A/N: Hi, friends. Look. I know. This is actually being posted semi-regularly on Ao3. In fact, the first six or seven chapters are already up. But I'm going to do a mass post here. It's going to be going up daily for the next week or so. So, we can get on board with that.

Honestly, I'm kind of surprised that no one has done this before. I'm certainly here for it. And if it's your first time to my cozy corner of the internet, welcome, new friend. My name is Lumi and I've wondered if human meat is gluten free. I don't think it is. Not that I have a gluten sensitivity or anything, but I promise my weird ass random thoughts aren't going to be so morbid. But I don't think there's much I need to do for setup here. Just kind of roll with it, k? So, let's get to it. xx

"Look at us!" Francis Bonnefoy always was one to boast. Never one to hide his shame. Or have any. Certainly not to his classmates. Definitely not in front of his two best friends. But they tolerated him. Sometimes, they even fed off his infectious energy. To them, he was just Francis. Although, to everyone else in school, he was nothing short of a god, "We're young. We're hotter than Hell…How is it only going to be the three of us tonight?"

"I don't know, Francis." The heart of their group…Or more likely, the heart breaker…That label fell onto the broad, sun kissed shoulders of Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo. He always bounced between the voice of reason and dangerously reckless. No one knew which Antonio they were going to get that day. He never had a middle ground. However, out of the three of them, Antonio had the nicest car and some musical talent, so that made the others catnip by association. Antonio let a little could of smoke roll off his lips, "Ever get the feeling we're the big fish in the little pond?"

"Of course we are!" Then, there was Gilbert. Neither Francis or Antonio have ever met someone so confident, yet so awkward in their lives. Gilbert had Antonio's devil may care attitude and a loud mouth that could rival Francis any day of the week. He tried, though. He tried to shake his awkwardness with his confidence, but it only came across more awkward. Any time Gilbert and his friends were ready for a weekend, he could always score booze like it was a superpower. Not necessarily just for them. Let's say…Gilbert had made a name for himself around campus, "The question is how does the pond contain our awesomeness?"

"If we're so great," Francis threw himself dramatically over the top of their regular picnic table, "Why do we not have plans for tonight? Or tomorrow, for that matter? We could get any hot piece of ass we want at this school, but it's almost like nothing's standing out anymore."

"Maybe it's time we face facts," Antonio wouldn't buy into the overreaction, "There's no more big game for us to hunt here anymore."

"I know," Francis whined, "I just didn't want to say it out loud."

"Does that mean we go out of town?" Gilbert suggested.

"As brilliant as that sounds, cheri," Francis sighed out, "The chances of us finding anything within a fifty-mile radius that would even remotely interest any of us is highly unlikely. But I do appreciate the effort. Gold star for you, Gilbert."

"It might not be so bad," Antonio tried to lighten everyone's spirits, "Just the three of us in Gilbert's basement."

"The old man's going to be out of town," Gilbert perked up, "The liquor will be left unguarded, so I won't have to get any. The only whistleblower we'll have to deal with is Ludwig, but we can get rid of him, too, if we play our cards right."

"What do you mean?" Antonio wondered, leaning into the table.

"Rumor has it," Gilbert elaborated, "Our little Ludwig has a thing for your ex-boyfriend's little brother."

"Aww…" Antonio melted, "I always liked Feliciano, but he was too young for me. He's seeing Ludwig? Kind of an odd pairing, don't you think?"

"I bet if Feliciano asked," Gilbert figured, "Ludwig wouldn't hesitate to spend a night with him."

"Francis?" Antonio gave his friend a nudge, "You're awfully quiet. What do you say? A night of us getting liquored up at Gilbert's place?"

"Oh," Francis snapped out of his melancholic headspace, "I guess. Sure. That sounds like a good plan."

While Gilbert and Antonio were both finetuning their weekend plans and gushing over Gilbert's little brother's conquests, Francis struggled with a heartache of his own. It was hard for him to believe that a whole week had gone by since he and his last boyfriend broke up. Francis and Arthur spent almost every waking moment together for two years. But Francis' beauty got him more attention than Arthur liked, so he left. Their breakup shook campus. Mostly because someone like Arthur Kirkland broke up with an Adonis like Francis Bonnefoy. Even worse…Francis still loved him.

"Francis?" Antonio gave Francis a look. He could smell when something was genuinely wrong and it wasn't just Francis being a drama queen, "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Francis sighed, brushing it off, "No need to worry."

"No, no," Gilbert saw through him, too, "Bullshit."

"It's Arthur again, isn't it?" Antonio figured, flicking the end of his cigarette.

"Who?" Francis played dumb.

"Come on, Francis," Gilbert rolled his eyes, "So, Arthur dumped you. You're not dead. You'll find someone else that'll put up with your melodramatic ass soon enough."

"I don't want anyone else," Francis swallowed the lump in his throat, his voice breaking. Which, in turn, made Gilbert regret his choice of words. Francis laid his head in Antonio's lap, his usual source of comfort when times were tough, "I want Arthur back."

"You're not getting him back." Just because Gilbert regrets what he said doesn't mean history doesn't repeat itself. He didn't have nearly the same gentle approach with Francis as Antonio did, "You know what you need?"

"A cuddly English boy half naked and covered in silk sheets on my bed?"

"No," Gilbert jumped up from their table, "Antonio, can I see your pocket knife?"

"What do you need my pocket knife for?" Antonio dug around his inner pocket of his uniform blazer for his knife.

"It's not for me," Gilbert handed it off to Francis, "Do you remember freshman year?"

"Of course." The memory put a smile on Francis' face. The three of them put their claims on their picnic table. The hopeless romantic Frenchman, the scrappy, yet mellow Spaniard, and the loud mouthed German. Their initials permanently etched in the wood symbolizing their friendship. And just under that, the letters FB and AK were carved into it.

"Arthur is going to be thorn in your ass for as long as you let him," Gilbert put the handle in the palm of Francis' hand, "He's an itch you need to scratch and this is going to be a good start to scratching it. Go on, Francis. Scratch the itch. Besides, the catharsis will be good for you."

"I don't know," Francis twiddled the knife in his fingers, "I don't think I'm ready to scratch this particular itch yet."

"Francis," Antonio took Gilbert's side, "He's got a point. You can't let Arthur Kirkland keep living in your head rent free, amigo. You deserve better than that. Go ahead. We're here for you if you need it. You can do it."

"And what if this doesn't make me feel better?"

"Then, we go to Gilbert's house and kill the pain," Antonio took a little plastic bag out of his pocket, "And we'll save this for when the wine doesn't work."

"When did you score this?" Gilbert's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"It's harvest season," Antonio grinned, "Homegrown."

"Look at you with the green thumb. I'm impressed."

"Come on, Francis," Antonio encouraged him, "This is good shit and we don't have all day."

"Fine," Francis held the blade shakily in his hand, putting the tip on the A. This was it. It's really over, isn't it? Francis and Arthur were no more. Slowly, but surely, Francis began to heal, taking Arthur's initials from their table.

"Hey!" The headmaster came out. Antonio, Francis, and Gilbert were no strangers in his office. Whenever they heard his voice, they knew to run. So, they took off like bats out of Hell and jumped into Antonio's getaway car.

Francis, Gilbert and Antonio had a tradition in Gilbert's basement. It was their own, personal tavern (whenever Gilbert's dad wasn't there. He didn't take too well to their underage drinking.). It was nothing for them to spend a weekend in and out of the basement like a revolving door. Mostly because of the door that led outside. Perfect for the nights that turned into mornings. But mostly if the walls of the basement could talk, they'd tell stories of many a heartache. Every breakup those boys have been through together had been dealt with in that basement. Francis would be no different. Whether his healing would be in liquid form or plant form had yet to be decided.

"What are you drinking Francis?" Gilbert jumped behind the bar, ready to mix whatever medicine his friend needed.

"Pink Moscato," Francis ordered, laying down on the smaller section of the L-shaped couch, "Merci, cheri."

"Really?" Gilbert scoffed, "You plan on driving tonight?"

"I don't," Francis clarified, "But what does that have to do with anything?"

"I can drink an entire bottle and not feel a thing," he bragged, "You need something stronger than pink Moscato."

"To be fair, Gilbert," Antonio argued, taking a pack of rolling papers out of his pocket, "You have the most loco alcohol tolerance I've ever seen."

"Danke, Vater," Gilbert chuckled to himself, pouring a glass of pink Moscato for Francis, "You want anything while I'm back here?"

"Cuba Libre," Antonio asked, "Por favor."

"Half and half?"

"Aww…Gilbert," Antonio put his hand over his heart, "You do know me."

"How do you say lush in Spanish?"

"Antonio," Francis jabbed.

"No!" Antonio giggled, "Alcohólico, if you must know."

Gilbert mixed Antonio's drink, making sure to keep a heavy hand. He threw a can of beer in his uniform blazer pocket and joined his friends, "Are you sure you don't want anything stronger, Francis?"

"I'm sure," Francis took a heavy drink from his glass, "This will be more than plenty."

"Let me make up for it," Antonio rolled a special surprise and felt around in his pockets, "Shit…I just have dropped mine. Anyone got a lighter?"

"I might," Gilbert got up and opened the basement door, "Ludwig!"

"Was willst du?!" an angry German accent snarled.

"I need a lighter!"

"Then, get one yourself! I'm busy!"

"Just get me a lighter!"

Slam!

Angry footsteps thundered upstairs. Only for the source of them to stand at the top of the stairs, "What do you need a lighter for?"

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with," Gilbert stuck his hand out, "Lighter, Ludwig. Give."

"Here," Ludwig whipped a lighter at his older brother, "Now, leave us alone."

"Us?" Gilbert wasn't letting that go, "Are you…entertaining?"

"Are you getting drunk with your idiot friends again?" he retaliated.

Fair enough.

"Gilbert?" Antonio tapped his foot, "While we're young?"

"Thank you, Ludwig," Gilbert threw the lighter toward the couch and shut the door, "Is that good enough for you, Antonio?"

"Fine by me," Antonio put the freshly rolled joint between his fingers, "Francis, put this in your mouth."

"If I had a nickel for every time I heard that," Francis topped off his glass.

"Here," Antonio did it for him, lighting the end, "If it were me, I'd take it in slow. This will make you forget all of the things Arthur ever put you through."

Francis took his first hit only to erupt into a massive coughing fit, "What the hell did you just give me, Antonio? Are you trying to kill me?"

"It'll get easier," Antonio took it back, getting a hit himself, "I would never poison you, Francis."

"Well," Francis sat up, "Give it back."

"No need to be greedy," Antonio scolded him, "You act as if this is the first time we've ever smoked together."

"It is the first time we've ever smoked together."

"Well…Shame on me then," Antonio blew out a cloud of smoke, "Gil, you want in on this?"

"I don't play with drug," Gilbert turned him down.

"This is totally natural," Antonio defended, passing it back to Francis, "It's practically medicine. This is what keeps me in check. I'm just trying to make my friend feel good again. Is that so wrong?"

"Thank you, Antonio," Francis tried it again, taking it easier, "That…is a little better."

"There's my boy," Antonio applauded, "I told you it'd get easier."

"Let me open a window first." Gilbert may have that devil may care attitude, but he also knew that upstairs sat a narc. And he also happened to be Vati's favorite. Gilbert wasn't looking for death.

"How are you feeling, Francis?" Antonio wondered, "Are you doing alright?"

"When is this going to kick in?" Francis took another hit.

"You'll know."

A couple hours, a bottle and a half of pink Moscato, a six pack, and a few Cuba Libres later (and what little bit of pot Antonio brought), the three of them were feeling good. Maybe too good. And maybe only two of them. Unfortunately, Francis couldn't say he was feeling good. He had gone back to tears worse than when Arthur broke up with him in the first place.

"I thought he was the one!" Francis wept, "I had already named all the dogs we were going to adopt!"

"Cut the Frenchie off," Antonio declared, "He's done."

"You know what you need, Francis?" Gilbert figured, "You need to confront the little British arschloch face to face."

"None of us are in any shape to drive," Antonio pointed out, "Definitely not my car!"

"I could get us a DD," Gilbert squeaked, "Francis, are you up for getting some answers?"

"You're damn right, I am!" Francis agreed, "Where are we getting our DD, Gil?"

"Hold on," Gilbert stumbled from the couch to the stairs again, "Hey, Ludwig!"

"What now?" Ludwig groaned from the living room upstairs.

"You want to make some quick money?"

Ludwig thought it over for a moment or two, "How much?"

"Twenty."

"Fifty."

"Twenty."

"Fifty will buy my silence."

"Dammit," Gilbert pouted, "Fine. Francis, you owe me."

"Consider it done," Francis promised.

"What do you need?" Ludwig asked, taking a seat at the top of the stairs.

"We need someone to drive us to Arthur Kirkland's house," Gilbert requested.

"And possibly Taco Bell!" Antonio chimed in.

"And possibly Taco Bell," Gilbert reiterated.

"Why?" Ludwig questioned his brother's life choices. More often than he liked to admit.

"Because Arthur Kirkland is a dick!" Francis sniveled.

"You got me there," Ludwig agreed, "Let me get Feliciano. Whose car are we taking?"

"We could take mine!" Antonio volunteered, "You won't crash it, right, Ludwig?"

"Of course not."

"Fantastico!" Antonio got up from the couch, "Vámonos, putas!"

"Ludwig," a sweet, innocent voice chimed from behind him, "Is everything ok?"

"Everything's fine," Ludwig assured, "My idiot brother and his friends need a ride. Is that alright?"

"Sure."

"Feliciano!" Antonio beamed, tossing Ludwig his keys and hugging the adorable Italian.

"Buona sera, Antonio," Feliciano choked out. Antonio didn't know his own strength sometimes.

"You know him?" Ludwig asked.

"He used to date Lovino," Feliciano filled him in, "Lovino didn't like that we were still friends, so we don't see each other often outside of school."

"But look at this little face!" Antonio gushed, pinching Feliciano's cheek.

"How gone are you?" Ludwig swatted his hand away, "Let's get this over with."

Everyone piled into Antonio's car. Ludwig and Feliciano sat in the front. Antonio, Gilbert, and Francis sat in the back. While Antonio and Gilbert belted out any song that came on the radio, Francis tried to figure out what he was going to say to Arthur. They hadn't spoke since they broke up and Arthur hardly gave Francis and explanation. Was he ready for this? He was going to have to be.

When they pulled up to Arthur's house, all of his feelings started bubbling up in the back of his throat again. Francis tried to psych himself up for it, but all it did was make him sad. Maybe if he did some groveling at Arthur's feet, he could have him back. They could work out their differences and everything would be ok. Maybe they could run off. Leave town together and never look back. It could be just the two of them and it could work out like a romance novel.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Francis?" Antonio may have been stoned and a little drunk, but he wasn't stupid. He knew the kind of emotional hell his friend was it. Not too long ago, he was in Francis' shoes with a cute, little, Italian boy. Only that breakup wasn't quite like Francis and Arthur's. Antonio and Lovino's breakup damn near got police involved.

"I'm sure," Francis hiccupped, "At the very least, it'll be closure. But if all goes well, maybe we'll take Arthur back with us and everything will go back to the way it used to be."

"Francis," Gilbert put a hand on his shoulder, "That would mean me getting Matthew back, too. And Antonio getting Lovino back."

"And Lovino hates Antonio's guts with a burning passion!" Feliciano chimed in.

"Don't get involved," Ludwig warned, "You'll horribly regret it."

"He's right," Antonio agreed, "Pretty sure if I come within a hundred feet of Lovi, he'd kill me."

"I'm sure I want to do this!" Francis mustered up the energy to face Arthur head on. When he got out of the car, a bright red Mustang sat in the driveway, "Whose is that?"

"I don't know," Gilbert shrugged, "Does he have family in town?"

"I haven't talked to him in a week, Gilbert," Francis pointed out, "How the hell would I know?"

"No need to take it out on me!" Gilbert backed off.

"I'm going to go see!" Francis jumped out of the back of Antonio's Mercedes and knocked on Arthur's front door.

"Ye…" Arthur stood in the doorway, "Oh, bloody hell…What do you want, frog?"

"I want answers, Arthur," Francis demanded, hardly able to stand. The Moscato got to him more than he thought it'd be.

"Now's not a good time, Francis," Arthur winced, "You need to leave."

"Not until you tell me," Francis stood his ground…shakily, but he's still standing. Luckily for him, the doorframe kept him from falling over, "Was I not good enough for you?"

"No," Arthur shut the door behind him, "That wasn't it at all."

"Because I'm wonderful!" Francis growled, "I'm nothing but a charming goddamn delight, yet you DUMPED ME! Was that why you DUMPED ME?"

"No, Francis," Arthur groaned, "Do you really think I wanted us to break up?"

"If you didn't want us to break up…" Francis softened the bite in his tone, "Why did we?"

"Because," Arthur stared down at his feet, "I'd only be in your shadow. Everyone wants you, Francis, and you know it. I wanted nothing more than for us to be together, but it wasn't you who wasn't good enough. You don't deserve me holding you back, so I let you go."

"No," Francis wrapped his arms around the little English boy that stole his heart, "No, no, no, cheri. You could never hold me back. I love you, Arthur. More than anything."

"Well…" Arthur pushed away, "It's too late for that, Francis."

"What do you mean?" Francis wondered, his heart snapping in two.

"I…"

"Hey, Artie!" a voice from inside called, "Is that the pizza dude?"

"No," Arthur yelled back, "I'll be back inside in a minute."

Francis stood in front of his ex-boyfriend, not sure whether to break down or break his face, "I see you moved on quickly."

"Francis…" Arthur tried to reach out to him, but Francis wasn't having it.

"No," Francis shook him off, "I'm sure Alfred's waiting for you."

"Francis…" Arthur pleaded.

But Francis wouldn't let him have the satisfaction. When he got back in Antonio's car, the floodgates broke. He tried to keep it to himself as much as he could, but after that, there'd be no way. Francis nestled his face in Antonio's shoulder and bawled his eyes out. As much as they all wanted to get out of the car and kick the shit out of Arthur for doing this to someone so undeserving, they let Francis get out what he needed to.

"I wasn't ready for that," Francis sobbed, "He's already moved on…"

"I'm sorry, Francis," Gilbert apologized, taking him off Antonio's shoulder, "I'm the one that told you to come here. I didn't think this would happen."

"No, no," Francis stopped him, "It wasn't your fault. How were you supposed to know he'd…he'd…"

"Oh, Francis," Antonio winced, "He had…company…didn't he?"

"AND HE CALLS HIM ARTIE!" Francis continued to wail, "ALFRED JONES WAS IN THERE!"

"Eww…" Gilbert cringed, "Even Arthur can do better than that."

"He peaked with Francis," Antonio assured, "We all know that."

"Let me out," Francis ordered, "Please. Let me out of this car."

"No way, amigo," Antonio kept a hold of him, "You'll only get more upset."

"No," Francis clarified, slightly convulsing, "I need to go throw up and it'll only count if it's in Arthur's bushes."

"Alright," Antonio let him go and throw up in Arthur's bushes, he did. Once he was done, Francis slid back into the backseat, "You want us to go home?"

"No," Francis shook his head, "I do feel better, though."

"That's good," Gilbert put a hand on his friend's back, "But are you sure you don't want to go back to my house?"

"No," Francis repeated, "I do need a drink, though."

"I think you've had enough tonight," Antonio figured.

"Water," Francis requested, "Just water."

"Alright." Ludwig brought them all to the nearest gas station and Feliciano went in for Francis' water. He's a good boy, Francis thought. Feliciano was so sweet and he didn't deserve to go through the heartache Francis was going through.

"Ludwig," Francis tapped on his shoulder, "Can I ask you something?"

"I suppose it can't hurt," Ludwig allowed, "What is it?"

"Are you and Feliciano dating?"

"Francis!" Gilbert gave him a heavy swat to the shoulder.

"I'm just curious!" Francis whined, "Are you?"

"You don't have to answer that," Gilbert added.

"Well," Ludwig blushed a bit, "I can't say that I'm not trying. Despite the fact that Feliciano isn't…exactly the brightest…He has a big heart and I wouldn't want to see it hurt."

"That's beautiful," Francis laid his head on Gilbert's shoulder, "And very diplomatic, if I do say so myself. Why don't you two make it official? It's not like Feli's not into you."

"Don't call him that."

"Why? Because that's what you call him when you're alone?"

"FRANCIS!" Both Ludwig and Gilbert snapped at him.

"Don't yell at me!" Francis begged, "I'm a very fragile boy right now. I can't handle the yelling."

"Our relationship is none of your business," Ludwig stood his ground, "Just because you invited us into yours doesn't mean the feeling is mutual."

"Understandable," Francis let out a little yawn as Feliciano came back.

"Here, Francis," he handed back a cold bottle of water.

"Don't drink it too fast," Antonio helped him, "You'll only throw up again. TACO BELL!"

"TACO BELL!" Gilbert agreed, "I'm starving!"

"You all need to sober up anyway," Ludwig pulled out of the gas station parking lot and headed to the nearest Taco Bell.

"By the way," Feliciano chimed in, "Ludwig, are we going to Feliks' party tonight?"

"Feliks is throwing a party?" Antonio perked up.

"Yeah!" Feliciano beamed, "We should all go!"

"I don't know, Feliciano," Ludwig worried, "With Francis a blubbering mess and Antonio and Gilbert drunk and stupid, I don't think we should bring them along."

"Come on, Ludwig," Gilbert insisted, "Look at Francis. You can't tell me he doesn't need something like this. Maybe Feliks' party is just what he needs to cheer himself back up."

"Yeah," Antonio agreed, "I'm sure Feliks wouldn't mind if you brought a few more. Besides, it's us."

"We could make that party legendary," Francis figured, "And it would be nice to get another drink. I think I got a second wind in me."

"After Taco Bell," Antonio stipulated, "You guys are still down, right?"

"Ja!"

"Oui!"

"Yay…" Ludwig wanted nothing more than to drop the three morons in the back seat off at his house and take off with Feliciano and Antonio's car. But three more bodies couldn't hurt.