APH: Gauloises rouge

'Allemagne.'

I flinch, looking up from my paperwork. He has the tendency to walk like a cat. Soundless, but with a clear focus, eyes never wavering. It still catches me off guard.

'François.'

Now it's his turn to flinch - whether it is due to my admittedly horrid accent or the sudden intimacy of this approach - I can never tell. But out of the 194 nations of the world, it's me who is both able and allowed to call him like that. Not France. Not Francis.
François.

He utters a small sound that's a laugh and a sigh, all at once. Taking a step towards my desk, he looms over me, hands firmly placed upon to polished surface, shoving my piling stack of paper to the side carelessly.

'Honestly, take a break.'

And before I can utter a single word, he reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out this small, red packet I'm so familiar with by now, sets it where my papers had been previously and leaves my office as graceful and silent as he had stepped in not two minutes ago.

Taking the item and eying it knowingly, I can feel that this alien, silly smile is slowly finding its way to my face now, but I can care less.

It had been summer 1961 and I'd been a mess. At the verge of a mental breakdown, it had been him of all people, who stepped up next to me, observing me with a mixture of pity and...understanding?
I still don't know. Maybe.
There I'd seen that little box the first time. He took one slender cigarette out of it and his face had been highlighted in sharp contrasts of intense orange when he lit it. His eyes slowly changed form that unearthly amber back to light blue and without a blink, he handed me the cigarette - the gesture strangely intimate.

I fought down that deep rooted biting reflex when it came to him - old habits die hard - and took what had been offered to me.
Time stretched in astonishingly comfortable silence and the gleaming stub grew smaller being changed between us.
If I would have to pin down the beginning of your strange relationship, it would be this wordless moment.

I snap out of my thoughts.
Tiergarten Park starts just on the other side of the street. I fasten my scarf and by switching the light off, dawn is creeping into the office. It's an evening that smells of snow and fog.

It's time to take a break.
.
.
.

Head canon agaaaaaaain~~~!
This one is for Thanks for all the discussions.

Oh. AND.

Dear children.
DO NOT SMOKE. It makes you age before your time, steals your money and lets you die a gruesome death. I only use the cigarettes as a literarily topic.

Media: Pencils. A lot of.
©Hima-Papa owns everything.