Prologue
A cup of coffee could abolish a lot of issues, in actuality. The vibrant caffeine could keep Francis awake for hours, subtract fatigue from the equation, and make nights where Arthur would stay up to catch a re-showing of A Single Man – quite possibly for the fifth time since he had brought it up – all the more intimate. What it did not remedy, however, was hesitation. A spiral-bound notebook from revision days long lost was subjected to the life of an ink blotter, to slow the excitement of his heavily leaking fountain pen. The elephant in the room was more than apparent – what would fit the guidelines for an opening chapter?
He had asked Arthur earlier, of course, to which he responded with: "Something eye-catching. An outrageous statement or two – possibly relatable. Why?" He had been abusing the kettle beforehand, and returned to stilling the occasional burst of steam. Francis bit back a light-hearted retort about how describing his eyebrows wouldn't be riveting material.
"Everything we have done together, I am going to write down." That earnt a scoff. "We are not going to get any younger – when we age… We will have these for our memories." Arthur made his way over after unplugging the accursed kettle, finding the sofa the victim of his nonchalant collapse. He always had the knack for coming out of his shell around evening; as though some unspoken element in the universe demanded he abolish the trademark suit and irritable fixture of being in favour of the current 'now' – baggy jumpers, faded jeans from an old family routine of 'don the clothes you would care to lose in favour of a child with finger paints', and a weary, resigned smile. To restrain one of his own, he took a sip of his long cold beverage. Its texture brought out a grimace that only encouraged hand to back, his lover's reassurance.
"If you dare to worry yourself over it, I shan't be too keen to forgive you." Arthur, of course, found his own comfort in a neglected cup of tea. Francis was more than certain it had been lying around long enough to grown its own organisms, though quickly abolished the thought. Arthur's stomach had the strange ability of being able to take in worse, as far as Christmas visits to his parents were concerned. The cup (reading #1 Dad, which they of course exchanged depending on the time of day), was placed back onto its dirty ring-like mark upon the coffee table. "We have a good few decades before our memories should be whittled away, after all. We're constantly making more as time drags on."
At that point, Francis could have sworn he saw longing in those reminiscing viridians, gazing up to first where a moth head-butted the overheard light, then toward his own, analysing every possible commination. "I'll make the first attempt. Perhaps you ought to check up on the girls." The deal was sealed with a peck to the bridge of Francis' nose.
"Wish me luck." His pad was abandoned, sadly, in favour of heaving himself up from the sofa. These were the days he missed – no reason to move aside from fulfilling the necessities, family strolls such as they had indulged in during the early hours – and time to tease fate with the proposition that they too could be domesticated: the 'Casanova', and the 'Outspoken'. Arthur would take charge of his duties for tonight whilst Francis meandered through their halls.
The walls, in fact, proclaimed the very existence of a white-washed reality. Instead of abstract pieces, paintings that assumed the hint that their creator was most likely on certain substances, they were found replaced with crudely drawn pastel formations, rubbings of coins, and family portraits. Francis himself was commonly shown holding the two children's hands, whilst Arthur was sulking to the side. It took a lot of persuasion indeed to allow them a place upon their makeshift gallery.
The artists themselves were not difficult to locate. If the pink and black door – half and half, the girls' personalities clashed enough to make room for a very…changeable layout – wasn't anything to go by, the hushed whispers and occasional creak of the floorboards did. Braving the storm, opening the door, he set foot upon a discarded toy or two. "Time to rest…!" His words were a hushed whisper. He recoiled, disheartened by the colossal groans that followed.
"Bleh! Why'd I wanna sleep now?" The oldest by an age gap of 2 years, Janice, poked her head from under her Fairly Odd Parents bedspread. She was by far the more outspoken of the two, as her hair was cut far shorter than the other girls' in her year – by request, startlingly – or, supposedly, that of any other six year old in the country, as she chose to proclaim. She boasted a SpongeBob plaster upon the bridge of her nose even now, though whether there was, in fact, an injury beneath it, was still unconfirmed.
By contrast, the second face belonged in another universe, let alone beside her. Sun Li, at the tender age of four, was the exact opposite of the self-assurance and confidence beside her. Her long hair was a treacherous shade of black, almost indecipherable in the poor lighting, and almost always got in the way of her eyes, if her common choice of too-large hoodies didn't get there first. She muttered a quick: "We're sorry…" Before looking downward.
Francis crouched to join their level. "Papa isn't angry – but you do have school tomorrow…" Evading the furious huff sent his way by Janice, he continued, "What were you doing up so late?"
"Ah!" Finally, the eldest perked up, whilst Li buried her face amongst the remaining blanket she had tucked over her head. "We found one of dad's old ghost story books lying around! You c'n only read this stuff at night, otherwise it's less scary!" After passing over the novel, a ridiculously-proportioned hardback – definitely one of Arthur's – a proud grin overcame her features.
"I told you we'd get caught…" Came the sad muttering from under the duvet.
"What're you even hiding for? 'M not taking the blame myself, you know!" Janice took her chance whilst Francis was distracted to yank on her sister's hair.
"Ah-! Stop it!" The man in question, by this time, was almost flailing his arms. "You will summon your Father if you continue!" Truth be told, he wasn't exactly worried, per se, though the idea was that he would see this through to the very end, due to Arthur's general inability to truly get children.
Funnily enough, this inspired their pause.
"Good…" A sigh. "Now, I will put this back, okay? It will be our secret." Not allowing a chance for the assessment of the situation to reveal their source of fun was gone for the night, he lowered his voice to a stage-whisper. "Tomorrow night, I will read to you instead. However, it will not come if you do not try to sleep for now…" The two seemed to get the hint, as Li bolted for her side of the room as quick as you like, whereas – miracle of miracles – Janice seemed to rest her weary head for the time being. She cracked open an eyelid to sport a toothy grin.
"Don't give up on the promise, alright? I'll… I'll take away all your coffee otherwise!" She proclaimed, finally turning over with an almighty flourish of the sheets.
"Goodnight!" At last, when all was quiet in the room, did Francis take his leave, virtually collapsing against the other side of the door. He couldn't help but smile to himself. In actuality, he seemed to be growing easier and easier to tire out – not even when Arthur was concerned, either. Perhaps that was what concerned him above all else.
By the time he came back into the living room, at precisely 11:30pm, he was presented with a rather rare sight indeed. Arthur was curled up on the very edge of the sofa, eyes closed and mocking serenity. His notebook, of course, was right beside him.
Only a title was present, beside its scratched-out counterparts – First Words.
Francis finished off his coffee, stretched out his back, and retrieved the pen. From then until sunrise, the page gradually filled.