Chapter Seven: Until We Meet Again

He couldn't say he woke up, because he hadn't fallen asleep. He'd been too aware of his breathing, of Francis's breathing. He'd led in bed, staring at the dark ceiling, his hand and arm stiff underneath Francis's body. He'd controlled said breathing all night. Remembering to breathe steadily was good, solid, basic advice for every day life, but it seemed particularly urgent lying in bed, lips tingling and stinging with the electric memory of a simple kiss. That was all - he'd forgotten how good it was. Pleasant. And then they'd lain in bed, close and touching but not quite cuddling nor anything nearly so sentimental.
It'd been a couple of hours, now, since Arthur had last felt the feeling in his arm. That arm was useful for day-to-day activities, even if it was the left one. He needed to move, get up. He made excuses. He told himself several times that, as the old adage goes, he should let sleeping a Frenchman lie (or was that sleeping dogs? It was sleeping something). He knew the truth, despite the numb pain he liked the warmth. Still, Francis was sleeping like a rock and so he slides his arm out from underneath, and sat up, waiting for the feeling to come back.

When he had regained full use of his arms, he decided to have a shower. That way he could wait for Francis to wake up without actually having to look like he was waiting for Francis. He enjoyed showering. It was warm in there, whereas the outside world was cold and indefinite. Sometimes he turned the water up so high that he felt his skin burn and turn red, and wondered if one day that water would get so hot that his skin would peel off.

It wasn't one of those days. Today the water was warm enough to be pleasant, cool enough to be revitalising.
He relayed last night through his head on repeat, thinking, remembering, worrying just a bit. As light as he felt, there was that nagging, somewhere deep in the back of his head. This could all be a cruel, cosmic joke, something to get my hopes up. Reasons it's all just a joke: the definitive list.

He heard his bedroom door open, his name called. He didn't have time to think about the worst possible outcomes. He'd push that to the back of his mind.

oOo

After their kiss and before tangling themselves up in bed, Alfred had sent Arthur a text to remind him that he and Matthew were leaving the next afternoon, and did he want to say goodbye properly. Arthur had agreed, but when the time came he began to regret it. A phone call would have been fine, quick, painless. He wanted to stay in the warm flat with Francis, watching him over a book. Francis looked even more perfect when he read, a line of concentration appearing on his forehead as he read the newspaper, his lips slightly parted. Arthur was convinced that this was a posed and practiced position, his hand in slightly ruffled hair. Nobody could sit in such a downright provocative way by accident. But Francis decided that they'd leave early, have a late breakfast or early lunch in a small café that looked 'sufficient for England', in Francis's opinion. And so Francis and Arthur sat, sipping coffee and tea respectively. It was mostly done in silence, but it was a nice silence, very comfortable. Arthur nearly felt companionable. He wasn't going to complain that Francis's feet were twisted in his own under the table - after all, no-one could see it. When Francis had tried grasping at his hand across the table like they were in some kind of sappy romantic movie, he had objected. He couldn't hide his smile however, even if he did glare and swear at Francis a bit. He wasn't entirely sure why he had such strong feelings about such displays of affection. He just did. He winced internally at himself after he'd told Francis not to bloody touch him, afraid that he might take him too seriously. He needn't have worried. Francis just tilted his head back and let out a warm laugh, called him something in French that might have been an insult or might have been a term of endearment.

They walked slowly to Alfred's hotel. They weren't in much of a hurry.

"You look tired, mon cher." Francis said. They were walking side by side, their steps matching exactly.

"You snore." Arthur said. His voice was stony, but he enjoyed the offended look of confusion on the Frenchman's face.

"I wouldn't do such an unromantic thing." Francis said, "And nobody else has ever complained."

"It's vile, really." Arthur said, smirking at his shoes.

"Why couldn't you sleep?"

"I didn't want to wake up to find you gone, if you must know." Arthur said. They walked a few metres in silence. Arthur stared into the distance where he could see the small hotel.

"I would not do that."

Arthur was biting his lip, Francis was watching him closely.

"Wouldn't you?" Arthur said, finally. Arthur carried on walking a few paces when Francis had stopped.

"I promise."

"Don't promise something so inane." Arthur said. Francis stepped forward and kissed him briefly.

"I promise." he repeated. When they set off again they were holding hands.

They reached the hotel to find Alfred in the lobby, sitting next to his suitcase and texting.

"You talk to him." Francis said. "I'll go talk to Matthew."

Arthur nodded, and watched Francis walk over to Matthew, who was waiting to check out.

"I thought you weren't gonna come." Alfred said, standing as Arthur approached.

"I said I would." Arthur said. They stared at each other for a few moments.

"Sorry I couldn't stay longer." Alfred said. "I'm really busy with college and stuff, so - "

"I get it, Alfred. I'm not going to fall apart."

"Again." Alfred said, grinning.

"Shut up, git."

"I'll call you this time." Alfred said. "You won't be able to get rid of me."

"I'll look forward to it."

"Are you doing sarcasm again?"

"No, Alfred." Arthur said.

"And we'll see each other soon, too. I'll come visit when college finishes, or you can come to the states and - "

"That would be nice."

"I think you and Francis will be good together." Alfred said. "He'll be good for you."

"I can look after myself."

"I know. You know you're difficult, right?"

"Yes. I'm sorry." Arthur said. "I hope you have a safe flight."

"Thanks." Alfred said. They looked past each other. "There's my cab. Matty's coming back with me for a couple of weeks. Visit home and stuff."

"That's nice."

"So, um, I…"

Arthur wasn't quite sure what to say, or do. They couldn't shake hands, that was too formal and ridiculous. Alfred wrapped his arms around Arthur in a hug that winded him a bit.

"Bye, Artie."

"Bye." Arthur said, smiling and following them outside to the cab. He said a quick goodbye to Matthew, and Francis stood at his side, and they watched them climb into the back, Alfred already talking to the cab driver.

"Are you okay, Arthur?" Francis said. Arthur watched the car until it disappeared around the corner.

"Honestly I'm a bit relieved." Arthur said. "He'll be easier to ignore with the Atlantic between us."

"Don't ignore him, it'll only worry him."

"He ignored me." Arthur said. "I won't. I was being facetious."

"Would you ignore me?"

"It's safe to say that you're impossible to ignore, you irritating Frog."

"You know you love me, mon amour."

"Yes, I suppose."

A/N: SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY WITH KITTY-CATS ON TOP THAT THIS IS SO LATE.

And that it's short, but I just wanted it known that this is abandoned or anything. Next chapter will be longer and just needs to be edited a bit before I post it (I've cursed myself by saying that).

Anyway, thanks so much to anyone who read, reviewed, followed or favourited I love you it makes me happy.