The first in the ficlet series that's not spamano, I'm so proud of myself!
There was a time where Arthur found Francis's habit of dripping paint everywhere to be annoying. It was true that the room belonged to the Frenchman but Arthur didn't quite like it when he has to enter the room and come out with paint stuck to his feet. In truth, Francis was a neat person, Arthur just wished he carried that tidiness to his makeshift studio too.
The worse part was when they had to clean it before the landlord came over to check on thing. He'll scrub the floor while Francis works away at the walls. On occasions the other would find it funny to blow bubbles at Arthur's head, only to receive a loud screech and a wet sponge thrown at him.
After that, it only took 2 weeks before the room returns to its former messy state and Arthur gets the uncontrollable urge to smack Francis in the back of his head 5 times.
The only time he didn't mind entering the room was when he allowed Francis to paint on him. Francis painted portraits of the world around them on a canvas of pale skin and soft muscles. Arthur doesn't admit that he likes the way Francis's brushstrokes breathes new life on to his skin or the way it felt like the Frenchman was stroking him. He just tells him to get it over with already. If things got a little too heated, well, the artwork would be put back for a few hours and Arthur would find himself resembling a rainbow.
It was in that same room that Francis also left him. The one to blame was Arthur himself, at least that was what he believed. Their relationship was already growing rocky before that event happened.
Arthur didn't remember the reason why he did what he did on that day, why he couldn't control his anger enough to hold himself together. Though he did remembered the way Francis looked at him when he yelled at him to leave and never come back. The way it made his heart clenched and almost drove him into tears. But he was too stubborn, too proud to take his words back and before he could stop the other, Francis silently left.
Everything that happened after that was a blur to him. Francis didn't come back to get his belongings, just sent people over to get them for him.
They didn't keep in contact, there were no calls or emails exchanged. Sometimes Arthur would come home and make something to drink after a long day. A cup of tea for him and a cup of coffee for Francis. He'll bring them to Francis's studio knowing he's been in there all day while Arthur was gone and find it to be empty. And he'll be reminded of the reality that he was alone and quietly go throw away the coffee.
This happens almost 17 times before Arthur decided to lock the room up permanently and never enter it again. It took him 2 year to break that promise to himself and opened it for renovation. He needed a small library to store his books and the room was the only empty space he had. There were still some paint splatters left on the walls, like little footprints that reminded him of 2 years ago. Arthur doesn't like them, so he paints over them and keeps living on.
The library came out well and he tries to keep it clean. But the more books he added to it and the more papers that piles on his desk, the more cluttered it became so he stops trying. He doesn't mind the messiness anymore, rather he found it to be comforting. Sort of a like a little haven for him and his cup of tea. If he needed the extra boost, he'll bring coffee into it.
