Addicted to Love

1. Gilbert Weilschmidt

It was the spring of '09, and Arthur was far along in completing his A-levels* when Gilbert invited him round to play some games on his PlayStation. It was a well-earned break from the last batch of exams and, much to his own surprise, Arthur found himself on a winning streak. It was around his fourth or fifth win in the row when Gilbert, the sore loser that he was, chucked his controller aside and physically tackled Arthur to the floor, starting another bout of their now familiar play fights.

Their first fight took place on a hot summer's afternoon in the year running up to their GCSEs.** They were slumped under a tree grove, trying futilely to cool themselves with already-warm cans of Coke, when the combination of boredom and irritation started an arm-punching contest between them. It quickly escalated into a full-blown tumble in the grass, during which a stray elbow slammed into Gilbert and gave him a bloody nose. By the time they were done, blades of grass sticking to their school uniforms, Gilbert's shirt sleeves stained red as he mopped copiously at his face, they knew without speaking that this was to become a regular thing between them.

Back in Gilbert's room, the game's menu screen was looping on itself as their fight turned into something else entirely. The shrieks and giggles subsided as a new intensity settled over them, something Arthur could not quite put his finger on, until their mouths connected in a kiss that was awkward and sloppy and involved a lot of teeth.

Oh! he thought. Then he felt Gilbert's hands reaching down his pants, and he was lost.

A few strokes and he was done, coming with a groan as Gilbert struggled still to unbuckle his belt; he quirked an eyebrow at Arthur who only flushed. Then they were kissing again. But a little more slowly this time, a little more careful in the exploration of a new stage of their relationship.

They knew without speaking that this was to become a regular thing as well, and it was with deep regret that Arthur left town for university the year after.

2. Wang Yao

Arthur was two years into university and a year into his relationship with Yao. They have reached a point where the passion had largely fizzled out, and what had been minor flaws in his lover had grown to become a constant irritation to Arthur. So late one night when Yao lit up his third or fourth cigarette of the evening, he decided to speak out.

"You could have the decency to step outside at least."

Yao paused mid-inhale and turned narrowed eyes on Arthur. He exhaled through his nose, the smoke curling out in two thin streams. "But this is my room," was his icy reply.

Arthur held his tongue then but continued to fume.

After a while, Yao stubbed out his cigarette and crawled into bed to where Arthur sat reading by a bedside lamp. He draped himself around Arthur and, ignoring the impatient noise Arthur made, took the book out of his hands and set it aside.

"Here," he whispered. He shifted so Arthur's attention was on him and kissed him softly on the lips. Arthur hated the taste of smoke and ash on Yao's breath, but he kissed him back with some enthusiasm, wrapping his arms around him.

He could never really resist Yao if he were to be entirely honest with himself.

They broke up the next year when Yao finished his course and left to return to China. They had bickered on the way to the airport; their relationship seemed to be nothing more than a series of quarrels lately. But when they said their final goodbyes at the gate, a part of him ached nonetheless.

3. Alfred F. Jones

Arthur was in the final year of university. His dissertation deadline was just around the coner, and he was in his pants and a hastily pulled-on T-shirt from off the floor at a quarter past noon. He sat nursing a cup of tea, his head pounding with the onset of what promised to be a killer hangover, as the attractive young man from the night before set two plates of a greasy fry-up on the table and fell on one with all the decorum of a starving man.

"You not gonna eat?" he said through a mouthful of eggs and sausages as Arthur continued to stare into his mug of tea. Arthur shook his head no. He immediately wished he had not as the throbbing in his head ratcheted up a notch.

"Listen, lad…"

"I'm Alfred, remember?"

Arthur vaguely recalled from when he was being peeled off the pavement by Alfred at sometime around four in the morning.

"And I'm not a kid. I turn eighteen this July, you know."

He almost spat out his tea at that. He was younger than he thought!***

Alfred continued to shovel food into his mouth, but he kept his eyes down as he said, "We didn't do anything last night, so stop looking like you're gonna puke, okay? Jeez."

Arthur thought he detected some hurt in Alfred's voice.

"Lad…"

"I told you, my name is Al–"

"Yes, Alfred, right. Don't take this personally, but what were you doing wandering around town so late last night? You're much too young to be picking up strangers and following them home. It's dangerous."

Alfred fixed Arthur with a look that said, really?

But as Arthur kept up his scolding-parent demeanour, Alfred's eyes drooped again and he mumbled, "I was terrible last night, wasn't I?"

"I beg your pardon? You said nothing hap–"

"Well yeah, we didn't go all the way because I wouldn't let you! But you kept kissing me and touching me, and we – we –"

Arthur felt more than a little faint then. He swore to lay off alcohol forever then and there, but of course he never really kept that promise.

4. Francis Bonnefoy

Which was how his relationship with the frog from the French department began.

They had started off on the wrong foot a few weeks into being assistant teachers. But one night alcohol turned their exchanges of insults into one of saliva and a lot of groping hands, and the rest was history, as they say.

Almost seven years of history together. He would be lying if he said it had not been very trying for a lot of the time, yet upon reflection all he could remember were the happy moments. But it was all crashing down around them now. Here was where the ride stopped. As he brushed back Francis's hair, once so thickly lustrous and blond before sickness had leeched all of the colour from him, he only wished he had been a better, kinder person, and said I love you more often.

"Arthur?"

"I'm here, love."

He took Francis's reaching hand and held it tightly. Francis smiled.

"Oh you'll find someone else, someone more worthy of your love, and –"

"Stop it," Arthur cut in firmly. He did not want to hear anymore of anyone else after…

After Francis.

Francis huffed. "Very well. You are so – how do you English say it? 'Anal'? Ah I was so handsome then, but you were still difficult to woo! But someone more handsome than I will come sweep you off your feet, oui?"

Arthur did not have it in his heart to argue with him. "As you say, love."

It was only after Francis had fallen back into sleep, one that was occupying more and more of his time, that Arthur let his composure slip. He let out a shaky breath and kissed the back of Francis's hand, feeling as if the shards of his broken heart were being crushed into even smaller pieces.

"You're the only for me, you stupid frog."

5. An old flame

Arthur was currently in his mid-thirties and a full-fledged English teacher. In a strange turn of events he found himself back in his old school, cramming the same ridiculous curriculum into the pliable minds of bored 15- and 16-year-olds. His life revolved around marking homework and watching television dramas, which was not to say it was lacking in any way. A little lonely sometimes, perhaps, but not lacking. He had simply outgrown the silly romantic dreams that still plagued his younger colleagues.

He had gone on a couple of blind dates since Francis, both of which had been arranged by well-meaning friends, but they had not worked out and he came to regret them. Perhaps there would never be anyone else after Francis after all. As he weathered another onslaught of vapid small talk that passed for academic conversations among his colleagues in the teachers' lounge, it dawned on him that romantic love was simply something he had given up on realising for himself.

On one particularly hot summer's afternoon, Arthur decided that he would rather suffer the heat in his own company, and took his lunch and some marking work out to the tree grove he used to hang around with Gilbert all those years ago.

The place had changed very little. The grass was stiffer than he remembered, but otherwise everything was as they have always been. He would have bought a can of Coke as well for memories' sake, if the school had not replaced the old vending machine for some newfangled healthy ones. He stared at the brightly coloured fruit milkshake machine for a moment before giving it a pass, settling under the tree grove and unpacking his sandwiches.

As he ate his lunch, his mind raced through old memories of Gilbert – the jokes they had shared, the endless number of fizzy drinks they had consumed and built-up sugar rushes with, and of course their first play fight. He wondered where Gilbert was, what he was doing. The last he had heard from him he had ran off to Europe for one reason or another. He regretted not keeping in touch with him.

He spent so long reminiscing under the tree that break was almost over by the time he popped the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth. Sighing, he gathered his things together and got up, brushing bread crumbs off his clothes.

He was just about to walk off when he heard someone call out to him.

"Arthur?"

He froze, not quite believing his ears. He turned slowly on the spot, and simply did not believe his eyes. "Speak of the devil," he said, or maybe he only thought it. He did not know.

All he knew was that Gilbert was standing right in front of him, peering in over the hedge that marked off the school grounds from the road.

"God, it really is you! What the– you're a teacher now, Arthur?"

And that laugh was just as he remembered it, an almost maniacal cackling that was as infectious as ever and swept him up so he was laughing as well. His first genuine laugh in as long as he could remember.

"Yes, crazy, isn't it?"

"Hey listen! We gotta meet up later for a pint or something. Catch up on life and stuff. What time you free? Say, 7 o'clock in the old Shakespeare's Head?"

The school bell rang just then, but Arthur could not bring himself to tear away from his old friend.

"Sounds like a plan. Oh! Have my number, just in case."

He scribbled onto the back of someone's homework, some kid he would grade a B or something later, and gave it to Gilbert. As the paper exchanged hands, he was seized with the sudden impulse to grab on to Gilbert and never let him go, never again.

He brushed the thought firmly from his mind.

Gilbert examined his number, nodded, folded the paper close and slipped it carefully into his wallet. The bell rang for a second time as a warning to stragglers.

"You better run, teach, you're already late."

"Yeah."

Yet he remained rooted to the spot. He felt something stir once more in his heart, but it was silly. He was just lonely, Gilbert had probably forgotten what they had been, and it had been so long ago and so brief between them. He should really be heading back to pontificate the beauty of iambic pentameters to a bunch of lazy, disinterested teenagers. But something kept him there.

"Well, see you down at the pub," Gilbert said at last, tearing those unnaturally red eyes away and putting on a pair of sunglasses.

"Gilbert, I–"

He stopped. Gilbert brought down his shades so their eyes met again.

"It's really good to see you," he finished sincerely, if somewhat lamely.

Gilbert smiled a slow, warm smile. "Yeah. Same."

This is essentially a reflection of a handful England-centric pairings I ship (and I ship this cutie with just about everyone lol).

The takes place in the UK, nowhere specific, but I realised belatedly that some things mentioned in fic might not be immediately obvious to non-UK citizens.

So here are some notes:

* The General Certificate of Education Advanced Level, more commonly known as A-levels, are qualifications you need to complete to get into university. Taken in the last years of secondary school education or in a sixth form college, around 17- and 18-years-old.

** The General Certificate of Secondary Education, commonly abbreviated to GCSEs, are secondary school qualifications that's pretty much the most basic you can put down in a job application. Taken over the course of a couple of years in secondary school, around 14- to 16-years-old.

*** The legal age of consent for sex in the UK is 16, so even though Arthur is freaking a little over Alfred's youth he had not broken any laws. However, the age for legal drinking and smoking is 18, so it is a little odd for Alfred to be wandering among drunken university students at his age.