They had nothing to say to each other. The awkward silence filled the air like a toxin, and suddenly it was hard to breathe, the tension choking them both. Francis was the first to break the silence, exhaling deeply and glancing at his former lover with a soft, almost broken smile.
"Bonjour, Arthur. I...did not expect you."
His words hung in the air for a moment, suspended again in the silence that quickly refilled the empty space. Arthur's gaze held fast to the others, as if he was afraid to look away, for fear of his calm exterior crumbling into the nervous wreck he was inside. He knew that the few words Francis had said could never be more true then at that moment. Francis could not have expected him. In a way, he didn't expect himself. He didn't understand why he found himself hastily slipping into his shoes and tugging on his sweater (the same sweater given to him by Francis almost a year ago. If he breathed deeply, it still smelt like the other; fine wine and cigarette smoke, the perfect scent). He hadn't had control of his foggy mind as he hailed a taxi, reciting the address he had visited time and time again, surprising himself with how easily it came back to mind. Even now, standing in the Frenchman's doorway, staring into his sparkling blue eyes as his anchor to sanity, he felt like his actions were no longer his to control. It had been months since they had spoken last, and neither wanted to admit that it was driving them both to the point of insanity. Admitting that meant admitting defeat and swallowing their foolish pride, the very same pride that had led them both to the point of tears so many months before.
They loved with a passion hotter than the sun, and deeper than the darkest ocean trench. Their love was almost too much for them to handle, and when it finally fell, it fell hard, shattering them both on impact. Tears and rage, red, hot rage, had blinded them both, and if you asked them today what caused the fight, neither would remember. All they knew is when the door slammed behind Arthur as he left, it hadn't been opened again until this point.
Arthur held himself a bit higher, gathering what was left of the dignity he abandoned after knocking on Francis' door, and took a deep breath to hold himself together.
"Francis.."
He had no more than uttered that simple name, the name that had meant so much, and his resolve broke away. The island had crumbled into the pounding waves, leaving a trembling mess of a man. One word, and it was all gone. Francis opened his arms as he had so many times before, allowing the other to embrace him, not like the man he tried to be, but as the child he had become. All of the emotion he had kept away, stored for a rainy, nolstalgic day, stained Francis' shirt, as the other tried to soothe him with hushed whispers and consoling murmurs. Every painful memory, from the day of confession that began their story, to the white, hot fire of the fight that wiped the pages clean, came rushing back to them both in that instant, scorching the memories back into their brains. As Arthur fell apart, and Francis struggled to hold them both together, they realized why they had loved at all. And at that moment, the loss meant nothing, and both men knew that all this time they had been living with half a heart. And maybe it would happen again. Maybe they would grow too hot, and fall apart, only to build themselves up stronger once more. But for the moment, they knew that no matter what happened, they could no longer stand to live without the other.
Without their disastrous love, their was no life at all.