Chapter three! Just a heads up: PLEASE read the footnotes. Some things won't make sense without them in this chapter. Enjoiii~~
It's been three weeks since the incident with the car. They still didn't talk to each other. At work, they barely acknowledged that the other existed. Things have come to a stalemate. Or so it seemed.
Every time she glanced over at the bar, Elizabeta didn't know what to do with herself. Seeing him surrounded by all those girls, laughing and bragging like usual. She felt like that she had lost something very important. Essential, even.
It was only about a stupid car. Did he really love that car so much he would throw away their friendship over it? She didn't believe it. Refused to believe it.
Work had become long and tedious. She had to consciously stop herself from glancing at the bar. She was searching for a sign, something, hinting at the fact that he actually missed her presence in his life, too. By the end of every night, all it left her with was a tight ball of anxiety scrunched up between her ribs, liable to implode.
At least she was talking to Bella again, after the end of a whole week that felt like a millennia. She decided that it didn't mean anything. Not to Gil or Bella. Bella had made that quite clear. That was all she needed reassurance of. Truth be told, she wasn't angry anymore. She stopped being angry at him exactly two weeks and five days ago, when she realised just how badly she had botched things up. Now she didn't know what to think. Of herself, of Gilbert...What she saw that night when he was in the car changed her perspective on everything.
After work, Arthur unexpectedly pulled her aside. She hadn't actually properly looked anyone in the face since three weeks ago, and now that she did, she doubted that Arthur was in any better shape than her. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his skin was pale and slightly waxy. Not his usual healthy pale, but a much more transparent kind. She had never seen him like this before. Were the pressures of doubling up on schoolwork and owning a restaurant finally coming down on him?
"I was just wondering. What's going on between you and Gil?"
Was it that obvious? she wondered.
"Uh...nothing out of the ordinary. We just argued about...stuff," she lied. Well, it was three quarters of a lie.
"Stuff, huh... That seems to be happening way too often nowadays." Elizabeta wondered what was going through his mind right that second. It had to be what was draining him of all his energy.
"Anyway, I was just going to say...whatever it is, try to make up as soon as possible. Your moods are killing my performance."
"Our moods? He seems relaxed enough to me."
"Yeah, when he's working. But after work, he binges on beer or whiskey or vodka or whatever he can get his hands on."
"Oh..." Recently, she had been clearing tables really fast and leaving early each night just so she didn't have to be stuck in the same room with him without the huge crowd to buffer the awkwardness. She had no idea how much each of them were drinking each night.
Arthur sighed and rubbed his temples. "Look, Liz. I don't know what it is that happened... No. I must rephrase. I know Gil's side of the story, but that's as credible as Communist propaganda. And I'm not forcing you to tell me what happened, but will you please be the mature one and apologise or at least say something. His rude behaviour is bothering me."
Elizabeta nodded, biting her lip a little hesitantly. She knew that an apology would probably make things exactly the way they were before. But somehow, now that she thought about it, that idea no longer sounded so appealing.
"You don't have to," Arthur added as an afterthought, then left for his office. Elizabeta watched as he shut himself back inside the office. He used to come outside to 'regulate' them and enjoy himself a little, but now he'd practically locked himself up there. He wouldn't even show his face. Elizabeta secretly wondered whether or not he actually lived in the office after all. None of them actually knew where he lived. Not even Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert, though they suspected the general Knightsbridge area.
Poor man, she shook her head. He took life a little too seriously sometimes.
"Liz!" Bella hailed from the other side of the room. "Let's go!"
They stepped out into the mild night. It smelled like it was going to rain soon. Perhaps tomorrow. They began towards their apartment, which was about a twenty minute walk away. Neither of them had the money to spare on a cab, and the last train in the Underground was already gone.
"So I was thinking..." Bella started.
"Oh, no," Elizabeta feigned an irritated groan. "You were thinking."
"Oh, sod off! So I was thinking that we could go...shopping?"
"Bella, you know you're going to end up overspending."
"No, you are wrong! I saved up this time! Come on. All we do every day is go to school, do schoolwork, go to work, and do more work! We're twenty-three and in London! I mean, come on!"
"Alright, if you say so," Elizabeta laughed. She knew that Bella had a habit of overspending on clothes. Not because she bought a devastatingly large amount, but because she bought all the devastatingly expensive brands. They'd always joked about how Bella needed to marry rich in the future. But Elizabeta had to admit that a break would do her good. Both of them actually. They had just finished several massive and excruciatingly long projects.
Suddenly, they heard a disturbance far ahead, on the other side of the street. Someone was shouting.
"Hey! Get your hands off me, un bastardo*!" A strikingly familiar voice.
"Yeeerrr Italian, errrnt you?" a deeper, male voice slurred, evidently drunk. "Hahaha! Don't worry, just play a liiill...won't huuuurrrchaaa."
"Hey! I'm serious, stop it! I'll call the police!"
That was definitely Lovino.
Two male figures blurry in the distance, one much taller and wider in bulk, forcing the other into a wall. Elizabeta scanned their surroundings. The pavement was empty on both sides except for the two of them, and cars were scarce this late into the night. The two girls exchanged an anxious look, then both hurried across the street towards the two shadowy silhouettes situated at the opening of an alleyway. Elizabeta stopped Bella a good length away and whispered, "You stay here. I'll deal with this."
"Are you mad, Liz? That bloke's huge!"
"There's no time!"
And she sprinted off towards the two figures, focusing her eyes on the target. You can do this, Elizabeta. Kick to his head. You've got one shot.
Screech! Flash. Crack! Bam!
"AHH!" Elizabeta screamed and slid to a stop less than a second before she reached Lovino.
But the big, hulking drunk was gone. Replaced by a much slimmer figure, who had just thrown its entire weight into a momentous punch.
"About time you showed up, you bastard! Have you any idea..." Lovino screamed at the man who had saved him. But his voice cracked and he clenched his jaw, falling silent. Lovino had been scared after all.
Elizabeta stared, wide-eyed and bewildered, at the car that had suddenly screeched onto the pavement. It was Gilbert's black Mercedes. The slashes on the side were gone.
"Lovi! I'm so sorry! Please forgive me!"The man who had saved him pleaded in distress, even though none of it was his fault in the first place. The Spanish accent and the beseeching manner in which he spoke was enough to tip her off. Just as I suspected. Antonio. Elizabeta finally found the sensation in her stiff legs, which felt like all blood flow had gone out of, and made her way carefully around the car to join their side.
"Antonio!" she called out.
"Liz? What are you doing here?" Antonio's eyes widened. He was not expecting her. "It's not safe." He rubbed his pained knuckles with his other hand. Lovi stared at Elizabeta with a relieved expression. He was shaken from the inside out.
"I was on my way home with Bella. What are you doing here?"
Elizabeta peered into the alley where the assaulter had landed. Antonio had sent him flying backwards a good few metres. She never knew that he had so much fight in him.
"We were headed home, too, but Francis wanted to drop by at the corner shop," the Spaniard answered, scratching his head. He seemed to be confused as to how he had hit the guy so hard as well.
"Corner shop's the other direction," Elizabeta frowned.
"Oh..." He gave an awkward laugh. "Well…Francis was driving."
By this time, Francis had jumped out of the car to join them, along with Bella who jogged over from down the street. They both appeared somewhat frazzled.
"What about you, Lovi?" Elizabeta asked with a deeply concerned frown. The Italian looked like he had just seen a corpse.
"Uh...I dunno...the fucking bastard was stalking me. So I thought I could lose him if I went a little further. But he somehow took a shortcut of some kind and cornered me instead. At first I thought he just wanted money, but...WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND RAPES A MAN ANYWAY?" He abruptly freaked, clutching his sides as if frightened someone might come and drag him away any moment.
"Loviiiii, I'm so sorry!" Antonio, always the drama queen, sounded like he was about to cry as he sprang over and heroically squeezed Lovino into a choking hug.
"Let go of me! I don't need a second bastard all over me in the same night!" Lovino grew flustered and tried desperately to pry off Antonio's grip.
Elizabeta and Bella both giggled, relief washing through their veins. It was fine. Everything was fine. And no one got hurt. They were lucky enough that Francis wanted to go to the corner, and that he drove the wrong way, and that they came at the nick of time. So lucky, it was unbelievable.
Then, Elizabeta had to ask about something she'd been bothered by for the past few minutes. "Ummm...Francis. Where's Gil...he wouldn't trust anyone else with his car..." Her voice trailed off into the quiet night. She stared down at her own two hands, which had involuntarily formed tight fists.
"Worried, ma chérie?" Francis teased. "He's in the back. Completely passed out."
"...Oh..." So the part about him drinking wasn't a lie.
"We'll give you a ride," Francis smiled, and steered both the girls towards the car. "Come on. Statistically, you're both more susceptible to rape than Lovino is."
"You, too, Lovi. It's a six people car," Antonio quickly added, shoving the Italian towards the car. Lovino didn't complain.
"Why am I stuck in front with the two of you?" Lovino complained sourly. Though Elizabeta couldn't see his face, she could imagine the aggravated scowl well enough. Francis was at the wheel and Antonio was in the passenger's seat. Lovino was uncomfortably sandwiched between the two of them, especially since all three men weren't petite by any standard.
In a normal situation, Elizabeta would have laughed. But right now, she was preoccupied. Gilbert was right next to her, propped up against the car door. Bella was on her other side, pretending that there was nothing wrong at all. Elizabeta tried not to steal glimpses, for fear that he would suddenly wake up and demand an answer as to why she had destroyed his car. But she failed to do even that, and neither did he spontaneously spring awake.
The street lights glanced over his face as they drove along, odd geometric shapes of yellow, orange, and blue chasing away the dark shadows one after another. The light had a mysterious effect on his silvery-white hair, dyeing it with tinted shades of the night cityscape.
'And I'm not forcing you to tell me what happened, but will you please be the mature one and apologise or at least say something...' I guess I should, huh? I mean, for him…I'm probably unjustified. I guess I am unjustified. He was just my friend. That's all. Was? Isn't he still my friend?
Her insides were in a tumult. It was as if someone had taken her inner universe and reversed all the laws of gravity. She needed an anchor. And the anchor happened to be sitting right next to her. She let her long brown locks fall over her eyes. Gingerly, softly, so that no one would see, she slipped her hand under his limp, warm one so their fingers intertwined. It was then that she noticed how long and slender his fingers were, palm strong and hard.
Perhaps it was a good thing, she began to think. This argument. This fight. Because it broke down her emotions piece by piece and put them back together in a whole new way. They weren't new emotions, no. She just saw them clearly now. Like how rearranging a complex formula could allow the discovery of something concealed. Only then can one find the correct answer.
She knew her correct answer now.
He awoke to someone shaking him violently by the shoulders. It wasn't the most pleasant way to wake up.
"Gil! Gil! GILBERT!"
"Hnnnggg..." He opened his eyes a crack to a pair of slightly impatient green eyes staring down at him.
"Get up," said Antonio.
"I'll just skip today..."
"It's Thursday, Gil." Gilbert felt like he was forgetting something important.
"So?" He pushed himself up to sit. This was getting to be a regular routine. Waking up hung over, eating nothing until the afternoon, and walking around campus (when he didn't skip classes) like a zombie.
"You have that lab you've been going on about for weeks! Remember? Ugh. Get up! You're worse than I am! Sometimes I really wish Arthur would come back. He'd beat you out of bed with an umbrella."
"Fine! Fine, I'm up." He stumbled across the room and pulled on a black T-shirt. Antonio threw him some jeans.
"Is Francis home yet?" he asked as he finished changing.
"Francis came home with us yesterday."
"He did?"
"You were completely passed out the entire time. But we ran into some trouble on the way home."
"What trouble?"
"Some drunkard tried to rape Lovi!" Antonio jumped from disapproving parent to heartbroken knight. "I couldn't believe it!"
"Ugh...did you wake me up just to tell me that?"
"No! Of course not. But he's okay though."
"I know that."
"Huh? You can't possibly have been..."
"If he really got raped, you would be crying in a corner right now."
"I suppose you are right..."
Gilbert rolled his eyes. Lovesick bastard. He would rather die than turn into one of those. He trailed across the hall into the washroom, went through the robotic morning routine that he had recently abandoned, then dragged himself out into the living room feeling like his eyes were more bloodshot than they should be.
"Bonjour, mon ami," Francis greeted. "Eat." He instantaneously shoved a piece of toast in Gilbert's face.
"Not hungry," Gilbert grumbled. He sat there wondering where Francis had conjured up toast, milk, and other unprocessed foods. But it didn't matter. It felt like forever since he had been hungry. Perhaps his body had forgotten hunger altogether.
"Eat food, Gilbert. Starving yourself won't make her love you," Francis said with a sigh.
"I don't know what the bloody fuck you're talking about." But he took the piece of toast anyway and stuffed it grudgingly into his mouth. It tasted better than he had expected. He had tasted almost nothing but alcohol for three days in a row. The carbohydrates and fibre felt good in his mouth, as if he was remembering some vague notion of primal instincts encoded into his genes.
It wasn't until he sat down at the kitchen counter that he noticed something was unusual. Francis and Antonio both pulled up a chair on either side of him, dressed and ready at 8: 34 am, fully awake, and staring at him with gigantic, round, expectant eyes.
He frowned, giving both of them a dose of his peeved face. "Cut it out, idiots. If it's money you want, I'll give it to you. Just stop being weird."
"No, no, no. We don't want your money. Well, I don't. Antonio might need some," Francis smiled harmlessly.
"Hey!" Antonio interjected indignantly.
"Whatever! What do you want from me?" Gilbert was a little unsettled. There was definitely something up.
"It's not what we want from you. It's what you need from us," Francis rattled knowingly.
"The bloody hell is that?"
"Counselling."
Gilbert stared blankly. What type of counselling did he need? As far as he was concerned, he knew everything that he needed to know.
"Like...maybe...about your drinking? And why you're drinking? Maybe specifically in relation to Elizabeta?" Francis gave him a nudge.
"Uh...how are those two related?" I'm just drinking because...
"Maybe...because you're upset?" Antonio suggested.
"About the car? I fixed it. I knew a bloke from our company here. It cost me nothing at all."
"So you're not mad at her anymore?"
"Uh...I suppose not."
"Then...why are you drinking?"
"Because I want to." But for some unfeasible reason, he grew even more uneasy at this. Why was he drinking? He wasn't even sure. Ever since that night he had just sort of...let himself go. It wasn't like before, when he would drink for the exhilaration. He had always been able to appreciate drinking as a lifestyle. A kind of art that came in many forms. In luxury, in heroism, in exaltation, in thrill. But this was a different kind of drinking. It was empty drinking. It had lost meaning altogether.
"You want to wake up with a headache every morning and go to class in a drunken stupor," Francis rolled his eyes sarcastically. The French man rarely used sarcasm. He must have been supremely exasperated.
"Uh..." Gilbert didn't know what to say. What was there to say? That he enjoyed being hung over half the time?
"You, my friend, are in denial," Francis said with a wave of his hand. "You are clearly suffering from a love crisis. Just like Antonio here. Except the difference is that Antonio's an idiot ("H-Hey!") who only knows how to be clingy, and you're an even bigger idiot who can't even accept that you're in love."
Gilbert's grip on the glass of milk tightened. Then, he uttered a humourless laugh. "...You can't be serious about this." He abruptly got to his feet, and downed the rest of the milk in one gulp.
"I have to go," he said stiffly. He felt like he was going to hurl all of a sudden.
"Go where?" Francis had a scowl on his face.
"Lab."
"Hey! Lab starts at three! A bit early, don't you think?" Antonio yelled after him. But he was already gone, faster than a scampering hare, leaving the door swinging in his wake. Francis sighed and shook his head.
"He's even more hopeless than I thought."
The monotonous dial tone beeped for almost a whole minute. Click. Someone from the other end finally picked up.
"Arthur! Thank Gott, you're there."
"Oh! Um, hey, Gil. You're awake." Gil's brow furrowed a little at Arthur's voice. It sounded thick and a little cracked, like he had just been woken up. This wasn't like Arthur. He was always the one up bright early to watch the news with a cup of tea in his hand. But Gilbert pushed the thought aside for now.
"Ja, but never mind that. Listen, I'm right on campus. Can you meet me real quick at Princes?"
"Uh...sure. Give me ten minutes."
"Okay. Hey. Thanks."
"...You're welcome?"
Click. He hung up. But somehow, Gilbert can't shake off the feeling that there was something Arthur wasn't telling him. When did Arthur ever wake up later than 7:30? Except for that one time...
"Gilbert?" An unpleasantly familiar smooth, mid-tone male voice.
Gilbert's looked up to face a slightly-bemused Roderich and his half-rimmed rectangular glasses.
"Oh. It's you," Gilbert muttered in a bored voice. "What're you doing here?"
"None of your business," he threw back guardedly.
"Tch. This is the Imperial College of Science, Technology, and Medicine. Go back and play your keyboard, Miss Edelstein." Gilbert's foul mood had dropped even lower. He knew that taking it all out on Roderich was entirely unreasonable and unjustified, but there was something about the guy that pushed all the wrong buttons.
"Excuse me! You're lucky I'm not asking for compensation of any kind for that little prank with the cocktail the other night!" Roderich flared. He had always been one of those uptight bastards who were easily incensed.
"Oh, yeah? And exactly what kind of 'compensation' did you have in mind?" Gilbert snapped, feeling indignant despite knowing that he was the one in the wrong.
"Hey, what's going on here?"
The cousins turned towards the source of the voice to find Basch standing next to them with hands on his hips.
"Nothing," Gilbert muttered under his breath. He looked away, disgruntled.
"Sorry, I'm late again. I can barely keep track of Lili these days," he sighed, then fixed Gilbert with a hostile glare.
"Beilschmidt, right?"
"Oh, you're the Swiss bloke who was with Roderich the other day."
"Yes, and you're the rude bartender who drugged your customer," he answered coldly.
"It was alcohol. Get over it. I could've downed at least two of those without feeling a thing. It's his fault for having such low tolerance." Gilbert jabbed a finger at Roderich, who could only fix his antagonistic cousin with a menacing glare.
"Don't get too cocky, Beilschmidt. I'm telling you, one report to the school about your behaviour and they'll kick you out."
"You can't threaten me. I haven't done anything illegal," Gilbert retorted icily, then turned his back on the two and went across the street towards Princes Garden. He was thoroughly convinced he had no interest in wasting his time on pointless bickering with people he disliked.
Gilbert strolled around the park for a few minutes, the haze of green all around blurring together in his peripherals. Grass, trees, bushes. There was little difference. Sometimes, he wondered if he saw the world differently than everyone else behind his blood-coloured eyes. Maybe everyone else saw more clearly than he did. Maybe that's why...
"Hey!" Arthur waved towards him inside his sleek black Audi and pulled up along the side of the road. He got out and jogged over, dressed in a simple white shirt, tight black jeans, and with a loose red bandana around his neck, a get up that was unusually casual for the Englishman.
"Heyyy, what's with the bandana..."
"Oh." Arthur stopped to catch his breath. He also appeared as if he had just run a marathon. "I...had to rush."
Gilbert frowned and shot him a suspicious look. "Where were you last night..."
"What do you mean where?" he threw back, a little too quickly.
"I mean...who did you sleep with?" A sly smile curled onto Gilbert's lips.
Arthur flushed scarlet from ear to ear. "What're you talking about? Ha! Why would you think that?" But it was no use at all. Gilbert almost fell over laughing, seeing his friend so obviously flustered. "Gott, you are so gay," Gilbert snorted.
"Sh-shut up! Gil! There are people!" Arthur said through clenched teeth.
"Don't worry so much. No one knows who you are. Come on, let's walk."
They began making another round through the park. They used to spend a lot of time here before and after lunch, complaining about how the world was going to hell. Gilbert wondered where those innocent days went, when they, the four of them in the same flat, used to make toasts to the total destruction of all politicians. Where did time go?
"So, what was your emergency?" Arthur inquired, his hands shoved into his pants pocket.
Gilbert stopped awkwardly for a few seconds. "Ah, right...that. Hey, remember that one night—two years ago? — when you said you were in love with someone?" Gilbert began. It wasn't the kind of thing he usually talked about with people. Or thought about at all.
"...Yeah?"
"Whatever happened to that?"
"Nothing...I gave up after a while...it was hopeless...why do you ask?" Arthur fidgeted a little uncomfortably with his bandana.
"No...I was just wondering...what did it feel like?"
Arthur's thick eyebrows furrowed. "Hmmm...it's hard to describe. You just sort of...know it."
"That's not really a description."
"I know. I guess it really messes you up. Like the opposite of logic."
"The opposite of logic, huh...Well, I have no idea what that is, but it must be horrible." Gilbert didn't know what he would do without logic in his life. With rational thinking, there was always an answer. Even if the answer was infinite, you would know for sure that it was infinite. All that in-between stuff was too much of a hassle for him to figure out.
"No, not horrible. More like...bipolar. One minute you're in heaven, and then the next you're in hell."
Gilbert gulped. "That sounds really...horrible."
"Uh...Gil...if you don't mind me saying...you kind of sound like you're trying to diagnose yourself or something."
"What? No! That's ridiculous. You know I would never fall for that kind of thing. I was just curious, you know. Natural human curiosity."
"Sure..."
They walked for another hour or so, making circles around the park. They didn't touch the subject again. Then, the sky blackened. Soon enough, rain was pouring down on the street. The two sprinted for cover inside the school, and ended up taking refuge in the library.
The library was immense, a collection of literature, references, and documents from the beginning of European history to the present day. Gilbert didn't like it much, though. It held too many unorganised thoughts. And romance novels. Arthur, on the other hand, could live in it. They used to joke that he should just make a bed out of books and just stay here.
They sat down at a table, attempting to dry their drenched clothing, and continued to talk in hushed voices. The wet clothes seemed to bother Arthur a lot as he shifted around clumsily in his chair. He was always a little anal about this kind of thing. Unfortunately, however, Gilbert soon noticed that small groups of girls began to huddle together behind the bookshelves, casting over flirty glances at the two of them. I've gotten way too famous around these parts...
"You're attracting too much attention," came a low, stern voice.
They looked up to find Ludwig, looming over them with his typical seriousness and a stack of thick books in his arms.
"Hey, Lutz," Gilbert grinned. His mood always lifted a little when he saw his brother. "Need some help with the books?"
"Nein, Danke."
Coincidentally, the whispering seemed to have only increased with Ludwig's arrival. Gilbert snorted a little. "I don't think we're the only ones attracting attention."
Ludwig cleared his throat, blushing a little.
Arthur propped his head up on the table with an exhausted sigh. "I heard that Lovino almost got raped last night."
"Oh...yeah...I was there. Kind of," Gilbert muttered.
"You know, I think we're beginning to attract too much attention." Arthur seemed anxious, leaning forward in his chair as he drummed his fingers on the table.
"But attention's good isn't it?" Ludwig asked with a frown. "Good for the business, I mean."
"Erm..."
"Not always, Lutz," Gilbert cut in. "For instance, now." His red eyes made scanned across their corner of the spacious library, which resonated with the low hum of whispers amplified by the high ceiling.
"I wish the rain would just let up," Arthur muttered, fingering his wet strands of hair. Ludwig left to put away the heavy volumes he was carrying, then returned scrolling through something on his phone.
"What's that?" Gilbert asked, peering over his brother's shoulder to get a better view.
"The BBC. It says here that the Duke of _*lost his son. Well...his son ran way. But he refuses to disclose his son's name nor any information," Ludwig said as he skimmed the article. "What a strange man," he continued to speculate, "Wouldn't it be easier to just put a picture on the news? He'll find him in no time."
Gilbert and Arthur exchanged a look, then both shrugged.
"I personally don't understand why he would even tell the public his son ran away if he's not disclosing any details," Gilbert said, leaning back on the chair. "Well, whatever. Rich people will be rich people."
"You're one to talk," Arthur said, addressing both the brothers.
"We're not that rich," Gilbert contemplated, "We're like...medium rich."
"Medium rich is still rich, Gil,"
"Ja, but I mean it's different, though, isn't it? Money like that passed down all the way from generations ago verses money earned the last generation."
"Money is money," Arthur insisted. "Doesn't matter where it comes from, I mean assuming it's legal. It does the same thing for you no matter what. I'm not denying that you need lots of it, but it doesn't matter whether it's passed down or not."
"But money passed down comes with all that prestige, Arthur. Plus, there's usually lots of it anyway, not to mention property."
Just as Arthur opened his mouth to answer, he was interrupted by the ring of his mobile phone, which happened to be an intense guitar solo that burst ostentatiously into the quiet of the library. Arthur almost fell out of his chair, then groped around for the phone in his pocket. Almost everyone turned their heads at them now.
"Hello?"Arthur whispered into the phone angrily.
…
"No, I'm in the library, you git!"
...
"With friends."
...
"Yes, so what?"
A longer pause, then he snapped, "Look, now's not the time to talk about this. I have to go. Bye."
Gilbert eyed Arthur a little suspiciously. Was that the guy he had slept with the previous night? But Arthur only ever had one-night stands if he ever wanted to do 'it.' Why would he give his number to the guy? Gilbert decided not to ask for now. He had too many troubles of his own to worry about.
1 Un bastardo- you bastard (Italian)
2 The blank is because of the following: The peerage system (titles and whatnot) is really complex, not to mention politically-involved, so I don't want to offend anyone by using an actual duke's title. So, I'm borrowing Jane Austen's handy technique of blanking out places and titles in order to avoid controversy. So here, fill in the blank yourself. Make him any British duke you want to.
Phew! Okay. Anewayz, [insert disclaimer from chapter 1]. And also, once again, I thank The Strawberry for her help and inspiraton. I actually just got off the phone with her xD. And I'd also like to thank another friend, Ev, who's been in full support of this fic. Thanksshhhhh, Ev. haha when you read this be happy. :D REVIEW PLEASE i must know if there are any mistakes I made! And what you thought of this. Next chapter USUK!
