Life Is But A Dream
Pairing: Francis Bonnefoy/Arthur Kirkland (France/England)
Summary: He scoffed, moving his head to look pointedly at the man next to him, "If life is a dream, then I want to wake up from mine." AU.
Word Count: 3,063
A/N: I'm so embarrassed! I have no plot bunnies! Gah! I thought of this as I cleared the dinner table so please help my unfocused butt. If someone wants to take over one of my multi-chapter stories go ahead, but please PM me the link so I can read it. Nothing in this is meant to offend anyone!
CHAPTER 1: The Name
Liverpool, England
It was foggy outside. Clear sign of rain.
Nonstop rain, Monday through Sunday, like a cycle stuck on repeat. Sometimes, when Arthur wasn't working his ass off, he would sit in his great leather chair and stare at the pouring water from behind his large office window. The blond often caught himself gazing out at the rain for hours on end, letting all his important corporate duties fall away carelessly.
Couldn't hurt, right? He had thrown away whatever miniscule amount of love he would ever have. Tossed it away to be washed down the gutters by the never ending torrent of rain.
'Not like I deserved it.'
His career couldn't possibly be harmed by a wasted hour or two.
Meh. That sorry fool that loved him was just that, a sorry fool. Arthur couldn't bear to think his name- much less say it -too painful. He was happy, and that was wrong.
Arthur didn't want happy. Didn't need or have the right to be happy.
Always felt that if he was happy for even a moment, he would fuck it up, or the world would eventually come and do it for him. He didn't think he would survive it if it happened.
He was soon proven correct.
But he did survive. Got through it. Picked himself up.
Slowly, but surely.
He sighed, turning back to his large desk, picking up his pen to sign another stack of meaningless documents. Many of his days flew by like this; Arthur would wake up, button on a suit, open his umbrella and walk to his office building, where incapable interns and piles of papers awaited his attention.
His brow lowered over jade eyes, nose scrunching as unwelcome memories swam to the surface of his mind, plaguing him with reminders of how he threw it all away for a family that didn't want him.
'Goddamn gits always said I was making selfish choices, and the moment I made one for them, it comes back to bite me in the ass.'
His brothers were so stupid. Nothing like Arthur, they always rose through the ranks with intimidation, and that worked for them. That is, until Arthur landed the position as Chief Executive Officer of the major international trade company he worked at, incurring the envy and wrath of four big brothers.
Envy. Envy was a sin. Wrath was too.
So was homosexuality, apparently.
Not like he cared.
Wasn't religious.
Arthur snorted under his breath, shoving the paperwork away from himself, jabbing a finger down onto the office phone that rested on his desk.
"Yes sir?" A feminine voice came through the speaker, clipped and professional. He hummed, "Get me a coffee, I trust you know my preferences?" Arthur was irritated, he didn't really like this specific secretary, and everything reminded him of that person. "Of course, sir." A short dial tone rang as the secretary abruptly ended the com-link.
Rude.
'A lowly underling should always respect their superiors!' He'd laughed when he'd heard the indignant yet playful sentence uttered from his mouth. Laughed like he hadn't laughed in a million years.
Which was more or less true.
But that was beside the point, it had been funny, and when Arthur had literally made a sound between a chortle and a snort at the words in front of his unsuspecting brothers, well, he'd lost their reverence and gained the job of being the punch-line of many jokes.
This wasn't healthy, not being able to say that goddamned name without his conscious screaming at him.
Healthy. Now that brought up a memory from the beginning.
'This is toxic. This is toxic and we should stop.' Arthur had said that, stopping the conversation they had been carrying throughout their meetup at a small cafe.
A smile was all that was sent back, a smug, knowing, toothy smile that Arthur had wanted to kiss- or slap -off that face.
'Are you sure?' Yes he was fucking sure. From day one that infernal man had been slowly chipping away at Arthur's professional and social life; and better yet, the blasted man new he was doing it.
'Stupid, pompous, self-righteous, charming, seducing, and totally enthralling man.'
Still, Arthur couldn't utter that damned name.
"Sir?" Arthur looked up, viridescent gaze stopping on a woman standing in front of his desk, glasses perched on her nose, hair tied up into a loose bun. "Ahm," he was caught off guard, and realized he was smiling. The secretary extended her hand, holding a slightly steaming cup of coffee in her perfectly manicured grasp. "Your coffee, sir. Three sugars, one cream."
'Amazing communication skills, Arthur. Bravo.'
He'd never been gifted with such talent, that was all his job; talking to people, finding out what they liked, luring them into that devilish little trap he had custom made for them.
Again with the goddamn conscious screaming in his aching head about 'that name'.
He smiled tightly, taking the cup from her hands, setting it down near yet another stack of papers. "That will be all, you're excused." Her eyes hid a infuriated expression, and she nodded discourteously before exiting the room.
Arthur could still hear the soft patter of the rain as it sent down it's last showers, he sipped at the completely American drink, wincing at the bitter taste, but swallowing. He couldn't drink his favorite tea and still expect to stay up and finish the plentiful array of overdue projects and unfinished contracts that his brothers had oh so lovingly sent him.
Earl Grey sounded really good right about now. To be honest, if it would keep him awake, he'd settle for the cheap tea they sold in the drug-stores.
Instead, he sipped slowly, wondering if he would ever get over that person. Probably not, he supposed, but there was no use dwelling on the past.
Why could he not say that name?
Bugged him.
Dwelling, it seemed, was exactly what his bloody mind was focused on. What could he do though? It wasn't like he could shut that out every second of the day, he wasn't that strong willed. The bushy browed blond rolled his eyes, swiveling in his black leather chair to face the window once more.
Therapy was in order, Arthur decided, if his psyche kept on refusing to just let go and move on.
Why wasn't he getting on with his life? Was it some psychological or emotional instability bullshit he should be worried about?
Nah. Too much on his plate already. Didn't have time to worry about anything other than work.
But still, therapy or some form of help was obviously needed.
Not like he needed a whole psychological evaluation, just a push.
Speaking of help, didn't he have a charity auction tonight that he was the guest of honor at?
Highly likely. Oops. Well, he definitely wasn't going to attend, and made a mental note of telling that dreadful secretary to call the hosts and tell them he was sick or something.
Arthur quietly wondered, as he signed one more form, if in another life he would still be 'in love' and 'happy,' for lack of a better term.
With the certainly cynical and deranged sense of humor God seemed to have, it was doubtless that no matter how many alternate realities he dreamt up, he would still lose everything, and probably only end up less successful than he was today.
A jealous and wrathful God indeed.
After...well, that person had flown out of his life, Arthur had pretty much gone back to the same rut he was so cemented in before.
Now, as the rain blurred out any chance Arthur had of looking at the rosy sunset, he packed his briefcase, stuffing tons of papers into the designer case. He grabbed his coat from the hook near the office door, pulling it on and walking out of the large room.
Bone deep exhaustion ate away at him, he tossed the coffee cup into the trash bin, nodding an insincere goodbye towards the unpleasant woman, before stepping out into the rain, umbrella already covering his head.
So goddamn tired. Arthur was so tired, that, if possible, his fatigue was preventing any thoughts of rest.
Ridiculous.
He strolled down the sidewalk, the rain pelting his black umbrella softly. Arthur shifted, standing at a lamppost that was flashing a red signal, telling the pedestrians not to walk.
'Some drunken fuck was probably going to anyway.'
The light went green and Arthur glanced to his sides before jaywalking across the street, getting back on the sidewalk and starting his pace once more. He ambled along the paved pathway for about fifteen more minutes, holding the umbrella higher as he dug through his deep coat pockets for his town-house keys, finding them in his inner left. The blond turned, stepping up onto concrete stairs and unlocking the front door, pushing it open with a sigh.
His mind raged with mental battles and turmoil as he stuck the umbrella into the holder, shuffling out of his coat.
That name.
That name.
That name.
Say it.
Say it.
Say it!
Nope. No such luck.
Arthur groaned, glad for the ending of one more work day. He rolled his shoulders, heading into his rather small kitchen.
Not like he could cook anything.
The bushy browed man opened his fridge, moving his hand past containers of leftovers and take-out boxes.
'What was still good in this thing?'
Highly probable that Arthur's old...food, if one could still call it that, was growing some greenish-white mold that was slowly infecting everything else.
He grunted, holding back a snort as he thought of all the Nobel Prizes he could win just from the new species of bacteria that was encased in old Indian and Chinese food. Shaking his head, he pulled back his arm, a red and white container in his hand, Arthur popped open the lid, sniffing at the noodles inside suspiciously before deeming the leftovers safe for consumption.
'Yeah? And when did you become a FDA specialist?'
Arthur ignored his thoughts, pulling open the microwave that sat on his only countertop and tossing the box in, slamming the small door and jabbing at the timer on the side. He waited for the beep to sound, grabbing his Chinese out of the radioactive oven and getting a fork from his cutlery drawer, padding over to his equally small living room. Arthur dropped down onto his couch, kicking his feet up and using the remote to turn on his television.
He stabbed at his take-out, spinning the noodles onto his fork and putting them in his mouth. He chewed slowly as he flicked through the channels on the television, sighing as he stopped on a news channel that was reviewing the international stock report.
"The FTSE 100 collection of companies based in London has had a major downturn in their stock prices, almost negative one hundred and eleven percent. Even though the companies have been closed to the market for some time, their current clients have gotten a break from the usually high prices of the successful British businesses." The monotone voice of a reporter sounded in Arthur's ears, making him groan as he realized that his company, 'Kirkland Supply,' was purchasing stock from many of the companies listed in the FTSE index; a good, yet still harmful thing in the event of a stock deficiency. The reporter continued, a graph showing up on the screen and outlining which companies had a better time dealing in the current economy.
This was definitely going to bring in more paperwork.
He didn't mind at first. He knew he was good at closing deals and finishing contracts. But, as an effect of his affinity for documentation, everything was sent to him, even when a employee with basic knowledge of the economy and semi-training in deal making could fill the forms out.
With a scowl on his fair face, Arthur pierced more of the greasy food with his plastic fork, now chewing angrily as his thoughts grumbled in annoyance.
'Stupid paperwork.'
'Stupid job.'
'Stupid affinity.'
Once done, Arthur shut off the electronic box, passing by the kitchen to throw the now empty carton into the trash and toss the plastic cutlery into the sink. His home was small, and he liked it like that. His position as C.E.O had no affect on his living preferences, and his logic stated that with a small home came less room to clutter; if his social or love life was squashed because of that, so be it.
Like he had a love life. Or a social one for that matter.
His good buddies had been a meat scarfing American and a clean freak, order obsessive German.
Arthur had never cared much for friendly company; having four exceptionally rude older brothers had ruined the art of companionship for him. He had met the American, Alfred, at one of the meetings one of his international partners had held in the United States. Alfred was an attendant, who had been transferred to England when the American company had moved their headquarters to Liverpool. After he had accepted the- admittedly awkward -friendship between himself and Alfred, one of the first thing the American had said was that "British McDonald's would never be as awesome as good ol', home-bred 'Merican Micky D's."
The eccentric New Yorker had no shame. Absolutely none.
He'd only raised and eyebrow and shook his head at his new friend's gluttony.
The blond had bumped into Ludwig, the order obsessive German, and files had flown to the ground as the two crashed into each other. "Mein Gott! I'm so sorry!" The white-blond's English was heavily accented, his icy sapphire blue eyes clouded with worry. "No, the fault was mine, chap." Arthur helped the other collect the files, shaking Ludwig's hand and introducing himself. "Well, I'm Arthur Kirkland, C.E.O of Kirkland Supply." Ludwig had smiled and taken the offered hand, "Yes, your reputation precedes you. My name is Ludwig Beilschmidt, the owner of Germania Distilleries." Arthur nodded, knowing that the German had been in Britain for a partnership offer between the two companies. "You're here to get us to supply your beer in England, correct?" Ludwig nodded, beer had always been his passion, to spread that with the world was his dream.
A successful meeting had ensued and the pair had gone out for celebratory drinks, at which Ludwig had only drank beer. Arthur supposed it was a German thing.
The damned man just couldn't get drunk. He'd drank two, four, eight bottles and still was only tipsy.
Arthur had two goddamn shots of whiskey and immediately got severely intoxicated.
Ludwig had rented an large apartment in Wallasey, staying as his company's ambassador, while his brother, the co-owner, remained in Germany.
Alfred had been given a condo near Birkenhead, and was set up as a secretary for 'Union & Co.' the firm he had been with when Arthur first met him.
The Englishman shut off his kitchen light, shuffling to his bedroom, it was almost nine at night, he'd been at work since eight in the morning and had stayed till five-thirty. Arthur massaged his temples, going through his wardrobe to get his pajamas out, he wasn't necessarily going to go to sleep right away, maybe sign a few documents and catch up on some reading, but it always felt good to be out of the clothes he'd been in all day.
He pulled off his suit, folding the jacket and pants to take to the dry-cleaners, tossing the dress-shirt into his hamper. The forest eyed man then tugged on his pajama's, feeling a lot more comfortable when he was changed.
'It always is nice to be comfortable, non?'
Arthur gasped, blinking at the sudden mental intrusion. What the hell? This was going to far, that person was gone, and Arthur wanted- no, needed -to stop thinking about him. He huffed, grabbing his phone from his nightstand and typing a memo for him to schedule a therapy session, couldn't trust that stupid secretary to do anything.
Mood suddenly fouled, Arthur pulled back his sheets, forgetting about the extra work and reading he was planning to do. Sleep would be better, he decided, particularly if he was going to forego work tomorrow to go to a therapy session.
Wasn't like he really needed the therapy, he could get over anything. Just needed a little push, that's all.
Arthur made sure his alarm was set for six, before closing his green eyes and drifting into restless sleep.
Didn't matter how restless he would be, some sleep would be better than no sleep.
Especially since he was going to have to pour his heart out tomorrow.
A/N: I hope ya'll like it, my plot bunnies are kinda waking up from hibernation. The bunny sleep was so deep that I couldn't even finish a one-shot I had half typed up on my phone yesterday. Took me two whole days and a barrage of FrUK art to rouse the stupid things. Yeesh. Those company names though. So original... 'Germania Distilleries,' 'Kirkland Supply,' and 'Union & Co.' I'm done with life. :P To make up for my unoriginality I'll post an extra awesome backstory in the next chapter.
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