England's skies were grey, small droplets of rain splattering against roofs and windows. Worn down trainers, red and without any brand, slapped against the cracked pavement.
"Arthur!"
Raindrops dripped from his hair onto his nose and his heart was pounding in his throat but he ignored it, yanking his hoodie over his head, sticking his cold wet hands in his pockets.
"Arthur, please!" His mother's shrill voice echoed between the tall buildings, the quick clicking of her heels not far behind him. "Mummy's so sorry!"
His hands balled to fists in his pockets, blunt nails digging into his palms. "Sod off!" He spat, turning his head to look at his mother with venomous green eyes. Her eyes were as green as his, sunken back in a pale chubby face framed by badly dyed red curls. Her thin lips trembled as much as her voice when she spoke again. "Daddy-Daddy didn't mean to-Arthur!"
Arthur had already taken off, speeding between the tall buildings without ever looking back at his mother.
Even as his mother's faint cries faded in the background, he kept running like a maniac, cars and houses nothing but a blur as he darted past them.
When he finally reached the field, small and with only patches of grass here and there in a sea of mud, he wasted no time in running towards the frame serving as football goal. He tightened his hands around the cold metal, collapsing against it, panting. He let out a sob, sliding down to the ground, muddy water further wetting his already soaked trainers and trousers. He hid his head in his knees, wishing he could just disappear.
His papa often joked about the strange Englishmen but Francis hadn't expected to find a particularly weird one on his first time exploring his new neighbourhood. Francis was sad when he couldn't find any other kids to play with, but this sadness quickly turned in curiosity when he spotted a lump about as large as himself lying between the metal bars of the goal. The lump turned out to be a boy around his age, lying flat on his back, soaking wet and covered in mud. His face was largely hidden by a black hoodie but Francis could spot a few locks of straw blonde hair, closed eyes and a determined look on his face.
"Are you okay?" He asked, hesitantly approaching the goal.
Just as Arthur started to think he was actually becoming one with the ground, a curious voice interrupted his utter concentration. He cracked open one eye in disappointment , revealing a blonde boy staring down at him with a slightly worried look. "Yes, of course." He snapped, rolling his eyes before closing them again. Stupid boy, now he had to start all over.
"Are you not cold?"
Arthur groaned, not even bothering to open his eyes. "I would not be lying here if I was wouldn't I you idiot? Now go away." His lips curled into a slight smirk when there came no response. He focussed again, on the slight heaving of his chest with every breath he took and the earthy, damp smell that filled his nostrils, the way the muddy sand felt between his fingers. Now that this kid had mentioned it, he actually did feel rather chilly. His wet clothes were stuck to his skin and his toes felt like icicles. Ah well, he could not give up now, could he?
"What are you doing, then?"
Arthur nearly cracked his head open against one of the metal bars as he shot up at the unsuspected sound. He cursed as he turned his head to look at the other boy, who was still standing there, head cocked in genuine curiosity.
"Why are you still here?" He spat, getting frustrated . "Did I not just tell you to piss off?"
The boy didn't even wince at Arthur's harsh language, his lips just curled into a smug little smile. "Oui, You did. But I want to know why you are lying on the ground."
Arthur frowned, this boy was getting really annoying. "It's really none of your business." He said haughtily, before lying back down. He winced when something hit against his side.
"Don't kick me!" He yelled.
Kick.
"Stop it!"
Kick.
"Tell me."
Kick.
"Quit it you-"
Kick.
"I am trying to die!"
The kicking stopped and Arthur opened his eyes to see the boy staring at him strangely. "What?"
"Are you deaf? I am trying to die!" Arthur shrieked, losing his patience.
Francis gawked at him in disbelief before bursting out laughing. "That's stupid."
"No it's not!" Arthur snapped, insulted, cheeks flushing red. "You are stupid!"
The boy ignored the insult, staring down at Arthur, a lopsided grin on his face. "How old are you?"
"Eight." Arthur grumbled, though a proud smirk crept onto his face. "Well-" The boy knelt down next to Arthur. "You cannot die when you are eight, silly. Only old and sick people die"
Arthur contemplated this for a second, toying with a string of his hoodie, twirling it around his finger. "I can still try." He said stubbornly, digging his kneels into the mud, grasping at slippery strands of grass as if trying to anchor himself there.
"Why would you wanna die anyway?" The unknown boy's eyes were a striking shade of blue, as blue as the sea; they lingered on Arthur with a curious gleam that made him rather uncomfortable. Who did he think he was, jamming his nose into Arthur's business like it was his'?
"So annoying idiots like you will never bother me again!" Arthur spat. "Everybody is always bothering me and I am sick of it!"
Francis face crumpled in hurt. His papa had told him that making new friends in England could be a bit difficult but he hadn't expected it to go this badly!
Arthur was slightly surprised when the kid didn't respond with another smart comment, instead just bowing his head. He studied the other boy for a moment. He had long, wavy blonde hair, like a girl, Arthur thought. The curls bounced around whenever he moved his head like they had a life of their own. The foreign boy was looking rather sad and Arthur strangely enough felt bad. He sat up, folding his hands, dirty nails and scraped knuckles, in his lap, avoiding the other's eyes.
" I want to stay here on the football field, forever, so my family will never bother me again." He confessed softly.
"But then you would never see them again." The boy said, suddenly serious.
"Well yeah, well that's good because I hate them." Arthur said harshly, crossing his arms. "Mum, Alistair and him most of all!"
They both stayed silent for a couple of minutes, Arthur glaring at his muddy red trainers, digging his fingers into the wet earth. Francis stared at him rather awkwardly, fiddling with the sleeves of his coat, unsure of what to say.
The sky above them had turned into a blue and orange yellow gradient. Little puffs of steam came from Arthur's mouth when he spoke again. "I ain't ever gonna call him daddy!" He roared while ripping out an entire chunk of grass, the cry drifting away over the football field, echoing between the tall concrete buildings.
When there came no visible response from the other boy other than a slight flinch, Arthur practically flopped down on the ground again, drawing his hoodie over his head so Francis was faced with nothing but a pair of angry green eyes and a muffled hiss of "Oh, sod off will you?"
Francis stood up, rather irritated himself. This weird boy was impossible to deal with, he could better go home instead. "You are so mean! I will find someone else to play with! I hope you have fun lying in the cold! Good-bye!"
He had stomped about two feet away from the black lump when he heard a muffled sob. He turned around . It was harder to see the boy now, as the sun was slowly disappearing behind the buildings but Francis could still make out the outline of his curled-up form and his shaking shoulders.
"Hey-" He said softly as he took a few hesitant steps back to Arthur. "I would not die if I were you."
A snotty red nose and two teary eyes peeked through the hoodie. Arthur sniffed, but didn't respond.
"It..it is not nice when someone dies." Francis continued, slowly walking towards the other boy who did not respond but his green eyes were following Francis' movements, indicating he was listening. "Erm.. my maman..she-"
Arthur watched silently as the other boy stood before him, the lasts rays of sunlight giving his hair a golden glow. His voice was no more than a whisper when he spoke to Arthur again. "She went a long time ago.."
"Why did she die?" Arthur asked with the bluntness of an eight year-old. The boy smiled, but in his eyes was a sadness Arthur had only seen in adult eyes before. "Papa says that Dieu needs beautiful angels to watch over all his children on Earth. He says that all of Dieu's children will go to Him one day, maman just got called early."
Francis leant against a metal pillar, looking out over the darkening field, talking more to himself than to Arthur. "Papa says she sits on a cloud above our house, to protect us."
They both stared at the clouds, little puffs of greyish white with specks of yellow, pink and purple, drifting in the now orange sky. "I don't know if I believe that though.." Francis said softly.
Arthur pouted his lips and blew out a puff of steam. His handmade cloud was small and sheer and only lingered for a second before disappearing in the cold autumn air. "You would probably fall right through ." He confirmed
Francis let out a small sigh, sitting down next to Arthur so their shoulders touched each other. " Papa always says that he is happy with me, but I know he is sad when I am not looking. He still misses her."
Arthur tried imagining a life without his mother. There would be a lot less nagging, that is for sure, but living alone with him, him being the closest he had to another parent , did not sound as appealing. Besides, the man would probably put him and Alistair up for adoption, glad to finally be rid of them. He shuddered at the thought.
"Do you miss her?" Arthur suddenly asked the boy, genuinely interested.
Francis bit his lip, staring at the sky, thinking about this for a long time. "No. I do not miss her." He said , very seriously, after a couple of minutes. "I do not miss her because I never knew her. If papa didn't have a picture of her on his nightstand, I would not even know what she looked like. Papa doesn't talk a lot about her,you know. He tries to, sometimes when I ask him, but then he gets sad really fast."
He swallowed heavily, wrapping his arms around his knees. "So I try not to ask anything at all because I love him and don't want him to get sad, but it is stupid because he still gets sad even when I take my shoes off in the house and make my bed and eat all of my porridge and give him a hundred kisses. He does not show it, but I can see it in his eyes."
Arthur sat there in silence, picking at the grass, listening to the sounds of passing cars and Francis' soft breathing, feeling the warmth of his slightly shaky body against his own. The other boy spoke about things Arthur did not really understand, but Arthur could still sense that he had a hard time talking about this. He wondered why this boy wanted to share this with himtell him of all people.
"He is really hurt. My father is really hurt because my mother died." Francis' said, shakily-voiced, dark blonde eyelashes fluttering against pale cheeks, avoiding Arthur's eyes. "And it sucks so much because it makes me feel sad too and I do not know how to make it better. That is why you should not die." When Francis opened his eyes, they were a little teary, and Arthur could see he was trying his best not to cry. "Because it will hurt people who love you real bad."
Despite everything, his mother often told Arthur she loved him. She would probably cry if he was dead, quite a lot too.
"You know what," Arthur spoke clearly, not looking at Francis. "I am not going to do it."
At Francis' questioning look he said: "I am cold, I feel tired, I do not want my mum to cry. Dying is stupid. Let's go play football or something."
Francis laughed through his tears. "Really?"
Arthur grinned, standing up, extending a hand towards Francis. "Yeah, or are you scared?"
"Actually I cannot wait to beat my first Englishman." Francis sing-songed.
"Oh, shut up."
Two boyish hands, all ragged nails and dirty fingers, entwined and as the sun finally disappeared behind the horizon, the development of a rather odd friendship began.