Dormez-vous? Chapter 7

Running away was fine at first, but, as time changed and it began to get dark, it seemed like less and less of a good idea. Arthur was a bit more used to the dark than Francis - he had ran away many times before, and suffered the trials of nighttime - but, as for the latter, who had a set time he had to be indoors, the outside world was mesmerizing - and terrifying - during the night. To Francis, any rustle of the leaves in the wind was Auguste coming to hunt him down, any snap of a twig was his boot, any warped shadow was his angry form. Besides all the monsters that seemed to thrive in the forest, it began to get cold the darker it got, and, after a short while of walking in the darkness, Francis' teeth began chattering.

"Frog, will you be quiet already!" Arthur hissed, squinting up at his companion with an unhappy expression on his face. "You're going to attract wild animals or something! Plus, it's annoying!" Almost without thinking, he reached over and punched him in the arm; it wasn't a hard punch, in fact, it was more playful than anything. It made him fluster with heat whenever he realized he had done that - it was something he used to do with Dylan, when they were little, and got along better; it was a sign of affection, which made it all the more embarrassing.

Luckily, Francis could not see him blushing in the dark, and he was too scared to have noticed anyways. He was shaking all over now - it looked like he was about to pee himself! "S-s-sorry..." He stammered in response to Arthur, his glittering blue eyes glazed straight ahead. "It's c-c-cold..." He mumbled, rubbing his hands over each other in an attempt to generate heat. Arthur scrunched his nose up at him and raised an eyebrow. Francis ignored him, resuming his shaking and teeth-chattering. "A-Arthur, I'm cold." He whined again, as if to reiterate his point. "And I'm sleepy."

It's as if I'm the older one! Arthur thought to himself smugly. He let a smirk cross his face, as his chest swelled a little with a feeling of importance, and he beamed up at Francis. The older boy didn't pay attention to him for a bit, so Arthur took the time to put on a more serious expression. Then, he reached up and pulled Francis' sleeve. "I'll find someplace to sleep." He announced.

It was as if a light had been switched on inside Francis' body. Suddenly, he was smiling and hopping up and down on his feet like a toddler. "Ok!" He chirped merrily, and then, as if noticing his cheerful demeanor, he sank back into being morose. Arthur couldn't help but wonder if it was all an act. "Lead the way, mon cher." Francis told him quietly, only slightly smirking.

"Yeaaaah..." Arthur shook his head with irritation, but he began to search for a place for them to rest anyways. It felt good being the one to make decisions for once, to have power over another, to be able to take care of someone, and so Arthur thought deeply about where he should pick a shelter. There were bushes all around them, but none seemed to have any thickets, and besides that, it may be dangerous to sleep out in the open. They weren't near any caves, which would be the ideal thing, and there were no people living anywhere near. "There's only one place," Arthur said aloud, and he avoided looking up at his companion. "it's not comfortable, but it's safe." He started walking towards his destination.

Sighing with relief, Francis moaned, "Finally a place to sleep..." He skipped up behind Arthur, following him along like a puppy. "But I don't see any houses out here..." He said innocently, blinking in the cool shadows of the trees around him. "All I see is trees."

Stifling a laugh, Arthur turned to look at him, hands on his hips. "Idiot." He grumbled, poking the Frenchman in the chest. "We are sleeping in a tree." His green eyes seem to flash deviously as he said so, and he twirled back around, racing into the darkness without Francis and giggling the whole time.

In shock, Francis stood stock-still for a moment, then, he rushed after Arthur, screaming at the top of his lungs, "Wait! Wait!" and shivering once more. He seemed terrified, and it made Arthur feel kind of bad for him, so the younger boy slowed down and allowed him to catch up. Once he was beside him again, Francis' hand shot out and clamped onto Arthur's own, not releasing no matter how hard the latter pulled. "How are we going to sleep in a tree?" Francis inquired with raised eyebrows, squeezing onto Arthur's little hand. His hand was freezing, Arthur had to admit.

"We climb, genius." The Englishman replied with a snort. For a moment he just stared up at Francis, pressing his lips together in a serious line, but then, he started to laugh. He had to look away. He didn't know why he was laughing, but then again, maybe it was the situation. He was, after all, in the forest, with his family's sworn enemy, holding said person's hand, and about to sleep with him, in a tree. Francis didn't seem to like his laughing, for he made some strange little whiny noise in the back of his throat. "Ah, come on," Arthur said to that, stopping himself from chuckling anymore. "I'll show you." He then led the other boy to the tree he had had his sights on for a while now - a rather tall one, with a low hanging branch that would be easy to pull oneself up on. Leaves were abundant on this tree as well, offering some shelter from the freezing night air.

A short gasp escaped Francis' lips, and he stared up at the tree with fascination and wonder in his eyes. Arthur gave him a look - one thick eyebrow raised, and a pout on his face - but he didn't seem to notice. For what seemed like a long time, Francis didn't say a word. Then, finally, he whispered, "I feel so...brave."

Squinting at his companion, Arthur snapped, "Brave? How do you feel brave? You're just going to climb a bloody tree!" He stamped his foot. This guy... "See, all you do is haul yourself up on the branch! There's nothing brave about it."

"Hah..." Francis lowered his head, and for a moment his light blonde hair covered his eyes. His shoulders seemed to slouch a bit, and suddenly he appeared incredibly fragile, and small. Small wispy clouds of white breath drifted from his moist lips with every breath he released, and his fingers seemed to shake ever-so-slightly as his sides. Arthur felt the hand that was holding his own grow limp for a moment, and it scared him.

Feeling the need to protect this boy, who was three years older than he was, mind you, Arthur tugged Francis by the hand, bringing him closer. He stared up at him then, straight into his glimmering, half-open eyes. He looks... A spark was lit in Arthur's brain then, and something flashed within him, some deep sense of knowing, but then it was gone a moment later, and he couldn't place what it was. "I'm sorry, Francis." He mumbled under his breath. "You can feel brave climbing trees, or...doing whatever you want for all I care! Just...don't get all sad on me, frog!"

The light came back into Francis' eyes then, and he glanced at Arthur with a bitter-sweet smile on his face. He then proceeded to giggle with his little laugh of his, snorting immensely, which, admittedly, amused Arthur quite a bit. After he had gotten that out of his system, he explained, "I don't feel brave because of that. I feel brave because I'm running away...but then again, is it right to feel brave at that, or should I feel cowardice?"

Not waiting for Arthur to respond, he turned towards the tree, letting go of the younger boy's hand. Arthur watched him intently, a look of confusion upon his face, for he truly did not understand what it was that Francis was talking about, but the Frenchman spoke no further. Instead, he reached his hands up, wrapped them around the first, lowest branch, and slowly, clumsily, hauled himself up. It took a couple tries, and he slipped down a bunch, causing Arthur to smirk a bit, but eventually he got up. Once he was perched upon it, he scooted over a bit, and Arthur gracefully ascended the tree, hopping up beside Francis like a squirrel.

The climbed onto the next highest branch after this, not wanting to be too close to the ground, for the lowest branch was not surrounded by many leaves and was in plain sight, and Francis settled with his back against the thickness of the tree's middle, leaving Arthur sitting in front of him on the precipice of the branch.

"Damn it..." He cursed to himself, staring downwards and imagining falling from the tree. It made him dizzy to think about it, and he was forced to look away. He couldn't lay with his back on the branch this way, he would end up falling while he was asleep. He needed the solidity of the tree against him to steady himself (and make him feel safe). "I'm going to climb to the next branch up." He told Francis, a grouchy look on his face. "I don't have anything to lay against." With that, Arthur began to stand, readying himself for the climb to the next branch.

Before he could lean up very far, his tiny fingers outstretched for the next branch, he felt two cold hands wrap around his ankles. "Non." Francis babbled up at him, giving him a small tug. "Non...I don't want to sleep by myself, Arthur."

Flustering for some reason, Arthur ground his teeth together, quickly yipping back at his companion, "Well I can't sleep anywhere else! You took the bloody tree base with your arse, and I have nothing to lean against -"

"Lean against me." Francis cut him off. Arthur found his face turning completely red, and he felt his body burning with heat from his embarrassment. That this boy would even suggest such a thing was absolutely wretched! Still, the way Francis tilted his head, and tightened his long, soft fingers around Arthur's thin ankles made the little boy pause. "Please..." Francis pleaded, and his blue eyes seemed to glitter with such innocence that Arthur thought stars would weep. "Please..." He said again. "I'm...afraid."

The prospect of fear had never occurred to Arthur. He had ran away many times, and suffered being alone, and in the dark, quite often. Darkness was not a thing to be feared, he was sure of it, and neither was being alone. Still, if he tried to place himself in Francis' skin, he could feel a bit of why he would be afraid. This is a boy that has grown up, probably with servants and spoiling parents. I doubt he's ever slept alone, been left alone, or even been outside after dark. So, I guess, it makes sense for brats to be afraid of the dark. He lowered his hands from the branch he had been reaching for, turning to Francis, who loosened his grip on the child's ankles enough for him to do so. "Fine, I will...but only because it's cold." He muttered. Francis' eyes lit up at that, and he beamed. Again, the word 'brat' flashed through Arthur's mind, but then, he suddenly wondered, But...if he's such a brat, and so spoiled...why did he choose to run away...with me?

As he settled between Francis' legs, and leaned against his chest, Arthur's mind was racing. He had never thought of that before. He had never realized that, if Francis really did have it made, like his family and he assumed, why would he be wasting his time on Arthur? Why would he care? Frowning, Arthur bit into his lower lip. He stared into the distance, past the darkness and foliage of the leaves, and pondered, while Francis' arms came around him and held him there, squeezing him as if he were some doll...

After a moment, Francis' voice whispered in his ear, tickling him, "Hey, Arthur...do you remember when I taught you how to sing that one day, in the forest?" He asked, his tone thick with fresh longing and bitter-sweet happiness.

Smiling in spite of himself, Arthur replied, "I do." For some reason he was finding being in Francis' arms extremely comfortable now...memories played in his mind all of a sudden, and he recalled everything - from singing in the forest with his lovely French companion, to crying that one day, in his arms. He recalled when Allister had punished him, and Francis had ran all the way over, with some strange girl, as if she were his army and he was the commander. He had been ready to fight for Arthur that day. Why? "I got in trouble for singing that in French, you know." He mumbled instead, unable to say his thoughts.

"Mhm..." Francis voiced in reply, leaning his face ever-so-slightly against Arthur's shoulder. He seemed exhausted, and already half asleep. He yawned loudly when he spoke again, "Foolish people will try to take away things you love, just because they don't like it or believe in it...always, Arthur." He only seemed to be half-making-sense due to his tired state, but still the logic dully shone through. Arthur flushed cherry red when he felt the brush of Francis' eyelashes against his bare neck, as the older boy closed his eyes. "You must learn to stand up for yourself..." Francis mumbled drowsily, burying his nose into the base of Arthur's neck, and making him stiffen a little bit with surprise. "If you don't fight back, the world will take everything you love...they'll use you...forever..." With that, he fell silent, his breathing grew slow and steady, and Arthur knew he had fallen asleep.

It felt weird to have another male's face buried against him so close, almost wrong, and Arthur was sure it had to be wrong somehow, he was positive of it. "Frog..." He hissed quietly, reaching a trembling hand up towards Francis' head. "Get your face away..." He started to say, and was about to push Francis' head backwards, when his fingertips came into contact with something on the boy's neck.

His hand drew back immediately, stilled with confusion. A tremor seemed to wrack his insides suddenly, and it felt as if he were burning up with emotion, and he didn't understand why. Slowly, he brought his hand back to the French boy's neck, laying it delicatley upon what he had felt earlier. It was obviously some kind of wound, but the skin wasn't penetrated, so it was a bit strange. Arthur had no idea what it could be.

He sighed. "Francis..." Not removing his hand from the other's neck, he shifted into a slightly more comfortable position. As if testing to see if Francis was actually awake, he said, "You're an idiot, frog. How'd you get this wound?" No response. He slid his hand down and away from the strange wound on his companion's neck, then rested it on top of his hand. "Goodnight, frog." He mumbled under his breath, quietly so, and his hand closed ever-so-slightly around Francis'. If Arthur had been paying more attention, he would have noticed Francis smiling in his sleep.

XXXX

Auguste was lying in his son's bed. In one hand, he held a whole bottle of wine, and in the other he held tight to an old, dusty journal. The pages were brown and speckled with dust, and the writing was faded, but it was a keepsake, full of secrets and treacheries, and Auguste loved it.

He didn't know where Francis was at the moment - he hadn't come home, and now it was dark - and this angered him. Besides being drunk, he was extremely bored, and he fancied playing around a bit with the child at the moment. I must not get too angry at him, though. Auguste told himself, recalling that the last time he had been angry at his son, he had hurt the child. It made him feel sad, to hear Francis cry in such an anguished way. Auguste hadn't prepared him at all, being mad that the child had been down at the Kirkland house. It had seemed like a good idea at the time - ah, yes, he was drunk then - but afterwards he really did regret it. Sex shouldn't be used as a punishment, and Auguste knew it, and if he wanted Francis to come to love what was done to him, he had to be careful what he did.

The first time he had "made love" to Francis, the boy had been five. It was his birthday too, and Charline had left that very morning, saying she had some dying relative to visit. It wasn't really a big deal to the boy - he wasn't very close to Charline, anyways - and Auguste found her absence wondrous. Quite frankly, she annoyed him, and besides that, she hardly ever allowed him to get between her legs. Actually, now a days, he was not permitted to at all. If he so much as looked at her when she was naked, she would chill him to his bones with an icy glare, and say something venomous and dark that would cause him to bow his head in shame. Francis never did such things.

His son was the perfect little receiver; Auguste's own, personal slut, in his mind. Ever since he acquired his bastard son, he was incapable of keeping his hands off him. He wasn't foolish though, he was able to keep it to just hands until his son's fifth name day. There had been a little amount of blood on that day, but still, it was a magical day. Surely, not just for me. Auguste thought, a dark smile crossing his lips.

Now, Francis was older, and much more experienced. He could hold in his cries much better, and struggled much less. He knew Auguste's body language by heart, and was always able to inferr what his father wanted him to do. God how I long for him now! Auguste clenched his hand around his battered journal, and brought the wine to his lips, drinking in the cheap liquid in large gulps. How dare the brat go out like this...he's probably whoring himself out in the streets! So, I'm not good enough, huh? Growling, Auguste chucked the wine bottle away. It landed on the floor with a clang, then rolled out into the hallway. He watched it go with half-opened eyes.

That little shit... His mind was angry. He sat up, laying the old journal on the bed-side-table. I don't need him here. He assured himself, running his fingers through his greasy, short hair. Auguste knew he could have a fantasy without Francis being present - it was so easy to imagine his boy, ashamed and blushing in front of the bed, slowly allowing his tunic to slide off his pale shoulders and tumble to the floor around his ankles... It wasn't the same. He wasn't there. I want him here. And somehow, deep inside his being, past all his longing and resentment, Auguste knew that it was the Kirkland family's fault. It had to be. They're stealing him from me. They're taking my son, my precious light, away from me! His heart seemed to twist inside, coiling into a furious blazing flame of hatred, and old memories, and Auguste shut his eyes in an attempt to block them out. They would pay.

XXXX

Inside the Kirkland house, the world was dark. Everything was quiet, with the exception of one room. In one room, someone was gasping. In one room, someone was crying.

It's so dark...and this sin hurts...