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Untitled: Part 2

At first Francis told you it must've been a simple headache. After drinking all of his wine and helping you finish the bottle, he asked you if he could lie down and rest for a moment.

"I don't mind," you smiled and took his glass away with yours to your kitchen area's sink. "It's been a long day. I can understand that."

"Thank you, ____________," Francis mumbled and shut his eyes to get some rest—and what a rest he was going to have. Once he shut his eyes, you almost immediately heard his heavy breathing indicating he had fallen fast asleep.

Sorry, Francis, you thought and rummaged through your unconscious date's pockets searching for the familiar jingling metal of the museum keys.

-----

Thank goodness you were within walking distance of Eliatha Museum. If something went wrong, you could seek out refuge back at your apartment. Usually, the least expected places of suspicion turned out to be right under one's nose. Who would've thought that you would be living so close to the future theft sight?

You remembered that Francis had used a silver key with a round end to open up the front doors. Aside a few security measures, there wasn't any tight security on Sunday. There was no better opportunity.

After you unlocked the front door (taking care to lock it behind you), you went straight for the modern art hall where your target hung wedged between two plain paintings. Francis had told you that the reason it was put in between two plain paintings was to bring out the best of the untitled piece like adding salt to watermelon to make it sweeter.

It didn't take long for you to reach the painting you had been eyeing for so many days since making yourself comfortable in this city. Even in the dim light of your small flashlight, you were able to make out the brilliant array of colors that decorated the heavyset canvas in front of you.

Francis was right about the colors, alone, being able to make you think about things. Perhaps it was best that the piece wasn't named, after all; if it were, a title would have made you think a specific way about what the piece was trying to convey. Maybe happiness, maybe chaos…or maybe even love.

You're not here for that sort of thing, _____________, you thought shaking your head to clear your thoughts. The client wanted this piece so that's what I'll do.

Your job, after infiltrating the site, took at least five days—or rather, five nights—to complete. The first stage involved perfectly copying the painting's overlay and textures. To do that, you had a special device prepared. When you were sure that there wasn't anyone around, you brought out your special depth scanner and began scanning every millimeter of the painting. Any mistakes would have been fatal to your work. The key was to be patient. If you messed up, it was pretty much the end of your career. Luckily, you had gotten used to this sort of thing. Another painting was just a drop in the bucket to your line of work.

Come on…

This piece was one of the bigger pieces you had scanned. It wasn't so high that you would have to elevate yourself to reach the top, but it was a pain having to hold your arm up to the top before making your way down.

Patience. The client had promised good money for this piece, and you weren't about to blow any chances on sparing a few seconds of your time. The drug you had given Francis would make him sleep like a baby for a good several hours. The museum wouldn't open until much later. You had plenty of time.

Soon, you had finished scanning the painting. Now, you would have to study it to make sure you hadn't missed anything. With your trained eyes, you would be able to tell if you had skipped something, but for now, it was too risky to linger around here any longer. With that, you closed your flashlight, stored your scanner in your bag, and made quick work of your presence leaving the untitled painting behind.

-----

When Francis woke up, the entire room was dark. It wasn't even dawn yet as expected. Since he was a curator, it was one of his jobs to get to Eliatha Museum before everyone else did to make sure the placement of things was in order. It wasn't the most spectacular role, but who was he to complain when he was allowed to be the first one of the day to witness the fine pieces of art being displayed?

Then, he realized his neck was aching sore and his head felt like it had fought a night's worth of hangovers. His surroundings were unfamiliar.

Oh, that's right, Francis remembered. I must be at ________________'s apartment. Where is she?

After rubbing his neck and his temples, Francis flipped the blankets on him away and folded them before finding the nearest clock.

Five o' clock in the morning… It was early. Francis wondered if _____________ was even awake yet. After looking around to see if there were any other signs of life, he was certain that _____________ must've been asleep—probably in her bedroom.

Should I just leave? Francis asked himself. Actually, that would be rude, but I don't want to be late for work… After some mental debating, he decided to wait for another hour before taking off, but before that, something caught his eye. ____________ had mentioned that the apartment only had one bedroom, and by the looks of things, that one bedroom's door was open and the bed was empty. So then where could ___________ have gone?

One would think she wouldn't leave a stranger in her apartment by himself… Francis thought deciding to explore the rest of the small apartment. There wasn't much to the apartment save for the living area, and small dining area, a kitchen, a bathroom, and the bedroom. All were empty.

So she really left me here, by myself? Francis wondered. Without a note or anything? That couldn't be…

Though, when he returned to the living room, he felt a draft coming from behind a bookshelf. Peering closely, he noticed there was a small opening that wasn't entirely concealed, but one would have missed it if it weren't for the draft. It was a curious place to build a room, to say the least. It also couldn't hurt to take a peek.

Taking care not to trip over any of the wires that were laid over the floor, Francis was able to reach the center of the room where a desk, a computer, and a sleeping _______________ lay in the middle with her arms crossed into a crude pillow for her head.

So this is where she's been hiding, Francis thought, an amused expression escaping his lips.

"_____________..." Francis whispered as he gave her a gentle nudge on her shoulder. _______________ didn't move. She only mumbled something incoherent and kept her eyes closed. Francis decided to try again.

"____________..." he said a little louder.

_____________ uttered a soft moan and squinted her eyes together. Then, she began to stir until one of her eyes winked open. When her eyes finally fell on him, they opened up into large orbs giving her a startled expression of surprise.

"F-Francis!" ____________ gasped and cringed into a tense position close to the desk she had been resting on. "Wh-What—How long have you been here?"

"Just now," Francis answered. "What are you doing sleeping in here? Shouldn't you ben in your bed?"

"I—I—" __________ babbled. She looked like her priorities were a mess with her breathing sounding short and her eyes with a deprived, but alert glint. This was definitely a different side of her Francis had never seen.

"Uh…Look, I'm sorry. You fell asleep and I didn't know what to do so I just left you on the couch."

"That's fine," Francis smiled. "I'm relieved to know you wouldn't leave a complete stranger in your house by himself."

___________ blinked and grinned. This was the _____________ he knew.

"So you're saying I don't know anything about you?" she responded with a question. "In all seriousness, Francis, if I would go on a date with someone, I would make sure he wasn't a complete stranger."

"So what are you implying?" Francis asked mysteriously.

_______________ laughed and tossed back some loose strands of hair. "I'm implying that I feel a sense of familiarity about you, Francis."

Francis arched his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Really," ____________ answered.

"Huh," Francis responded. He spotted a digital clock that was resting on the far end of the desk. It read five fifteen. "Are you hungry, _______________?"

"Mm, not exactly…" ____________ said, but her stomach said otherwise.

"I'll take it you were lying," Francis chuckled. "How about this? Do you have any scratch ingredients in your kitchen?"

_____________ nodded. "I actually don't eat out much; I cook so I've got the basic stuff."

"Why don't you let me make breakfast to repay you for letting me stay over?" Francis suggested.

_____________ raised a bemused eyebrow. "I didn't exactly say you could stay, but you insist, I'm curious to try your food."

"Alright then," Francis laughed and led the way outside of the secluded room.

-----

Your lips were sealed over your fork savoring the last flavors of your first bite.

"Do you like it?" Francis asked in between his own helpings of crêpes.

"It's delicious," you breathed, and you meant every word of it. Being an admirer of art was one thing, to be a cook that even impressed you was something else.

"I'm glad you like it," Francis said with a bright smile.

"…And you said you made this all from scratch?" you asked taking another larger portion of your crêpe.

"That's right. I could teach you how to make it if you'd like," Francis offered. "It's very easy."

You swallowed…a little too fast.

"Hnn—you would?" you asked with a strain to your voice.

"Did you eat it too fast?" Francis chuckled reaching over to offer you a glass of milk.

"Thanks," you grunted before taking a grateful mouthful of milk. After coughing a few times, you felt that it was safe to speak again.

"Umm, about your offer, I don't think it could hurt," you admitted.

_____________, you idiot! Why'd you say something like that?!

"Then how does next Sunday sound?" Francis then asked.

"That's fine," you automatically replied immediately cursing your reflexive responses that came out. You were used to agreeing with your clients since it made the whole process much easier. This time, however, you were beginning to regret it. You didn't' have an entire week. After you were done replicating the painting, you were supposed to vanish before anyone suspecting anything. The schedule didn't play out.

Still…

"Then it's settled," Francis answered. "Next Sunday will be our next date."

"Is it really considered a date if it's in my apartment?" you laughed. "I'd think of it as a cooking class."

"It can still be fun," Francis pointed out.

"True," you nodded taking a mouthful of your savory crêpe to find an excuse to stop talking. Then, you noticed Francis turning around to catch a look at the clock.

"I have to be at the museum by seven," he explained turning back to you after reading the time.

"It's because you're one of the curators, right?" you asked.

Francis nodded. "I don't mind it, actually. In fact, today, we're supposed to have a famous art piece moved from another museum."

"Really?"

"Yep." By now Francis had cleaned his plate, as did you. "Since I'm in charge of the department the painting is going to be displayed in, I'll have to be there on time if not a little earlier."

"Oh…" you murmured before downing the last of your milk. "Thank you for making breakfast, Francis."

"Thank you for inviting me and letting me use your ingredients," Francis thanked you back.

"Not at all," you smiled clearing the table.

"I think I need to be going now," Francis sighed and gathered his things together after setting the dishes in your sink. "So is Sunday morning good for you?"

"Yep," you answered reflexively. Goddammit, _____________...

"I look forward to it," Francis chuckled. "Perhaps you could stop by the museum and check out the new piece when it's ready to be displayed."

"I'll think about it," you smiled. "Perhaps you could tell me something about that piece's colors, too."

"I'd be glad to do it," Francis replied. He had reached your front door and was waiting for you to send him off.

"Thank you, again, Francis," you said in a soft voice. "It was nice having some company for once."

"The pleasure's mine, ____________," Francis smiled. When he opened the door, you followed him to the doorway to watch him leave—but he didn't.

"Francis? Did you forget somethi—"

You stopped. What—How—Why?

"It's just something to remember me by until we see each other again," Francis murmured into your ear, his thumb still tilting your chin up to him even after he kissed you.

"I—I…" you croaked. "It's only going to be a week."

"You'd be surprised at how long a week can feel when you're left waiting," Francis replied and released you, his deep blue eyes never leaving your stunned gaze. "You know, you're more attractive when you're not so tense. I should surprise you more often."

"I'm not tense!" you protested. You could feel your breathing coming out in short, steamy gasps and your cheeks burning red with blood.

"See what I mean?" Francis chuckled. Goddammit it! He was teasing you!

"I thought you were supposed to be at the museum early today!" you reminded him, your voice straining to remain composed.

"You're right," Francis sighed. "I'll be going then, ____________. I'll see you soon."

You crossed your arms and twisted your lips into a frown so he wouldn't catch you reflexively trying to form a smile. "Goodbye, Francis."

Before heading to the elevator, Francis placed his fingers over his lips and blew you a fashionable kiss causing something to stir deep inside your chest—or maybe it was just the wine from last night. Not wanting to keep your eyes glued on him any longer, you rolled your eyes and shut your door finally being freed from Francis' spell.

A week. A goddamn week. You told your client you would have the painting ready in five days. There were conflicts…But then there was Francis…

"Bah! What am I thinking?!" you growled aloud. "I've got better things to worry about. It's just a date! It's not even like you lo—" You sighed. You couldn't bring yourself to say it—if you did, maybe you would have believed it.

Francis…

You had been watching him for some time. There wasn't something else about him. Sure, you had caught him flirting with the occasional visitor or two, but he had other things going on about him—plus he was a good cook.

"No. Just—No. ________________, there's no way it would work. Just focus on your task in front of you, and you'll get through this."

You kept telling yourself the same thing over and over again hoping you would finally convince yourself that you could let it go...but it was hard.

Description
Untitled: Part 2

At first Francis told you it must've been a simple headache. After drinking all of his wine and helping you finish the bottle, he asked you if he could lie down and rest for a moment.

"I don't mind," you smiled and took his glass away with yours to your kitchen area's sink. "It's been a long day. I can understand that."

"Thank you, ____________," Francis mumbled and shut his eyes to get some rest—and what a rest he was going to have. Once he shut his eyes, you almost immediately heard his heavy breathing indicating he had fallen fast asleep.

Sorry, Francis, you thought and rummaged through your unconscious date's pockets searching for the familiar jingling metal of the museum keys.

-----

Thank goodness you were within walking distance of Eliatha Museum. If something went wrong, you could seek out refuge back at your apartment. Usually, the least expected places of suspicion turned out to be right under one's nose. Who would've thought that you would be living so close to the future theft sight?

You remembered that Francis had used a silver key with a round end to open up the front doors. Aside a few security measures, there wasn't any tight security on Sunday. There was no better opportunity.

After you unlocked the front door (taking care to lock it behind you), you went straight for the modern art hall where your target hung wedged between two plain paintings. Francis had told you that the reason it was put in between two plain paintings was to bring out the best of the untitled piece like adding salt to watermelon to make it sweeter.

It didn't take long for you to reach the painting you had been eyeing for so many days since making yourself comfortable in this city. Even in the dim light of your small flashlight, you were able to make out the brilliant array of colors that decorated the heavyset canvas in front of you.

Francis was right about the colors, alone, being able to make you think about things. Perhaps it was best that the piece wasn't named, after all; if it were, a title would have made you think a specific way about what the piece was trying to convey. Maybe happiness, maybe chaos…or maybe even love.

You're not here for that sort of thing, _____________, you thought shaking your head to clear your thoughts. The client wanted this piece so that's what I'll do.

Your job, after infiltrating the site, took at least five days—or rather, five nights—to complete. The first stage involved perfectly copying the painting's overlay and textures. To do that, you had a special device prepared. When you were sure that there wasn't anyone around, you brought out your special depth scanner and began scanning every millimeter of the painting. Any mistakes would have been fatal to your work. The key was to be patient. If you messed up, it was pretty much the end of your career. Luckily, you had gotten used to this sort of thing. Another painting was just a drop in the bucket to your line of work.

Come on…

This piece was one of the bigger pieces you had scanned. It wasn't so high that you would have to elevate yourself to reach the top, but it was a pain having to hold your arm up to the top before making your way down.

Patience. The client had promised good money for this piece, and you weren't about to blow any chances on sparing a few seconds of your time. The drug you had given Francis would make him sleep like a baby for a good several hours. The museum wouldn't open until much later. You had plenty of time.

Soon, you had finished scanning the painting. Now, you would have to study it to make sure you hadn't missed anything. With your trained eyes, you would be able to tell if you had skipped something, but for now, it was too risky to linger around here any longer. With that, you closed your flashlight, stored your scanner in your bag, and made quick work of your presence leaving the untitled painting behind.

-----

When Francis woke up, the entire room was dark. It wasn't even dawn yet as expected. Since he was a curator, it was one of his jobs to get to Eliatha Museum before everyone else did to make sure the placement of things was in order. It wasn't the most spectacular role, but who was he to complain when he was allowed to be the first one of the day to witness the fine pieces of art being displayed?

Then, he realized his neck was aching sore and his head felt like it had fought a night's worth of hangovers. His surroundings were unfamiliar.

Oh, that's right, Francis remembered. I must be at ________________'s apartment. Where is she?

After rubbing his neck and his temples, Francis flipped the blankets on him away and folded them before finding the nearest clock.

Five o' clock in the morning… It was early. Francis wondered if _____________ was even awake yet. After looking around to see if there were any other signs of life, he was certain that _____________ must've been asleep—probably in her bedroom.

Should I just leave? Francis asked himself. Actually, that would be rude, but I don't want to be late for work… After some mental debating, he decided to wait for another hour before taking off, but before that, something caught his eye. ____________ had mentioned that the apartment only had one bedroom, and by the looks of things, that one bedroom's door was open and the bed was empty. So then where could ___________ have gone?

One would think she wouldn't leave a stranger in her apartment by himself… Francis thought deciding to explore the rest of the small apartment. There wasn't much to the apartment save for the living area, and small dining area, a kitchen, a bathroom, and the bedroom. All were empty.

So she really left me here, by myself? Francis wondered. Without a note or anything? That couldn't be…

Though, when he returned to the living room, he felt a draft coming from behind a bookshelf. Peering closely, he noticed there was a small opening that wasn't entirely concealed, but one would have missed it if it weren't for the draft. It was a curious place to build a room, to say the least. It also couldn't hurt to take a peek.

Taking care not to trip over any of the wires that were laid over the floor, Francis was able to reach the center of the room where a desk, a computer, and a sleeping _______________ lay in the middle with her arms crossed into a crude pillow for her head.

So this is where she's been hiding, Francis thought, an amused expression escaping his lips.

"_____________..." Francis whispered as he gave her a gentle nudge on her shoulder. _______________ didn't move. She only mumbled something incoherent and kept her eyes closed. Francis decided to try again.

"____________..." he said a little louder.

_____________ uttered a soft moan and squinted her eyes together. Then, she began to stir until one of her eyes winked open. When her eyes finally fell on him, they opened up into large orbs giving her a startled expression of surprise.

"F-Francis!" ____________ gasped and cringed into a tense position close to the desk she had been resting on. "Wh-What—How long have you been here?"

"Just now," Francis answered. "What are you doing sleeping in here? Shouldn't you ben in your bed?"

"I—I—" __________ babbled. She looked like her priorities were a mess with her breathing sounding short and her eyes with a deprived, but alert glint. This was definitely a different side of her Francis had never seen.

"Uh…Look, I'm sorry. You fell asleep and I didn't know what to do so I just left you on the couch."

"That's fine," Francis smiled. "I'm relieved to know you wouldn't leave a complete stranger in your house by himself."

___________ blinked and grinned. This was the _____________ he knew.

"So you're saying I don't know anything about you?" she responded with a question. "In all seriousness, Francis, if I would go on a date with someone, I would make sure he wasn't a complete stranger."

"So what are you implying?" Francis asked mysteriously.

_______________ laughed and tossed back some loose strands of hair. "I'm implying that I feel a sense of familiarity about you, Francis."

Francis arched his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Really," ____________ answered.

"Huh," Francis responded. He spotted a digital clock that was resting on the far end of the desk. It read five fifteen. "Are you hungry, _______________?"

"Mm, not exactly…" ____________ said, but her stomach said otherwise.

"I'll take it you were lying," Francis chuckled. "How about this? Do you have any scratch ingredients in your kitchen?"

_____________ nodded. "I actually don't eat out much; I cook so I've got the basic stuff."

"Why don't you let me make breakfast to repay you for letting me stay over?" Francis suggested.

_____________ raised a bemused eyebrow. "I didn't exactly say you could stay, but you insist, I'm curious to try your food."

"Alright then," Francis laughed and led the way outside of the secluded room.

-----

Your lips were sealed over your fork savoring the last flavors of your first bite.

"Do you like it?" Francis asked in between his own helpings of crêpes.

"It's delicious," you breathed, and you meant every word of it. Being an admirer of art was one thing, to be a cook that even impressed you was something else.

"I'm glad you like it," Francis said with a bright smile.

"…And you said you made this all from scratch?" you asked taking another larger portion of your crêpe.

"That's right. I could teach you how to make it if you'd like," Francis offered. "It's very easy."

You swallowed…a little too fast.

"Hnn—you would?" you asked with a strain to your voice.

"Did you eat it too fast?" Francis chuckled reaching over to offer you a glass of milk.

"Thanks," you grunted before taking a grateful mouthful of milk. After coughing a few times, you felt that it was safe to speak again.

"Umm, about your offer, I don't think it could hurt," you admitted.

_____________, you idiot! Why'd you say something like that?!

"Then how does next Sunday sound?" Francis then asked.

"That's fine," you automatically replied immediately cursing your reflexive responses that came out. You were used to agreeing with your clients since it made the whole process much easier. This time, however, you were beginning to regret it. You didn't' have an entire week. After you were done replicating the painting, you were supposed to vanish before anyone suspecting anything. The schedule didn't play out.

Still…

"Then it's settled," Francis answered. "Next Sunday will be our next date."

"Is it really considered a date if it's in my apartment?" you laughed. "I'd think of it as a cooking class."

"It can still be fun," Francis pointed out.

"True," you nodded taking a mouthful of your savory crêpe to find an excuse to stop talking. Then, you noticed Francis turning around to catch a look at the clock.

"I have to be at the museum by seven," he explained turning back to you after reading the time.

"It's because you're one of the curators, right?" you asked.

Francis nodded. "I don't mind it, actually. In fact, today, we're supposed to have a famous art piece moved from another museum."

"Really?"

"Yep." By now Francis had cleaned his plate, as did you. "Since I'm in charge of the department the painting is going to be displayed in, I'll have to be there on time if not a little earlier."

"Oh…" you murmured before downing the last of your milk. "Thank you for making breakfast, Francis."

"Thank you for inviting me and letting me use your ingredients," Francis thanked you back.

"Not at all," you smiled clearing the table.

"I think I need to be going now," Francis sighed and gathered his things together after setting the dishes in your sink. "So is Sunday morning good for you?"

"Yep," you answered reflexively. Goddammit, _____________...

"I look forward to it," Francis chuckled. "Perhaps you could stop by the museum and check out the new piece when it's ready to be displayed."

"I'll think about it," you smiled. "Perhaps you could tell me something about that piece's colors, too."

"I'd be glad to do it," Francis replied. He had reached your front door and was waiting for you to send him off.

"Thank you, again, Francis," you said in a soft voice. "It was nice having some company for once."

"The pleasure's mine, ____________," Francis smiled. When he opened the door, you followed him to the doorway to watch him leave—but he didn't.

"Francis? Did you forget somethi—"

You stopped. What—How—Why?

"It's just something to remember me by until we see each other again," Francis murmured into your ear, his thumb still tilting your chin up to him even after he kissed you.

"I—I…" you croaked. "It's only going to be a week."

"You'd be surprised at how long a week can feel when you're left waiting," Francis replied and released you, his deep blue eyes never leaving your stunned gaze. "You know, you're more attractive when you're not so tense. I should surprise you more often."

"I'm not tense!" you protested. You could feel your breathing coming out in short, steamy gasps and your cheeks burning red with blood.

"See what I mean?" Francis chuckled. Goddammit it! He was teasing you!

"I thought you were supposed to be at the museum early today!" you reminded him, your voice straining to remain composed.

"You're right," Francis sighed. "I'll be going then, ____________. I'll see you soon."

You crossed your arms and twisted your lips into a frown so he wouldn't catch you reflexively trying to form a smile. "Goodbye, Francis."

Before heading to the elevator, Francis placed his fingers over his lips and blew you a fashionable kiss causing something to stir deep inside your chest—or maybe it was just the wine from last night. Not wanting to keep your eyes glued on him any longer, you rolled your eyes and shut your door finally being freed from Francis' spell.

A week. A goddamn week. You told your client you would have the painting ready in five days. There were conflicts…But then there was Francis…

"Bah! What am I thinking?!" you growled aloud. "I've got better things to worry about. It's just a date! It's not even like you lo—" You sighed. You couldn't bring yourself to say it—if you did, maybe you would have believed it.

Francis…

You had been watching him for some time. There wasn't something else about him. Sure, you had caught him flirting with the occasional visitor or two, but he had other things going on about him—plus he was a good cook.

"No. Just—No. ________________, there's no way it would work. Just focus on your task in front of you, and you'll get through this."

You kept telling yourself the same thing over and over again hoping you would finally convince yourself that you could let it go...but it was hard.