Letters Never Sent
Arthur walked into his house and closed his umbrella, shaking it to rid it of some water. After putting away his umbrella he slid off his rain coat and shoes.
He walked into the kitchen and started the kettle. He'd been living alone for almost six full years now. He opened the refridgerator to see if he had anything worth eating. He decided on a few crumpets he had made a few days eariler.
The kettle began to whistle and Arthur finished making his tea. He sat the cup down and put a few of his crupets on a plate and carried it into the living room, setting it all down by his chair.
He went to pick up the book he was reading, "Wuthering Heights", but decided against it. Tonight was a night for remenising, though Arthur didn't know that yet.
Instead of reading he simply sat down and sipped at his tea. He sighed and an old memory filled his mind.
0~0~0~
"Does it always rain here, mon cher?" The question was asked with a slight chuckle. He knew just how to push the others buttons.
"No! Just...often," came the indignant reply from the shorter of the two males.
"No need to be offended. It was just an innocent question," the blue eyed male ran his fingers through the green eyed male's hair
"Nothing you do is innocent, wanker. Admit you were making fun of my home country and I'll consider not cutting off your hair in your sleep," while talking the smaller leaned into the others touch, making the threat pointless.
"Non, I was not making fun of your country. The rain is beautiful. And there is one thing it will always be good for," a small smile crossed his face as the younger leaned into his touch.
"And what is that? Providing water to the world, or giving water for plants," the younger looked up at him waiting for a reply.
"So maybe it is good for many things. But it's very best for dancing in," with that the taller stood, pulling the younger up with him.
The taller ran outside, tugging the smaller with him. Soon they were both running around like maniacs and laughing, content. The next morning they both woke up with colds.
0~0~0~
Arthur smiled at the bitter-sweet memory. It had been a long time since he had thought about Francis Bonnefoy. A very long time indeed.
Arthur sighed and stood up. He walked into his bedroom and stared at his closet. After a moment he sighed and opened the closet, pulling a small trunk over and standing on it to reach the top shelf.
He grabbed a old worn box. When it was first given to Arthur it had been beautiful. Even now it was beautiful, though it had obviously been touched by age.
Arthur walked slowly back to his chair and sat down, and, listening to the sound of rain hitting the window, took the lid off. He took out the first thing he saw. A necklace with a small ring on it. A small smile slid across his lips as another memory came to mind...
0~0~0~
"I have a gift for you, mon ami," Francis smirked as Arthur's eyes met his.
"Why do I feel as if I should say I don't want your gift," Arthur warily stood up and walked over to Francis.
"Oh, you are worried over nothing. Although, I must tell you that I do want something in return," Francis took a step closer.
"Well, I don't have anything for you at the moment. A little warning of the occasion would have been nice," Arthur looked up at Francis, but didn't step back.
"Oh, but you do have something I want. Something I've wanted for quite a long time now," Francis took another step forward.
"You cannot have any of my valubles. It is out of the question," Arthur found himself stepping closer to Francis.
"Close you eyes," Francis whispered leaning toward Arthur.
Arthur did so, tilting his head up toward Francis. He felt something cold rest against his chest. His eyes blinked open and saw a necklace with a ring on it resting on his chest. The ring was small and had a little stone, the exact color of Francis's eyes. Arthur looked up at Francis and before he could say anything Fracnis leaned down and kissed him.
Arthur's eyes widened and then slowly, they closed, and Arthur lost himself in the kiss. Francis broke the kiss long enough to whisper, "I knew you'd want the same thing as me."
Instead of answering Arthur pulled Francis back down to him.
0~0~0~
A sigh escaped Arthur. He pulled out other papers until he found what he was looking for. Four sealed envelopes.
He picked up the first one. It was dated 2004.
Dear Francis,
I don't see why I'm sending this to you. Actually I probably won't even send this. I'm pretty much writing this to myself. All the same.
I hope life has treated you well since I last saw you. What has it been now? Almost a full year. It doesn't seem as if it's been that long.
I feel so stupid writing this now. You'll probably see the name 'Arthur Kirkland' and sigh when the memories hit you. Or maybe you won't remember me and you'll throw this paper away. Or maybe you'll read my letter and laugh at me for trying to talk to an old flame.
But, like I said, to know I'd have to send you this. And I proabably won't.
Arthur
Arthur stared at the letter then folded it and slid it gently into its envelope. He picked up the next, which was dated 2006
Dear Francis,
Do you ever thank about me? Do I ever cross your mind at random moments? Would you kiss me if we were to run into each other one day?
Because I think about you. Not all the time, but atleast once every week or so you'll just pop into my mind. Like when I'm driving in the rain and I see people dancing and laughing. Or when the sky is clear and the exact color of your eyes. Although, I don't know if I could just walk up to you and kiss you. I would wonder if it were you. I would worry you were married, or in a relationship, or if you were even still gay.
But you wouldn't worry about that would you? You have no rezervations. It wouldn't matter if I was married or in a relationship or still gay(I am). You would just grab my chin and pull it up and kiss me on the mouth.
I still haven't decided if I would kiss you back. I think I probably would. But one can never be too sure.
Oh well.
Arthur
Arthur remembered writing this. It was after a break up. He and Alfred had been together for almost a full year before Alfred moved back to America and they called it off. A month later Arthur had written this. He picked up the next. 2007
Dear Francis,
I can't believe I'm still writing these(and not sending them). Maybe it's because I want to have a connection to you. That sounds creepy. Its not that I think we were ment to be together.
You were just the first person who was able to get past the wall I had put up against people. The first, and the only. So far.
Maybe I'll send this letter. (I know I won't). Maybe I'll force myself to write the adress you gave me onto the envelope and take it to the post office before I can stop myself. (There is really no chance of this ever happening.)
But even so, the thought of you possibly reading it makes my stomach hurt.
Arthur
The last one. Arthur picked it up. 2008. Last year. The most recent one written. The one that he promised himself would be the last.
Dear Francis,
This is it. I'm going to forget you. I am going to forget our summer together. I am going to move on and I'm going to put all the reminders of you away so I won't have anything to bring you to mind. Why am I writing all this in a letter to you?
Because. I am weak. I know I am weak. And I know one day you're going to cross my mind. And I'm going to open these letters. And I'm going to remember you. I'm going to remember everything. And then, I'm going to read this. And so I want to remind myself.
Arthur tore his eyes from the paper. He didn't want to finish the letter. He knew what he wrote down was going to hurt. He took a deep breath and looked back to the paper.
I want to remind myself of everything you did wrong.
The time you kissed my brother. Do you remember that? When you kissed William when you thought I wasn't home? But I came home early. And I watched you snog the hell out of my brother on my couch.
The time you got drunk and said that you only liked me because I could kiss. Then you said you would fuck me and leave me. Then you passed out. But you wouldn't remember that. I hope.
The day you finally got me to have sex with you. It was my birthday. You had sex with me, then left. You just left. Walked out of my room, pulling on your shoes and said, "Good bye, mon cher. I'll see you around."
The day you came back. That day was probably the worst. You walked into my house, using the spare key I had given you, and you went to my spare room, packing your things. Then you walked away.
The day you apologized. That actually was the worst of all. I was so close to forgetting you. You came to my door. You knocked. And when I answered you asked me to forgive you. You stayed the night. And the next morning you were gone again.
And the last thing. The worst thing. The most painful thing.
The day I was phoned and given the information about your funeral. I was told a date. A time. A place. I went. Of course I went. How could I not? I remember thinking it was a joke. Thinking I would get there and it would be the wrong person. And seeing you. They put you in a suit. A blue suit. You looked amazing. It was the first time I really wished I had sent those letters. But by then, it was too late.
So, that is why I wrote this letter. To remind myself why I don't think about you. To remind myself why I can't let myself get caught up in you. To remind myself why I have to put these letters up and keep them put up.
So, good bye Francis. You never got my first three letters. And now, you never will.
Arthur
Arthur felt tears slide down his cheek. He wiped his eyes and slid the letter back into its envelope.
And one last memory flooded his mind before he could block it.
0~0~0~
"Are you Arthur Kirkland?" A small Japanese man asked him quietly.
"Yes," Arthur answered, wiping a tear from his cheek.
"My condolences. I was asked to give you this letter," The Japanese man said, handing him an envelope.
Arthur grabbed it and said, "Who gave this to you?"
"Francis," the Japanese man said, before quickly turning and walking away.
Arthur stared down at the envelope.
0~0~0~
Arthur was staring down at the last thing in the box. The letter from Francis. He opened it and began to read.
My dearest Arthur,
I am so sorry for not trying to contact you sooner. I thought you didn't want me to, because I never got a letter, even though I gave you an adress. But it's not like you didn't have a right to be mad at me. I wasn't the best house mate over our summer together.
But you should know, hurting you was never my intentions. Or, at least, not at first. And what I'm about to tell you may make you wish you hadn't met me.
The summer that I lived with you was the summer I found out I was going to die. I had contracted a disease that would slowly but surely end my life much sooner than other peoples. So I decided to travel the world and gain experiences.
Staying for so long in England with you was not part of my plan. It just seemed to happen on its own. I was planning on staying for a week, no more than two. And the two became three and three became a month and then I knew, I had found where I wanted to be. I wanted to be with you.
But that, dearest, was a problem. Because, you see, I didn't want to be with you just as a summer fling. I wanted more. Much more than I could have expected someone to love me, what with my condition.
But I was in too deep. Leaving you, that wasn't going to happen. I could see you wanted me to, so I had to make sure you wouldn't try to come and find me. I knew I wouldn't be able to resist you if you did that.
And a plan was born. I would do everything in my power to have you hate me. So I kissed you. And then I kissed your brother. And then I got drunk as hell and told you I'd fuck you and leave. It wasn't part of the plan, but it did work to my advantage. You were wary. I probably could have left then. Not leaving was selfish.
Then it was your birthday. And I knew. To sleep with you and leave would be the most devistating thing I could do. So I did just that. Then I drank away the rest of the night.
I came back for my things. You seemed surprised to see me. But there was also hope in your eyes. I had to crush that hope. So I left agin without a single word. Nothing. Just grabbed my things, left the last payment for my staying there, and walked away. The tears you tried to hide made me hate myself more than anything in the world.
It tore me up inside. I couldn't sleep or eat or even think straight. I had to make things right. So, I came back and invited you to dinner, where I apologized and told you I was leaving the country. I left an adress where you cold send letters to reach me.
I'm not going to say I was flad when you didn't send me anything. Although, it made my life much easier. To see that you had moved on. Or, at least, were trying to.
Somedays I wish you had mailed me. Maybe we could have had something. Maybe not. But you should know, they were both blessings and curses, those letters you never sent.
Forever Yours,
Francis Bonnefoy
Arthur folded Francis's letter. He put everything back into the box, just the way he had put it in before, and closed the lid. By this time his tea had gone cold. Francis always had been able to occupy his mind and make his tea go cold. Even now.
Arthur put his box up. He put the trunk up. He emptied his tea cup and threw the crumpets away. He washed the cup and plate and then, finally, went to bed.
That night, Arthur lay thinking about what Francis's letter had said. Maye they could have had something over mail. Maybe Francis would have moved back, or Arthur could have had moved to France. Maybe they would have just been great friends. Maybe nothing would have ever happened. Maybe they would have grown apart.
But, alas, Arthur would never know. All because of those bloody letters.
Arthur rolled over and sighed.
All because of those letter never sent.
0-0-0-
A/N: I feel like I need to do some explaining on this story. Lately, my English teacher has had us reading tradegy. I also have recenty been reading tragedy books. So yeah. Please don't kill me. I cried when writing Francis's letter. I hope you liked my story. Please tell Jorge ( - :{D ) in that little box right down there what you thought about my story.
Critism is good, when it's not hurtful, dearies~