Fortune of Our Misfortune

Moment three

The cause of their fight has changed three times already by the time that the plate hits the floor and breaks. The half-eaten slice of apple pie that has turned into mush forty-eight minutes earlier makes a disgusting squishy sound when it splatters over Francis' left shoe, and Francis winces. Arthur, who sits across of him, doesn't even pause his rant, and Francis feels his nerves thinning and thinning and very soon reaching the point of snapping, because someone clearly doesn't know when to shut up.

"Stuff your mouth with something, will you Arthur, and tone down, because -"

"Oh, so it's only me needing to -"

"You already broke the plate, do you need us thrown out of here, you -"

"Yes, because mister Nothing's-Ever-My-Fault is -"

"Guys -"

"You pulled the tablecloth -"

"Well did you have to leave your plate so near to the edge, it wouldn't -"

"It's not a question of where I left the plate -"

"Guys."

"Of course it's not, because monsieur Bonnefoy here is never wrong."

"Why can't you ever let me finish?"

"Because I'm fed up with the shit that you -"

"Shut the fuck up, both of you!"

Francis startles – as do all the other customers of the café, including Arthur. They both look at Michelle, who just slammed her fists against the table and jumped on her feet, and now regards them with unsuppressed fury. The entire café falls into a frightened silence for several seconds, but then other customers discreetly return to minding their own business and pretending that no one has been yelling their throats raw with an endless stack of verbal daggers.

"You fucking shitheads," Michelle growls at them, eyes darting from Arthur to Francis and back to Arthur again. "You- are you happy now? Are you fucking happy now? I just, you -"

She shakes in anger and frustration, unable to find words, and Francis shoots Arthur a dark look. Look what you did. The green eyes respond with a similar accusation of their own.

"Fuck you!" Michelle finally spits out. She is furious, like a wasp, but it's the slight waver in her voice that draws Francis' eyes on her face. She is breathing heavily, cheeks flushing, muted by her own rage, but then – for Francis' immense horror – he glimpses tears forming in those flaring eyes, and it is then that he feels shame for his actions. "Michelle," he begins, but she silences him with a warning jerk of her head.

"I can't even -" she finally starts, cuts herself off, and continues in a choked voice, "Why do you do that? To each other? To me? You two are horrible. Horrible."

Arthur opens his mouth, but Michelle doesn't give him the chance to even begin. "That's not even fighting," she continues, not bothering to keep her voice low. She is visibly hurt, painfully so, and Francis' cheeks turn red of guilt. Angrily, Michelle rubs away her tears with her fists. "What you do is savaging, you just. When I first saw you two together I thought that wow, those guys are close. But you misuse that closeness, I don't even know, you use that closeness to hurt, and you hurt everyone else in the process too! Why do you do that?"

Her voice rises at the last words, and Francis casts a silent, careful look at Arthur, who meets his eyes. It almost feels as though they are reaching a point of mutual understanding, but then Arthur's brow twitches and Francis knows that he's about to say something dangerous. To prevent it he opens his own mouth to speak first, but then Michelle sees what they are doing. "Fuck you both!" she snarls and, turning on her heels, storms out of the café.

Arthur shakes his head and runs his hand through his hair. "There you go," he says, mockingly.

Francis' eyes darken. "That meaning?"

"Oh, I don't know."

"Don't fuck with me, Arthur."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

His tone is driving Francis to the edge. "You well know that I wasn't alone in this," he says in a low voice.

"I also know well who started this."

Francis grits his teeth. "I'm glad to hear you realise that throwing snide remarks between every word that I say may cause arguments."

Arthur's eyes fire up again. "If only you also realised that you deserve each of them! Why can't you behave like a normal, decent human-being, Francis, at least in public? At least in company? Why do you always -"

"Arthur, I -" Francis pauses and struggles to keep his voice down; waiters are too afraid to approach their table as it is, even to kick them out. "Sometimes I would really, really like to strangle you with my own hands."

Arthur's lips form a tight line, and Francis sees how his jaw tenses. "Sometimes I would like to strangle myself only to free myself of your company."

"I'm glad we have this much in common."

They don't say anything after that. Michelle is right, Francis thinks. It is unbelievable how their questionable closeness suddenly turns into a war-zone, with a pure intention of hurting. Francis doesn't even know what triggers it; a word, a gesture, a misunderstanding, an understanding. A wink to wrong direction, a frown where it shouldn't be sent. It's mesmerising in a terrible way how Arthur and his relationship alters between some sort of intimacy and toxicity, it's a rat race that they are tired of following yet unable to break free from. Perhaps, if they didn't talk past each other -

Francis shifts and brushes the broken pieces of the plate with his foot. Muttering curses in French, he crouches under the table to collect the pieces, and puts them on the table. Arthur's eyes land on them.

"We need to pay for that," he says.

Francis crouches again, to wipe his shoe clean of the disgusting pie. "I'll pay for it," he grunts.

There is a moment of silence, and Francis practically feels Arthur's hesitation before he speaks. "Francis -"

But Francis doesn't want to hear. Right now, he doesn't want to hear what Arthur's got to say, doesn't want to see him. Right now, he can't stand the mere thought of Arthur. No one else, he thinks bitterly, no one else is able to drive me to this level of madness. "I said I'll pay for it, so there should be nothing more keeping you here," he bites icily.

When Francis is finally satisfied with the state of his shoe and straightens, Arthur is gone.

X