( A/N: I'm not very proud of this chapter, but I felt that a more lighthearted chapter was needed to break all the tension and depression in this story. Any pointers or observations on how I could later improve this chapter are much appreciated! I hope you enjoy regardless.
Also, a cameo of the main characters of the sequel to this story, which revolves around Matthew and Francis. )
Love is This, Also Love is That
Chapter Five: Seeing You Again
Three years had passed since Arthur had last seen Alfred, and the night was just another hazy memory locked in the back of his mind.
The night before had been an utter disaster that left him in an extreme amount of discomfort that day. He could barely keep his eyes open, and the pain made the corners of his vision blur. He leaned against the lamppost, and only then realized how unusually cold it was out.
He'd gotten sick again, which was not uncommon for him. He had a near nonexistent immune system, it seemed, and it was only getting worse with time. For a week now, he'd been battling a mild flu virus, or something. It was enough to stop up his nose, make his throat raw, and make his limbs feel like led. All of this was on top of the pain that raced up his spine every time he moved.
He felt like utter shit, and he must have looked it too.
Another one of his kind walked by—a relatively unnoticeable boy with dull blond hair but vibrant blue-almost-violet eyes. He watched him for a second, linking eyes with him for several moments before asking in a shy voice, "Are you alright?"
Arthur wanted to snap at the boy, who couldn't haven't been older than a teenager, that Did it fucking look like he was all right? If he had been all right, he wouldn't be sitting on a street corner in goddamned high heels and too-short shorts and freezing his ass off in the middle of the summer.
Instead he answered with a noncommittal, "Yes, love. I'm fine."
The boy seemed unconvinced, and his facial expression reminded of someone else, "You look sick… maybe you shouldn't work for the night…" his voice was almost too quiet to hear.
"Darling, I wouldn't work ever if that was the case." He sighed, and the younger boy frowned slightly.
"Uhm… well…" the younger boy was having trouble thinking of a response when a car pulled up.
The car window rolled down to reveal a man with longish silky blonde hair and stubble lining his chin, "Mon cher~ I've been looking every where for yo—Oh. Hello Angleterre." The man stated, and Arthur glared at the familiar face.
"Francis. What brings you here?" he asked, and noticed that the tanzanite eyes of the younger boy had sharpened with exasperation.
Francis flipped his hair, "I was looking for mon petit Mathieu~" he chirped, giving a smoldering look towards the smallish boy behind Arthur.
"I've told you—you have to pay…" the boy, Matthew, commented.
Arthur couldn't help but pity the boy. Arthur himself had once found himself the object of the Frenchman's lust, though Francis had never looked at him with that kind of emotion in his eyes. It made the Briton feel slightly sick to his stomach and more that a little jealous.
"Mais, mon petit chou, je t'aim—" in the middle of Francis' sentence, the boy had begun to walk off briskly, much to the Frenchman's chagrin, "Ah… I will find him later."
"Not if he's lucky." Arthur returned.
"So cruel… you never change. Well… you certainly look different. Is that a wrinkle on your cheek I see?" Francis quipped, and Arthur glared.
"Fuck off, frog." He hissed, and Francis laughed as Arthur self-consciously raised a hand to cover his cheek.
"You don't mean that." The man chuckled, cerulean eyes locking on pissed green, "So. Have you found someone yet?"
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Arthur snapped.
"It means, has a customer stolen your heart yet?"
Arthur rolled his eyes, "You damn French airhead—always spouting that romance nonsense. Have you realized what career I'm in?"
"Oui, mon Mathieu is one of your kind, too." Francis had a dreamy, far away look in his eyes that made Arthur simultaneously want to vomit and punch the shit out of the frog, "We are in love, and he is going to leave this business and live with me~!"
"He obviously hates you."
Francis clicked his tongue in disbelief, "Non! He is simply… nervous."
"He seemed annoyed." Arthur covered a snicker behind his hand.
"Shut up, rosbif!" the Frenchman scolded, glaring cerulean daggers at the prostitute, who was relatively unfazed by the look, "He is in love with me too! … He is just having trouble realizing it."
"Mhm."
The Frenchman was obviously fed up with Arthur attitude, and flipped his hair, "Whatever. I am going to catch up with mon Mathieu. Au revoire," Francis rolled up the car window and began driving off again, ignoring the middle finger salute the Briton gave him as he drove off.
He was consumed by the silence, and let out a sigh. He wanted to so much to sit down, just to rest a bit. He always felt a bit unnerved when the Frenchman came around and more than a little exhausted.
His eyes slipped shut against his will, and he began to doze against the lap post, shivering slightly in the darkness. Despite that, he felt strangely comfortable, even though he was still standing and the metal against his arm felt like ice. A small sigh escaped his lips and he was just tipping over when a voice sounded close to his ear.
"Sir, it's illegal to loiter here." It was commanding and strong, with a hint of an accent and familiarity in it. Probably an old customer.
Arthur opened an eye begrudgingly and turned to look at the man, dressed in the blue uniform of the local police, "Sorry," he mumbled, "I never saw a sign saying such a thing. I'll move." He didn't let the upset in his voice go unnoticed.
The officer was silent as the prostitute stretched in preparation to move, "… Arthur?" he asked finally, and the man in question lifted his head.
He lifted a wide brow at the unknown man, "How do you know my name?" he asked, an irritated and confused look on his face. Then panic seized his features—what if this man intended to arrest him? He'd never been brought in before, despite the fact what he did was illegal.
The officer looked sad, "Y-you don't remember me?" he asked, tone similar to that of a put-out child.
"Should I? You realize I have many customers to attend to. I can't put one on a pedestal over the others." Arthur spoke quickly, and started to walk away when the officer grabbed his wrist.
"Wait! Three years ago! I got lost near this area of town, and you came to my car window. We got food together and then I took you to my house and you yelled at me for doing that. We didn't have sex or anything, but… you don't remember?"
Arthur furrowed his brow, trying to recall any vague memories about a situation like that. Fuzzy images appeared in his head that related to the man's story—a foreign waitress, Superman posters, being comfortably warm—but one memory stood out above all of them.
It was that of a gentle, loving kiss that hadn't once been repeated since.
His heart began to race in his chest, and he tried to pull his arm away, "L-let me go…" he was only able to get out a small whisper, the unknown feeling in his chest seeming to constrict his lungs.
"You do remember!" the officer brightened, despite the absolutely terrified look on the prostitute's face, "I've thought about you so many times since then, you know."
The words didn't put ease to Arthur's mind, and he continued to struggle, "I-I need to go! Please, release me!" he begged, and the officer's face fell.
Blue met green for a long time, and the officer shook his head, "No."
"Wh-what do you mean, 'no'? Are you going to arrest me?" Arthur challenged, turning in the other's grip to look him in the face, "If you are, then you should just bloody hurry up and—mmph!"
Arthur's angry rant was cut off when the policeman connected their lips and effectively shut the British man up. Arthur was stiff for the first few moments, but eventually melted into the affectionate gesture.
They spent several moments locked in the kiss before Arthur noticed that he felt lightheaded. It was probably because he forgot to breathe—after all, it had been three years since his last closed mouth kiss, and, admittedly, forgot how to do it. He'd just been so caught up that he hadn't realized the way his lungs had begun to burn with the lack of oxygen.
Being sick again probably didn't make matters any better.
The kiss was abruptly broken off as the officer realized his partner was becoming less responsive, "Arthur? Are you alright?"
Arthur's legs buckled beneath him, the strong arms of the man catching him before his skull could collide with the unforgiving concrete. He could vaguely hear panicked but calm reassurances, muffled by inattention.
As the world went black around him, a name came to mind.
"Alfred…"
