Asymptote
" If you close your eyes, does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?"
~ Bastille, Pompeii
Apologising was a foreign concept to both men. They were far, far too proud and far, far too stubborn. Neither would want to ever make the first move, they were such blockheads that way. And for that reason, neither knew how to react the next day.
"Don't bring girls home, it's distracting" Arthur gritted his teeth and furrowed his eyebrows. He was unhappy, to say the least.
"For a week?"
"No. Forever." Francis bringing girls home all the time ― it just bothered him a lot. He couldn't figure out why, but it just did. Francis went off with his buts and whys but he refused to hear it.
The last time this happened, a year ago, he went a week only because Arthur threatened to withhold his promise to keep out of the kitchen. It kept Arthur satisfied, but now he's blown his top and will not rest 'till Francis complies. "Then, Francis, apologise." He cocked his head. If Francis was to apologise it would satisfy him more than anything in the world. Anything. But Francis is stubborn and will not bend.
He stands his ground. "No way." Francis retorts. He casts his glance to the coat rack, treading off shortly after dressed in a crisp grey trench coat. Now, the blonde would retort in an amused manner usually, but Arthur was serious this time. Arthur had cinders burning in his balled up fists and Francis could see so. He does not know what got Arthur so riled up, but toxic gasses and burning ashes filled the house, so he left.
So he left, and so he left Arthur behind.
