Franco got home that rainy day, actually smiling. He had turned in his photos for the job he had as a photographer for the New York Times. He was thankful for the clouds, keeping him safe from the sun, and the rain because he was able to have an umbrella with out getting odd looks. That's when he ran into him. A man with bright green eyes, a wide smile, and messy blonde hair. He had been kind to him, though Francis knew he couldn't speak. His fangs were out, just like always. So he'd simply been cryptic. It was quiet amusing when the man, Arthur Kirkland was what he said his name was, thought he was mute. He smiled at the memory of the British man, his fangs gleaming in the moon light, red blood dripping on one. He'd recently visited the blood bank, instead of actually hunting. The humans were looking for a serial killer, so he had to be careful until things died down.
He wanted to get to know the green eyed man. Wanted to see what kind of person he was. Francis had seen the joy and passion that Arthur's eyes held in only one other person who died many years ago. Some one very special to him. He knew Arthur was going to be special.
Suddenly, he felt a burning sensation on his right forearm, as if he were sticking it in the sun. He looked at it, and saw that a rose was forming on it. A rose. How peculiar...