here where no one would expect to find one. We make good business.” Autumn returned from out the back and replaced the croissants he had bought with fresh ones under the display glass.

“________?” He repeated with a smile. “What a lovely name, so very fitting for such a belle fleur!” From seemingly nowhere, he produced a lovely red rose, and held it as an offering towards you. Your blush grew wild as you took the delicate offering of appreciation.

“Th-Thank you, kindly!” You stuttered out as you took the velvety flower in your hand. Autumn raised an eyebrow with a slight smile, completely taking in, and comprehending, the sudden exchange.

Francis noticed Autumn watching intently, and quickly caught on that she had caught on, and blushed a little bit himself, before also offering her a rose. “Do not zhink I forgot about you, Mademoiselle Autumn!” (See what I did there? XD)

Autumn rolled her eyes and took the rose, but shook her finger at Francis. “But don’t think you can get away with not paying.”

“Oh, you ‘ave caught me red ‘anded! I cannot believe it so!” Francis clutched his heart for dramatic effect, but his smile stayed there anyway, and his cheeks grew redder when you, the lovely _______, laughed heartily at his gesture, and he held out the change he owed for you to take. His skinned tingled as your hand brushed over his, not knowing yours did the same upon the unexpected contact.

“You’d better believe it, Monsoir! Autumn is unreal in catching criminals.” You laughed jokingly.

Oh yes. An opening. “Ah, per’aps you are right, cherie. After all, she would ‘ave noticed by now ‘ow much of a thief you are!” He smiled charmingly, his eyes alight with his old confidence. “For you have stolen my ‘eart.”

Your face exploded with red, and you felt like someone had set you on fire. Your body was so hot with embarrassment, you probably could’ve baked a soufflé on your head. Autumn burst out laughing.

“Keep going, keep going! I never see her blush like that! I should be paying you to make her blush like that!” The loud Aussie clapped her hands in applause.

Francis certainly looked pleased. “Oh, but ‘ow could I not tease her? Someone so mignonne et petillante, and blushes as lovely as a rose, should be told so! She is too adorable!”

“I know! I tell her that all the time!”

Your blush, if possible, turned dark scarlet. “O-Oh, you two….”

Autumn smiled lovingly in your direction, and nodded to Francis. “What’s your name, Monsoir?”

“Francis Bonnefoy, mon ami.”

“W-Well then, Monsoir Bonnefoy, please, do come again. Your company has been…. Delightful.” Your smile turned shy, and Francis’s heart soared at the invitation to return.

A gentle smile graced his thin lips, and he bowed gallantly, and produced a card for her to take from nowhere, much like how he had with the roses. His tone was softer now, gentler, and while outwardly he seemed confident, his heart was doing the jig as you took the elegant rectangle from his hands.

“And come again, I shall. But do not let it be zhe only time we see each ozer, mon amour.” And with that, he swung around with his pastries, and disappeared from the shop.

As he walked again with a newfound skip in his step, he opened the warm cardboard box in his hands, and examined the croissants in front of him. They certainly looked delicious, and smelled divine. He, with almost a saddened heart, tore a piece off the work of art, and popped it into his mouth, and his steps halted, and he nearly dropped the food in question. No longer was he in (town name), oh no. He was in the streets of Paris, outside the little bakery on the corner by his old apartment, owned by the friendly old man Francis had known since the old man was but a boy. Homely, soft, warm, just as the pastry should be; and a bright, beaming grin appeared on his handsome face.

Francis found himself no longer walking idly as the buildings of the town passed him by, and the sun shone through a gap in the clouds, lighting up the dampened street with a sparkling glow. He felt different somehow, and your face appeared before his eyes when they were open, and behind his lids when he blinked. You’d done this. It was just as you’d sung. And he found himself singing his heart out while he all but pranced down the street, to the song he’d heard that drew him in, and your phone number appeared on the screen of his phone.

“~This rainy day is temporary
The contrast is why we’ve got ‘em
‘Cause the sun shining through is just a cloud away~”

Happiness really had just been a cloud away.