Riighhht, I say I'll do crack ships, then the first chapter is FrUk... I swear I'm not lying xD

(this has no posting schedule whatsoever. whatever I write whenever I write. I imagine/hope this to be more stress-free than a fic that would be finished)

He was so tired. And it was all because of those stupid, god-forsaken red strings. They haunted his every day, permeating into his brain and leaving no space for anything else. Everywhere he went, there they were. It did not matter where he was, whether in the heart of Paris or a food market in the forests of Canada.

Francis was, in his opinion, cursed. He did not remember when he could not see the strings. They were normally red, sometimes purple, occasionally black. Those were the only colors he saw.

Francis blinked slowly. His eyes were bleary but he made no attempt to focus them. Even in the midst of a scrappy bar in the outskirts of London, he could see the strings. The bartender's was connected to the DJ's, a faint red. They must not have met yet, or had enough time to acknowledge their love.

He normally was all for love. Francis had the nickname of Cupid, after all, among his friends.

But one could only take so much. It was beyond frustrating seeing swaths of faint red without any change. The pale color buzzed against his head like a fly he couldn't swat.

"Pathetic." He was forced out of his pity-party with a single word, and Francis moved his eyes to the right. Though the man's face was twisted into it's usual sneer, there was a certain softness to it. Why, Francis had no idea. Arthur hated him. Which was truly unfortunate, since Francis normally couldn't help himself from being near the englishman…

"Why switch the roles now of all times?" Arthur slid into the barstool next to Francis and reached out to examine the frenchman's drink. He took a sip and wrinkled his nose, glancing at the once-again quiet blonde to his left. He was, of course, referring to the many times Arthur had drank himself comatose while Francis diligently took him home (after many pictures and other prime teasing material).

"Francis." Arthur prodded. "Francis, I came here because… well… uh, Gilbert and Antonio sent me. Er-"

"Matthew," Francis muttered. "And Lovino."

"Pardon?" Arthur stared at him, baffled. He had known that his friend was drunk, but something was going on that he didn't understand.

Francis had fallen silent and Arthur did not pursue the topic any further. He tapped on Francis's glass. "What is this shit?"

Francis slid his eyes towards Arthur's, confusion starting to swim through his usually clear blue eyes.

Arthur gestured weakly towards the glass. "You're normally rather particular about your drink, especially those of the alcoholic sort. And this swill? Even I find it horrid." Arthur waited for the snide comment about his drinking palate, or perhaps a muttered 'go away'.

When his friend was silent, a streak of worry and nervousness flashed through Arthur. "I may have lied earlier, neither Gilbert nor Antonio sent me, I came on my own terms. I was not expecting to see you here but I am glad I found you, honestly. You look aw- worse for wear." He corrected his verbiage at the last second, not knowing the mental state of Francis at that moment.

He made a noncommittal tone and Arthur noted it. That meant Francis was listening, to a certain point.

"You truly cannot disappear like that, even Eliza was worried-"

"Roderich."

Arthur blinked. What did Roderich have to do with anything?

Then he narrowed his eyes in thought. "Gilbert."

"Matthew."

"Antonio."

"Lovino."

"Ludwig."

"Feliciano."

Arthur stared at the frenchman. Was this all he was going to respond to? Names with different, but seemingly random, names?

Gilbert, Matthew. Antonio, Lovino. Ludwig, Feliciano. Elizaveta, Roderich.

Half, maybe more than half of those names seemed to be in a relationship… Arthur stared at the counter, thinking and habitually fidgeting with his fingers. He had a theory, but he needed to test it.

"Roderich."

"Elizaveta…"

"Feliciano?"

"Ludwig."

"Francis, what is going-"

"I don't know that one."

Arthur blinked and glanced at his companion. Francis was staring at him now, bloodshot eyes brimming with liquid. He spoke again. "I don't… I don't know that one."

"What don't you know, Francis?" Arthur prompted gently. It was probably the first time he had ever been actually, legitimately worried for the frenchman's health. He was an insuffereable twit, and Arthur could not stand his company, but… he was a civil gentleman (at least, that is what he told himself).

Francis's eyelids drooped and he hummed quietly in thought. He looked behind him and saw the dark black string of an angry-faced man and his heart cracked ever so slightly. "I have no… string."

Arthur backpedaled. "String? What does string have to do with anything?"

"Strings!" Francis said angrily, sitting up just a bit. "They connect everyone! Some of the luckiest have more than one, some of the unluckiest have more than one black! And if you get purple, then you are the luckiest of them all, because the universe decided you get another goddamn chance at love!"

Arthur was so taken aback that he had no response, witty or otherwise. Francis deflated into the counter once again, bemoaning to himself. "They change. They start red… turn black sometimes, turn purple after that rarely…" the tears that had been collecting behind his eyelids started dripping down his face. "I can't do anything about it…"

Meanwhile, Arthur was certain that his (maybe) friend had gone off the deep end. He slowly brought his phone out while casually patting Francis on the back, who was muttering to himself. Arthur brought the phone to his ears.

"Hello, this is Arthur- no, I do not- honestly, my call was not for- Gilbert, please, shut the fuck up. Your friend has near drunk himself to death, and now he's raving about… strings?"

He listened carefully and the loud music that had been pounding through the receiver cut off and Gilbert's formerly joking tone was dead serious (for once).

"Arthur, whatever you do, do not- and I'm not kidding here- do not rebuke him. I don't care- hell, I could care less if you think he belongs in the looney bin, but I believe him, and he says that- hear me out you old prick, I'm not done, he says that he can see the strings between lovers."

Arthur just about dropped the phone as his face blanched. The mutterings of Francis suddenly seemed a lot more sinister. There was so much power in knowing one's true love. He glanced at the frenchman again, a few fearful yet curious thoughts running through his head. Were there those without strings? He assumed so, since there was a number of aromantics in the world… and that brought up something else, was it for romantic love, or sexual love, or both? Regardless, Arthur knew that he himself was neither aro nor ace, so that meant that there had to be one string connected to him, correct?

Arthur rubbed at his temples and mumbled something over the phone, interrupting Gilbert, and hanging up. He stared at Francis was renewed curiosity and lightly prodded him in the shoulder. Francis scrunched his nose up and sat up, only to lean back in his chair.

"Fran-" Arthur stopped himself, since it was the frenchman's name that had originally gotten him into the minor funk that had caused Arthur to call Gilbert. "Erm, so you can see the strings of lovers…" he started lamely.

Francis turned his eyes to the brit and nodded, a noise of confirmation coming from his mouth.

Arthur continued. "And those names you were saying before… do they have strings connecting them?"

Francis nodded again.

"Does… Gilbert know, that his, well, his soulmate is Matthew?"

Francis started to nod his head but froze before shaking it left to right. Arthur worried his lip in thought, debating whether or not to ask.

Well, Francis was drunk, and most likely would not remember this. "Who is my string connected to?"

Francis blinked. Then blinked again. He stared down at his hands, which were clenching and unclenching. Francis felt woozy but also confused, as he always did when he thought of Arthur. Arthur had taken his seeing of strings in stride, but of course, he could also be faking it. Francis would not put it past him.

Still… Francis had no idea why he saw no string coming from the brit. He dismissed the thought of him being ace or aro; those people always glowed a dim gold color. If they were one of those, they would glow a dim silver color and had the possibility of a string.

Regardless, Arthur did not glow. Nor did he have a string. Which baffled Francis to no end, and it did not help that he was drunk while trying to make sense of this predicament once more.

"Francis?" Arthur prodded gently.

Francis steeled himself and stared directly at Arthur. "You don't have a string."

"Oh." Arthur stared at the counter. "Does this mean I don't have a soulmate, then?"

"I don't…" Francis clenched his hands together in frustration. "I don't know, I don't know! You confuse me so much! Bon sang," he cursed. "There is nothing… euh, english… conventional about you."

"Well!" Arthur huffed. He was a gentleman, no doubt, but he was not going to sit by and be insulted! And Arthur was certain that the frog had meant it as an insult.

He did not get another word out, however, as Francis continued in a muttered, angry tone. "Which is why it is confusing why I insist on returning to you." He finished his statement with a very mature pout and fiddled with his fingers absentmindedly.

"Erm…" Arthur stared wide-eyed at the frenchman. "I think… I need to get you home."

Francis blinked a few times, a thoughtful expression overtaking his features. "Okay."

Arthur did not question how trusting Francis was being nor how he knew the way to his house, for as he dragged the suddenly-deadweight Francis beside him, his mind was going a mile a minute, and he was reassessing every moment he had ever spent with the confusing but intriguing frenchman.

I kinda like this idea... the world, I mean.

Reviews are loved!