"You've started biting your lip again," Francis remarked, noticing the blood-stained cigarette butts by the front door.
"Not that I ever stopped," came the matter of fact reply from Arthur.
Francis looked back at his partner from the end of the driveway while he locked the front door. "You really should stop, you know. They are terrible to kiss."
A derisive snort came from the turned back of the other as he pushed down on the handle several times to make sure it was secured. "Thank you for your concern," he uttered.
When he had walked the few steps from their house to the pavement to stand beside the Frenchman, Francis reached out and took his chin in his hand, tilting the pale face so as to see it's red and chapped lips. Swatting the hand away, Arthur frowned and moved on down the road in his usual, brisk pace.
"They look sore," the taller man came to walk beside him, rifling through his coat pockets, "I have some lip balm, if you would like."
Huffing, Arthur rolled his eyes, "My lips are fine, stop being like that."
"Fine," Francis noted the particularly shirt mood his boyfriend was in that day. That was sure to be fun with what they had planned.
The two walked in silence for some time. October had crept in that year, carrying it's wintery chill unnoticed. Summer seemed so recent, however, there were no more of those long, sunny days in the near future, as evidenced by the decaying pile of soggy leaves that had collected in the gutter. Not that the past summer was something to be especially longed for. Both men had stuck to the regular routine, Francis being notably busier with the opportune weather, and besides a few barbeques, there was nothing to break up the monotony.
After a while, the lack of conversation grew stale and Francis cleared his throat to gain the other's attention.
"So," he ventured, "any idea what the boys are doing for Christmas this year?"
Glancing over briefly, the lighter blond chewed on the inside of his cheek then turned his focus back to the grey walkway in front of them. "Just ask them when we get there," he responded, quite stiffly.
Whatever the reason for this hostility was, Francis wasn't about to start an argument over it on the first night out they'd had in weeks.
"I just thought you might know," he muttered defensively, giving up on the idea of an interesting discussion.
Thankfully, the university accommodation that Alfred and Matthew had been given was only a few streets away, within walking distance. The pair hadn't wished to stray too far from home, both landing a place at the local institute, but had still wanted somewhere of their own. Now in their second year, they had moved from the halls to off campus housing, which was closer. Not that it felt like it these days.
Nearing the apartment block, it became clear they were not the only ones hosting that night, as was expected, since where there are students there are noise complaints waiting to happen. Their building was a regular tower block and the twins lived on the tenth floor. Arthur had advised against taking the apartment, saying blocks like that were unsafe, but no one had listened, especially once they had seen the price.
On reaching the front entrance, Arthur studied at the intercom panel, finding the corresponding flat number and pressing it down. He did so several times before it was answered by a voice he recognised but was definitely not one of his brothers.
"Gute nacht, reigning beer pong champion speaking!" yelled the German accent over the sound of blaring music.
A loathsome sigh escaped the Englishman as he pinched the bridge of his nose. They weren't even inside yet and he could feel a migraine coming on.
"How do you always manage to get invited to these things?" he asked in a tiresome tone.
"Because I'm uncle Gilbert!" the clearly intoxicated man on the other end of the line exclaimed.
"They never called you that, you bloody-" Arthur stopped himself from snapping, taking a calming breath before continuing, "Can you please just buzz us in?"
The double doors to their left clicked open and Francis held one to let them both in.
"Thank you," Arthur begrudged and hung up.
With no lift, the couple were forced to walk up an unreasonable number of stairs, causing them both flashbacks of helping the boys move in. Silent all the way, they finally reached the right floor, music audible from down the hall. Rolling his eyes, Arthur lead the way to the door; he thought Alfred had said this was going to be a small thing.
"Looks like fun, non?" Francis remarked the opposite of what his partner thought.
The other only made a vaguely annoyed grunt and knocked on the door which was answered, immediately, by the same man they had previously spoken to.
"Evening, sour puss," he teased when he saw them, "why so mad?"
A sharp, heavily browed glare was sent his way in reply.
Stepping over the threshold, Arthur continued to glower as he sniffed the cup in the other's hand, recognising the stench immediately.
"Jagerbombs? Really?" he questioned, unimpressed.
"It's a party, isn't it?" Gilbert retorted with his signature cackle.
Another exhale and a biting tone were directed at him as Arthur pushed past the drunken man, sniping, "You're twenty-six, Gilbert. Twenty-six."
Francis came inside, closing the door behind him, as his friend raised his eyebrows at the last comment.
"Jeez, who pissed in his tea?" he dug, nudging his friend in the ribs.
Letting out a fake laugh to please him, Francis gazed after the receding form of his partner. "I do not know what his problem is," he admitted, truthfully, "he is just in a bad mood, I suppose."
"Isn't he always?" the German mumbled into his cup, drinking with a grimace.
Sad eyes fixed on the room that Arthur had now disappeared into, Francis gave a forlorn sigh. "Seems like it," he breathed.
While his friend gazed off into the crowd, Gilbert scoffed and took him by the arm.
"Good God, you can be a downer sometimes," he reprimanded, dragging the man into the cramped apartment, "I think a drink will fix that."
Sidling past inebriated teenagers, Arthur made a bee line for the kitchen, knowing it was where Alfred liked to loiter during these kinds of events. He made his way into the tiny space only to find it deserted. Although he had not found what he was looking for, he was glad to be somewhere slightly more secluded from the noise. He reclined against the counter, crumpled cups clattering as he pushed them away, and took out his phone to check for any new messages, finding two emails from work and a text informing him he had gone over his data allowance for the month.
"Shit," he swore under his breath and put the device away to pull out a pack of cigarettes.
Placing one into his mouth, he opened the window with a creak and leaned out slightly to light it, when a voice, barely detectable above the background noise, spoke up.
"I thought you said you quit."
The gentle tone just about caught Arthur's attention and he turned around to face his brother.
"I did say that, didn't I," he conceded, somewhat guilty at seeing the disapproving look on the younger man's face, "sorry."
Matthew shrugged, "I'm not telling you what to do but it's for your own good."
Taking the cigarette from his lips and placing it back in the carton, Arthur gave him a warm, if weary, smile. "You worry too much, Matt," he tutted in a parental fashion.
The soft-spoken man laughed quietly. "I live with Alfred, I have to," he joked.
"I know the feeling, believe me," the other laughed along with him, "speaking of your brother, where is he?"
Coming into the room, the bespectacled boy hopped up onto the counter opposite his former guardian, the tips of his toes still able to reach the floor.
"Beer run," he replied, "said he'd be about twenty minutes."
Arthur nodded and fiddled with the lighter in his pocket through the material of his jacket. He looked over at the other, noticing he was rather sober for a party host.
"You're not drinking?"
"Oh, no, not tonight," he shook his head, "I've got school tomorrow."
"On a Sunday?" Arthur frowned lightly in confusion.
Pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, Matthew pulled his legs up to cross them as he shuffled back on the counter surface. "Well it's just a study group but my tutor's going to be there and I want to make the most of it before it's all independent projects, y'know?"
Silently impressed by the boy's attitude, the older man nodded in approval.
"That's very mature of you, Matthew," he complimented, "let's just hope some of that rubs off on Alfred."
"I wouldn't worry about him, Artie, you know that he loves what he does," Matthew reassured.
A deep breath flowed from the Englishman, as though he tried to expel the gnawing concern that ate at him every day.
"He needs to start taking it more seriously if he ever wants to play professionally, though," he cautioned as he ran a hand through his habitually unkempt hair.
For a second, an expression that Arthur didn't quite recognise flashed across the face of the other, a slight twitch of the lips, before he spoke in a hesitant way. "I don't know, he's been training pretty hard. He really wants to do well this year."
He was hiding something, Artur could tell just by looking, but, knowing that if he was covering for his brother there was no way he would rat, he didn't draw attention to it. He would just have to ask Alfred when he got there.
"How are classes going?" he changed the subject.
"Just the usual. Took some adjusting, but it's pretty much the same as last year," Matthew spoke dismissively, like it wasn't worth mentioning, but it was just the way he was, never as expressive as his brother. It made it easier to have a normal conversation with him, at least.
Nodding along with the exchange, the crashing of a door being flung against the wall followed by enthused cheers from the crowd informed Arthur of the arrival of the other twin.
"Guess he's back," Matthew stated redundantly, then added, "I'm going to go find Francis. I wanted to talk to him about something."
"Alright, he's with Gilbert, I think," Arthur replied, not noting his eagerness to get away.
The taller of the two slid from the counter and exited the room with a smile to the other, who returned it as best he could. Left alone in the kitchen, Arthur reached for the carton in his inner pocket but decided against it, he didn't want to get the boys in trouble for smoking inside the building.
From around the doorway came an easily recognisable laugh, shortly followed by the boy who owned it as Alfred bounded into the room with a crate of beer under each arm. On seeing Arthur, he stopped and beamed, setting the boxes down and coming over with his arms extended.
"Artie!" he exclaimed, throwing himself over the smaller man, half crushing him by accident.
"It's good to see you too," Arthur chuckled, instantly smelling the alcohol on his clothes, as he hugged back, less violently.
The blue-eyed teen stepped back, still grinning from ear to ear. "Ah, man, I'm so glad you made it! Thought you were going to bale on me."
"Well, I'm not staying for long. Francis and I have work tomorrow," he warned the other before he got too excited.
"That's lame, dude. Can't you just call in sick and have some fun?" Alfred pleaded but Arthur was immune to his puppy dog look.
"I made a commitment and commitments should be honoured," the older man lectured, giving the other a pointed stare.
"Alright, alright, I get it," he relented, "I'm happy you showed, though."
Cracking open the cardboard packaging, Alfred pulled out a beer, snapping off the cap on the side of the countertop, an action that Arthur winced at but didn't scold him for.
"Want one?" the host offered. The other began to open his mouth to decline it but Alfred got out a second anyway, opening it for him. "One won't hurt," he urged and handed the bottle over.
It wasn't his drink of choice, but Arthur took a sip nonetheless, pulling a face as the bitter liquid ran down his throat, bubbles stinging his tonsils. "So, how's school?" he asked, getting straight to the point.
"It's going good," Alfred began, his gaze flicking away, one hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck, "actually there's something I have to tell you."
The nervous behaviour he was displaying caught the older brother's attention and he knitted his brow, listening intently. "Yes?" he asked, the first inklings of worry forming in his stomach.
"Yeah," he mirrored, "it's about football."
"Nothing bad, I hope," Arthur pre-empted.
"No, no, it's actually something pretty cool," Alfred assured with a sheepish smile.
He paused, seemingly anxious about what he was to say next, and Arthur waited for him to continue, prompting him with his silence.
"Well," he began, looking anywhere but Arthur, "the other day coach said-"
The sentence ended abruptly when the younger man's name was called by someone in the living room, his head snapping round at the distraction.
"What were you saying, Alfred?" Arthur pressed, however, he was far too keen to take the opportunity to delay whatever it was he was trying to communicate.
"Don't worry, it's not important. Let me just go see what they want," he blurted, dashing from the room without a second thought.
"Wait, Alfred!" Arthur called after him but his voice was absorbed by a wall of bodies.
Leaning back with a dejected sigh, the Englishman took a swig of beer, not enjoying his second taste any more than the first but still proceeding with a third. The view from the window was bland and dark, only the lights of the block next to them and the street lamps below visible by the night. He balanced the bottle on the window sill and gazed out at the expanse of drab city, his forehead rested against the cool surface of the glass. A pounding in the back of his skull made itself known, something that he had come to expect by his point.
"Ah, shit!" Alfred burst back into the room, an expression of almost panic on his face, "Shit, shit, shit."
Arthur looked round with concern at the excessive cursing, "What's wrong?"
Flustered, the other ran a hand through his hair. "Natalia's here," he filled in as he paced the short length of the room.
Arthur shot a disapproving look his way, folding his arms, at his wit's end with the familiar conversation.
"Not this again, Alfred. I thought you two were over for good this time!" he chastised, not willing to encourage their on again off again relationship for the thousandth time.
"I didn't mean to!" the other defended himself, "I must have accidentally invited her when I hit send to all on the invitation."
Shaking his head at the younger boy's carelessness, Arthur tried to think of a solution. "Well, you'll just have to go and apologise to her. Explain you didn't mean anything by it."
"I can't do that!" he screeched, "She hates my guts, man, and I'll only say something stupid."
"You can't lead the poor girl on, you've messed each other around enough. You have to make it clear that it's finished. For good."
Green eyes stared down blue, impressive eyebrows being used to their full advantage, furrowed into a scowl, until the taller man relented.
"Okay, fine, I'll go talk to her," he murmured with a petulant pout.
"It's the adult thing to do, Al," Arthur encouraged him as he left the room.
"Whatever," he heard grumbled under the other's breath in a tone he did not appreciate but he let it slide.
Out in the living room, Matthew approached Francis, who sat with his second glass of wine as he chatted with Gilbert. The Frenchman smiled brightly on seeing the other, the drink having appeased his earlier sombre mood.
"Mattieu!" he delighted, "How are you, mon feuille d'érable?"
"I'm alright," the quiet boy raised his voice to be heard above the music as he sat in the space Francis moved over to give him.
"Great party, kid," Gilbert leaned over his friend to congratulate.
"Thanks, Gil, but it's not my party, it's Al's," Matthew deflected the praise.
"As you mention him," Francis cut in, "has he told Arthur yet?"
Pausing, Matthew took off his glasses to clean the lenses with his hoodie before replacing them again. "He went in to talk to him but I don't know, you know how he is."
They fell quiet for a moment, watching the party play out around them, before it was the youngest of them who spoke.
"Hey Francis?"
Looking over at the questioning intonation directed at him, Francis instantly detected a look of unease in his deep blue eyes.
"Is Arthur okay?" he asked with a hint of apprehension in his tone.
Francis tilted his head with a light frown creasing his forehead. "What do you mean?" he asked.
Another silence as Matthew thought of how to word what he would say next, then he said, quite simply, "He looks tired."
"He has been working a lot recently," Francis replied, not thinking much of it.
"I know he has but…" the other trailed off, biting his lip.
Sensing there was deeper worry there than he let on, the older man moved in closer.
"What are you so worried for, cherie?" he inquired softly, placing a hand on the boy's knee, "Has he said something?"
"No, nothing like that," Matthew stopped again, still not sure how to put it.
Surprisingly, Gilbert stepped in to help. "He does seem angrier than usual," he proposed.
They both looked at Francis to see his reaction as he sat, mulling the information over before speaking.
"I suppose he is a little short tempered but it has been a stressful week for him," he rationalised, however, Matthew still didn't seem convinced. "I promise I will keep an eye on him and make sure he gets some rest," he assured the younger man, "do not fret."
With a nod and a grateful smile, Matthew stood from his seat, "Thank you."
"You know I will look after him," the man whom Matthew saw as a second older brother guaranteed.
"I know," he affirmed, "I'm going to go sort out some notes for tomorrow. Have a good night, guys."
The exceedingly drunk German laughed, raising his cup and flinging an arm around Francis' shoulder. "We sure will, buddy!" he hollered as Matthew departed.
Somewhat sobered by what Matthew had said, Francis went quiet, staring down into his cup as he thought about the way Arthur had been behaving recently. It was true he was acting differently, his foul temper, how quiet he was, but he didn't know what to do about it.
"Gilbert," he looked over at his friend for help, "do you think something is the matter?"
"Yeah, I do!" the other cried, eyes wide, "Your glass is empty!" Proceeding to fill it to the brim, the albino man tapped his own glass against Francis, "Down the hatch!" he chanted to the amusement of those around him who cheered as he finished his drink in one go.
More and more people began to arrive, spilling over from the main room to the kitchen where Arthur still stood, enjoying the relative peace. He checked his phone again, seeing if he had stayed an acceptable amount of time before leaving but, to his dismay, only an hour had crawled by, not even ten yet. Swilling the last dregs of his beer in the bottom of the glass he watched a fraction of the party through the door. A part of him ached as he saw his past play out in real time.
Alfred had never come back and, fixated on whatever he had been trying to say, Arthur decided it was time to venture from his safe hold to try and find him. Binning his bottle on the way out, he left the kitchen to merge with the crush of people packed into the small room outside, squeezing past their sweaty, swaying bodies to the corner he could hear Alfred's brash voice echoing from. He always had to be the loudest in the room.
"Alfred!" Arthur raised his voice, still muffled by fifty others, "Alfred!"
Eventually, the other heard his shouts, two eyes like a summer sky looking over from the group he entertained.
"Oh hey!" he shouted back, "Sorry, I got caught up in something."
"What were you saying before?" the older man asked, anxious.
Waving a hand casually, Alfred smiled at something one of his friends said before replying, "It's not important, I'll tell you tomorrow."
Rather irritated but too exhausted to persist, Arthur gave up. "Did you speak to Natalia?"
At the mention of the girl's name, the group of boys surrounding Alfred snickered, giving him odd glances like something had happened.
"I tried, man, but it wasn't pretty," the American shook his head, sipping his beer, "she's drunk as shit."
"Well did you make everything clear?" the other nagged.
Rolling his eyes at his brother, Alfred gave an antagonizing tut. "I don't know, she yelled at me and ran off to one of the bedrooms. Just let me deal with it later!"
"For fuck sake, Al!" that headache was really coming on now, "I didn't teach you to disrespect people like that, be a bit more considerate!"
He was ignored, as the other simply made an irritated expression, having not listened to anything he had said. Anger only making things worse for him, Arthur turned and walked in the opposite direction, hearing laughs, most likely at his expense, coming from behind his back. There was a bathroom down the hall, which is where he headed, hoping to lie low for ten minutes before going home.
The bathroom door was open a crack when he reached it and no noise was coming from inside, not that he could hear over the damn racket from rest of the apartment, so he slipped in, quickly closing the door behind him. Relaxing against the wall, thinking he was alone, a shuffling sound from behind caused him to turn and see the crumpled heap of a human on the floor, hunched over the toilet and retching.
At the click of the latch, Natalia's head shot up, violet eyes bloodshot, in bleary surprise.
"Arthur?" she questioned, seemingly unable to process the fact that he was there.
"Oh lord, I'm so sorry," the other stuttered, scrabbling for the handle. He wasn't dealing with this. This was Alfred's fault and he was going to be a responsible adult and solve the problem he had created for himself. He wasn't obligated to do anything.
His hand gripped the metal knob and he began to let himself out. "Please forgive me, I didn't mean to barge in like that," he apologised again, eager to escape the awkward situation.
"Why does he hate me?"
Arthur glanced back at the sound of the girl's slurred lament.
"Pardon?"
"Why does he keep doing this to me?" Natalia sat slumped against the wall, head lolling from side to side like her neck couldn't support it. Tears ran down her cheeks, staining them black with eyeliner, as she blinked, lazily. She opened her mouth to speak again but gagged instead, lunging back over the bowl just in time. The poor girl.
Sighing sympathetically, Arthur watched the pitiful scene. Second hand guilt weighed inside of him and he accepted that this was his problem now.
"I don't know, pet," he muttered, kneeling beside her, "it must have been an accident."
"He hates me," she continued to wail between dry heaves, "Why does he hate me?"
There was a plash as she churned up pure liquid coloured with bile, her pale hands clutching the seat for support. Completely unfazed, Arthur held back her snow-white hair with one hand and used the other to rub her back in soothing circles.
"Get it all up," he murmured, well-practiced in caring for drunks.
A few minutes passed and her choking turned into uncontrolled sobs, her whole body shaking with them. Although Arthur had never really spoken to her, he had always regarded her as a nice, albeit stern, young woman and he couldn't help but side with her against Alfred in this situation. Raising her face from the porcelain bowl, a string of spit hanging from her lip, she continued to snivel, too numbed to care what a mess she was.
Arthur stood, his knees clicking back into place, and grabbed a discarded cup from the side of the bath. Spilling out its fluorescent contents he washed it and filled it with water.
"Wait here, I'll be right back," he handed the cup to Natalia who nodded weakly.
Leaving the room, he closed the door behind him and went to find Francis. There was no way he could let her attempt to get home by herself, he would never forgive himself if something were to happen to her. More importantly, Ivan would never forgive Alfred.
He found the man he was looking for, along with his fifth glass of wine, and called above the music to gain his attention.
"Mon cher, there you are! We were just talking about you," he drawled and smiled brightly.
"For the love of God, Francis, you said you weren't drinking!" Arthur immediately berated, past the limit of how much shit he was able to take.
From the side, Gilbert piped up, barely able to form a coherent sentence. "Oh, lighten up, eyebrows! We're just enjoying ourselves!"
"You can shut up!" the other snapped, "And you have work tomorrow," he added, glaring at his partner.
"I can call in sick, it is no big deal," Francis shrugged off, sipping his drink, ignorant of how much trouble he was in.
Shaking his head in utter exasperation, Arthur let out a sharp breath. "Fine, do what you like," he surrendered, tone defeated, "I only came to tell you that I'm taking Natalia home."
A moment of confusion passed the other's face, apparently unaware of the drama, before he shook it off. "Are you coming back after?"
"No, you pillock," Arthur bit, "I'm going home. To bed. I don't care if you do the same or not."
"Alright, mon dieu, there is no need for that," Francis recoiled after the outburst.
With a huff, the irate Englishman stormed back to the bathroom, ordering a cab on the way. He came back to a barely conscious Natalia, hair matted over her face with sweat and vomit, sprawled across the floor. There was no way he could carry her, and so leant down to rouse her, pulling her into a seated position by the wrists.
"Come on, I'm taking you home," he said more to himself than her.
"Alfred?" she groaned, half delirious.
"It's just me, sorry," he replied, lifting her to stand, wobbling precariously.
"Good," she spat, "I don't ever want to see that asshole again."
He could hardly blame her for how she must have been feeling, rather frustrated at the boy himself. Holding her around the waist, keeping up the majority of her weight, Arthur ushered the incapacitated girl into the living room. They gained some odd looks but no one payed them much attention as it wasn't exactly out of the ordinary for a college party. Alfred was busy with whatever had caught his fleeting interest and, therefore, with minimal hassle, they made it out of the apartment into the freezing hallway.
By the time they found themselves standing outside the tower block, Arthur having practically carried her down twenty flights of stairs, the cab was waiting for them, impatiently. Helping Natalia into one side, Arthur went around to the other, sliding into his seat.
"I'm charging you for the time you made me wait," a gruff voice came from the driver's compartment.
"Sure, whatever," the other answered, just wanting to get home.
They began to drive the short distance from one side of their small town to the other, Arthur just praying that Natalia had expelled everything back at the party. Looking over worriedly, he noticed the thin woman was shivering as she wore only a tight black dress and heels. She had obviously dressed up in hopes of one upping Alfred and, even with vomit down the front of her, she was still rather fetching.
Afraid she would catch pneumonia, the older man removed his jacket and draped it over her exposed shoulders, smiling, a little uncomfortable, when she glanced up hazily.
"Why are you being so nice to me when you are Alfred's brother?" she faltered, voice cracking.
Arthur gave her a piteous look, adjusting the jacket around her delicate frame. "Between you and me," he mused, "he can be a bit of a wanker sometimes."
He smiled at her again, comfortingly this time. Her glassy, aubergine eyes flicked between his as she began to lean in, lips first, in an attempted kiss. Although caught off guard, Arthur reacted calmly, halting her with a hand on her shoulder.
"You're very lovely, my dear, but no," he stated, gently.
She sat back again, clearly too drunk to feel embarrassment, and rested her face against the window, eyelids dropping closed every few seconds. The Englishman watched the world pass his window on the other side, bushes breezing by in a green blur.
Thankfully, the journey was short as they pulled up outside the Braginski residence after ten or so minutes. After paying the ludicrous price, Arthur decided he would walk the rest of the way home and, once they had both exited the vehicle, the driver took off around the corner.
As they approached the door, Arthur prayed it wasn't Natalia's older, extremely protective, brother who answered as he didn't know how he could cover for Alfred this time. The whole situation did look a little dodgy. Quickly ringing the doorbell once, afraid of waking the neighbours, he adjusted his grip on the younger woman and waited for a response.
Before long, a light was flipped on in the hallway and then was darkened by the shadow of someone approaching. The door opened to reveal Natalia's far less threatening, but no less protective, sister, who's worried eyes instantly fell on her.
"Natalia, what have you done to yourself?" she cried, pulling her sibling into the doorway.
Natalia mumbled something unintelligible at which Katyusha began to speak rapidly in her mother tongue, scolding. Unsure of what to do, Arthur contemplated just leaving them to it as he stood, awkwardly, waiting to be noticed.
Her voice raised, the older woman pointed a finger at the stairs inside with a stern expression. Natalia made an exaggerated snort and went in, stumbling up the stairs where a slamming door was heard. Watching her go, Katyusha turned to Arthur, clearly embarrassed, as she shook her head at the girl's antics.
"Arthur, I cannot apologise enough. I am so sorry, you did not have to do that for her, I am very grateful," she rushed, relief in her voice.
"It's no problem, really, I couldn't have left her in good conscience," Arthur humbly denied.
Pulling her dressing gown tighter around herself as the cold night creeped into the hall, the Ukrainian woman folded her arms, her lips tight in a disparaging smile.
"I do not know what I will do with that girl," she stressed, "I told her not to go but she would not listen."
"Let her make her mistakes while she's young," Arthur smiled, able to empathise, having been on both sides of the situation, himself, "I know I did."
"She should know better," the other criticised, although there was a hint of self-reflection in her words. "I know it is late, but would you care for some tea? It is the least I can do to thank you," she continued to stammer but Arthur declined with a shake of his head.
"No, thank you Katya, I have to get going."
"I could call you a car?" she persisted, guilty and wanting to make it up to him.
Again, Arthur rejected her offer, "It's fine, I'm only a few streets away. Have a good night."
"You too, Arthur. I am indebted to you," she smiled warmly and gave a quick wave, still clutching her gown against herself with one arm.
Waving back, the other began to walk down the street, watching the small square of light on the ground disappear as Katyusha went to care for her sister. Arthur picked up his pace, raising a hand to where his cigarettes should have been in his pocket but realised that they were in the jacket that he had forgotten to take back from Natalia. He thought about going back to get it but felt it would have been rude to disturb them. There was nothing of importance in there, anyway, and he had told Matthew he would quit.
Frigid air stung his cheeks while he walked, bringing the blood in them to the surface. The clacking of his hard-souled shoes echoed through the empty street, bouncing off the sides of concrete buildings, surrounding him. There was a damp infused throughout the atmosphere, making everything colder than it was, and Arthur could feel the moisture clinging to his shirt.
The feeling of being completely alone in the middle of a city was something he never failed to find eerie, yet oddly tranquil. All signs of life having retired to their homes while he still roamed, as though in a suspended state, separated from them. From humanity. Where some may have been afraid, Arthur slowed his stride to savour the feeling before he, too, would have to conform.
Breathing a little easier, he turned the final corner to reach his road of residence. Nineteen white doors down from the direction he walked in and then a twentieth where he reached for his keys. His heart sunk as the same realisation as before struck, his hand reaching for a pocket that wasn't there. A perfect way to end the night.
Dropping down with a soft thud, Arthur sat on the doorstep, locked out. He could have gone back to retrieve his jacket, and should have really, but the exhaustion had caught up with him. Five full days of work, a meeting at eight that same morning and another tomorrow. In all honesty, he wasn't sure how he was managing it and feared he wouldn't be able to for much longer. However, at the same time, he knew he would. He didn't have a choice.
Now relying on Francis, Arthur pulled out his phone and called him. As expected, the device rang out, going to voicemail as he was ignored. With a hushed curse, Arthur hung up the call, texting instead and resigning himself to the fact it could be a long, cold night. Staring down as the screen faded to black, he locked eyes with a foreign man who mimicked his actions. The vacant look he held was unnerving. Sickened by the insipid expression, Arthur moved to put the phone away, once more forgetting he no longer had a breast pocket, and jolted, too late, as the device slipped from his fingers and fell, face down, on the drive. His breath halted in his throat, he reached down, hands half numb as he touched the chilled metal. Flipping it over, a crack split the face of the stranger in the glass, the centre of his features fragmented just an inch, slightly off. Just his luck.
A languid sensation of indifference settled upon the man in the doorway as he was beyond the point of caring. The dull pain in his head was persistent in its pounding. Allowing his body to fall back against the door, Arthur could feel his eyelids wilting, a fog descending over him. On forcing his eyes open he glanced up at just the right angle to catch the street lamps glare reflected off the mist of rain that had begun to filter downwards. Train of thought compromised by lack of sleep, the image of miniscule fairies dancing on the breeze came to the surface of his mind, like his mother had told him about on days like this. It would have been her birthday soon. He would have to remind the boys.
Head tilted back, arms hugging themselves to keep the cold from permeating, Arthur found himself much more comfortable than he should have been. Blinking became a chore as the soft grip of sleep pulled him closer. Although willing himself to stay awake, the ineffable temptation was too strong as he dozed off on the front step.
It was nearing midnight by the time Francis thought to check his phone, almost choking on his drink when he saw the message from Arthur.
"Fuck!" he blasphemed.
"What?" Alfred peered over at the screen, "Oh shit, man! You should go, that was sent over an hour ago."
The party still going strong, Francis had been too distracted to think of checking on Arthur, guilt flourishing at the realisation.
"He is going to kill me," the Frenchman groaned as he gathered his belongings.
"It was nice knowing you, buddy," Alfred joked rather ominously, and hugged the other with a pat on the back.
"Oui," Francis sighed, "we will see you tomorrow."
The younger man nodded, "Sure thing."
Slipping on his coat, Francis made his exit from the still bustling apartment, passing his friend on the way.
"Au revoir, Gilbert," he called to the man who lay paralytic in an arm chair by the sink. He raised a hand by way of waving as the other passed by.
Out in the hall, Francis attempted to call his partner but went straight to voicemail, becoming worried. Making it home in record time, shivering with the cold, he found the other man passed out in front of the house and rushed over to wake him. Body cool to the touch, he carefully nudged the smaller man in the shoulder, causing him to open his eyes blearily.
"Arthur, I am so sorry, please do not be angry, I did not realise you had called," he begged, fearing his lover's wrath.
"You're here now, just let me in," the other replied, tiredly.
Surprised and not quite relieved by the response, Francis grew suspicious.
"You are not angry?" he reiterated with a frown.
"No, and it's bloody freezing so open the door," Arthur shuddered, regretting letting himself fall asleep outside in the middle of autumn.
Watching the other as he stood, rubbing his arms to warm them, Francis began to see what Matthew had been talking about. There was something barely noticeable but different. He looked fragile, almost. Like the tip of a burnt-out match. Twisting the key in the lock, Francis pushed the door open and they both entered, Arthur shuffling up the stairs, wordlessly, in the dark.
Francis paused in the hallway, hanging up his coat and slipping off his shoes before proceeding inwards. By the time he reached the bedroom, Arthur was already under the covers, his clothes from that day scattered on the floor with an uncharacteristic lack of care and the curtains undrawn. Tipsily wobbling into the room, the older man collected the discarded articles, knowing the other would need them for work in the morning, and laid them out on the chair they would normally be placed on, then closed the blinds.
He stopped, momentarily, to study the pale face of his boyfriend, blurry in the darkness but still visibly stressed. The dark rings under his eyes were proof enough but, even in his sleep, his forehead held the light creases of a potential frown. Slipping into bed beside him, Francis rested an arm over the other's waist and moved in closer so their bodies pressed together.
"Mon cher, you are frozen," he spoke in a whispered tone as he brushed his knuckles lightly over the icy cheek.
Arthur was tempted to pretend he was asleep but then answered, "I'm fine."
"You will catch your death of cold," the other continued to worry over him.
"Just go to sleep, Francis," Arthur ordered, hearing the words come out harsher than he had meant them.
The few seconds silence that followed caused a pang of guilt through him as he could tell Francis had taken offence.
"Je t'aime," the Frenchman mumbled into the back of the sandy head that lay beside him, planting a soft kiss on it.
A deep breath in and a deeper one out came from the face that was turned away from him then, "You too," came the hollow reply.
Day broke with a white sky that sliced through the curtains to hit Francis in the eye. Some events from last night were a little blurry, he seemed to remember something about Natalia being mentioned and Arthur may or may not have been angry with him. Rolling over to find half of the bed empty, he longed for the second one not to be the case. Trudging down the stairs with only a mild hangover, Francis was relieved to find his partner at the kitchen table, mug of tea steaming beside him as he flicked, disinterestedly, through the pages of his book. The fatigue engrained into his features was striking and Francis couldn't help but say something.
"You do not look so good, Arthur."
"Charming," the gaunt man acknowledged his presence without looking around, focused on his reading material.
"Did you not have work?" he inquired, coming into the room and getting himself a glass of water.
"I did," the other stated bluntly, "I went. Then I came home. It's almost four, Francis."
Glancing at the clock, he saw the hour hand had almost reached the number four and pulled a displeased face as though he had been cheated out of time.
"I told your office you weren't coming in and they didn't seem to care," Arthur informed him, sipping from his favourite mug.
"The beauty of being a contractor," Francis hummed, bringing his glass to sit opposite the other.
Both men remained in their own quiet thoughts a few minutes until Francis checked his phone to find several messages from Alfred. It took a few seconds before more of last night fell into place like Lego blocks and he jumped from his seat.
"I told the boys we would see them this afternoon for dinner," he recalled aloud, reading the messages to make sure the plan was still on.
Glancing up from his book in confusion, Arthur spoke with a puzzled tone. "Why the hell did you do that?"
Running a hand through his matted hair, Francis let out a sound of vocalised regret, "I do not know, we were drunk. Alfred said he wanted to make burgers for us and he still seems keen to do it tonight. We can say we are busy if you like?"
Arthur paused and closed his book, laying it down on the table. "Actually, I would like to talk to him about last night," he spoke like he had a point to make. Francis recognised that tone and pitied anyone it was directed at.
"I said we would be there at five, let me shower and we can leave," the Frenchman put his glass in the sink and went upstairs to cleanse himself of the previous night's events, feeling much improved in a new set of clothes. He didn't know what Alfred had done and just hoped it wasn't about what it might be about.
A short time later, the two made their way from their house to the boy's apartment again, Arthur texting to say they were on their way. Over the course of the brief journey, he explained the events of the night before, leaving out the parts that involved him being pissed at Francis, and planned out the tongue lashing he was about to give his brother for his careless actions. Truth be told, he wasn't even particularly mad anymore, he didn't have the energy, but it was the principal, he had to learn.
They were buzzed up and climbed the stairs to knock on the door. A shifting came from inside then Matthew answered, flustered and pink in the cheeks.
"I'm sorry, please excuse the mess, we haven't finished tidying up yet," he apologised immediately, letting them in and closing the door behind them.
The room reeked of various spirits and bodily fluids with full bin bags littered about showing that, at least some, effort had been made to clear up the evidence.
"That's alight, we'll give you a hand later," Arthur offered, feeling compelled to help.
"Thanks, Alfred's being kind of useless," Matthew complained lightly.
Shaking his head with an irritated tut, the older man folded his arms. "He needs to get his act together."
As perceptive as ever, the blue-eyed boy caught onto the exasperated tone, noting the way it was laced with dampened frustration.
"You're mad at him?" he deduced, tilting his head as he looked back at his brother who bit his lower lip, eyes unfocused, "Did he tell you, then?"
The last part sparked Arthur's interest, causing him to peer over with a subtle frown. "Tell me what?"
From behind the Englishman's back, Francis' head snapped round, panic in his eyes. Shaking his head frantically as a signal for Matthew to shut up he repeatedly mouthed at him to stop but the younger boy wasn't looking and continued to speak.
"About going to America."
Just an opening to set the tone and sort out some character foundations. Please follow and review (I need validation) and uploads should be fairly consistent. Thanks for reading.
Also, imagine China making a dad joke and Britain laughing uncontrollably while everyone else just cringes.