This chapter has caused me so much pain.
But, I hope you enjoy it! I know how I'm going to end the entire story now so I hope to complete the entire story by the end of this year and in two more chapters. :)
Thanks again to my beta, ScarletPrussia!
Arthur moved to the United States when he was sixteen. He was moved unwillingly with his parents and three other brothers to a rather small house in the state of New York. His parents were over there for work and quickly enrolled the boys in school to keep them occupied in their new environment.
Unhappy that his family moved so far away from their original home, a young Arthur began to rebel against any and all forms of authority. He was not so embracing of the American culture that he was now surrounded by as opposed to the small village English culture he loved. He discovered the British punk rockers of the 1970s. He dyed his hair green, got two new piercings and a tattoo on his left hip of the electric guitar he learned how to play the next month. Good little Artie let his grades fall just enough to get his parents' attention but still did very well on most tests and got along with most of his classmates, even if his appearance and demeanor was rather brash and abrasive.
When it was time to start looking for a university for Arthur to get his degree, Arthur's hair went back to being blonde and his mostly black or intentionally torn clothes were donated. Now that Arthur was older and he understood that the reason why his family moved for work and financial reasons, he forgave his parents and made amends.
Arthur then went on to attend a school in New York for law with faraway hopes to transfer to Harvard later. It was there Arthur met Alfred, but in his later years of his college experience. After the initial jitters of being alone, Arthur had acclimated to living on his own and managing his own needs. He got a job as a waiter in a local restaurant and started saving his money for school and (hopefully) a trip back to England.
One day in the library of his junior year, while researching a decent price for a plane ticket, Arthur saw a golden haired guy walk in, pull a big stack of books from the space and aeronautics section. He was handsome and smart and Arthur started seeing him more and more around campus. They had no classes with each other, yet, somehow, they kept running into each other.
Something Arthur had discovered during his rebellious phase was that he was gay and that his sexual orientation was considered wrong. Going to college, he found that there was a whole community of scorned "sinners" like Arthur. He made a few close friends through a club of university students.
It was in this club where Arthur finally got the name of the man with the hair of gold and the eyes of aquamarine.
Alfred Jones.
Alfred was not gay but he was bisexual and that gave Arthur hope.
Arthur learned that Alfred had a desire for bigger and better things too. He was majoring in aerospace engineering but hoped to transfer to MIT or Stanford.
"Are you single?" a bolder student of the club asked. Arthur remembered it was a bigger man from Russia who had the same major as Alfred.
Alfred shrugged as his answer but no one spoke up to ask him to elaborate.
Finally, while at the library again, Arthur willed up enough courage to get up and go over where Alfred sat studying and ask him on a date.
"Listen, You may not know me or notice me, but would you like to get some tea or dinner sometime?"
"Oh, I've seen you around," Alfred said with a smile.
"What do you mean?" Arthur asked, frowning.
"We've been running into each other for the past month. We're in a few of the same clubs but you never said anything to me..." Alfred pointed out kindly. "Though I'm glad you decided to talk to me today..."
"Uh, same," Arthur responded, still processing what the American student said to him. Get it together Arthur! "So... do you know of somewhere good that won't make my wallet cry?"
Alfred smiled. "Yeah, I know a few places that are delicious and reasonably priced. Do you have a preference in food?"
"Not French, if you don't mind," Arthur said. That fateful trip to France would not be forgotten so easily.
Alfred laughed at the Brit's response. "Why is that the type of food you dislike? Most people likeFrench cuisine..."
"Oh, come off it. I'm English, can't I not like the French and not be judged?" Arthur felt a warm blush spread across his cheeks.
"Sure, sure..." alfred smiled at Arthur, his laughter dying down. "I'll call you later then?"
"Yeah..." Arthur nodded and then went back to his own table again.
The two sat across each other now but at different tables. Alfred rose a hand and waved. Arthur's mouth twitched and he hesitantly waved back.
Arthur set one worried foot on each stair slowly. He squawked in protest as 'The Blonde Flash' zoomed past him on the stairs.
"Come on, Alfred!" Arthur groaned as he reached the stair landing at last. "Don't show off!"
"Hey, it's not my fault that you can only carry one box at a time, " Alfred set the two boxes down, took the box from Arthur's hands and then set it on his own two. Arthur watched him in amazement but followed the American up three more flights. Arthur was ashamed to say his stamina left him lightly puffing after the third and fourth sets of stairs.
"Your stamina sucks, bro," Alfred said once Arthur entered the apartment room.
"I know," Arthur said, agreeing for once. "Maybe I should do all the unpacking and you should do all the lifting. That way, I don't slow you down..."
"Haha, very funny, Art," Alfred smiled, meeting the Brit's moss green eyes. "I see where you're going."
Arthur smiled back and began slicing the taped up boxes. Half-way through the first box though, a pair of arms snaked their way around Arthur's chest.
"I can't get rid of these boxes if they're not empty..."
"I just want a hug, Artie. Can't you take a few moments to give your new roommate a hug? ... and maybe a kiss?" Alfred put his chin on Arthur's shoulder and pouted just enough for Arthur to see out of the corner of his eyes.
"Oh, fine..." Arthur said, smiling. He turned and took Alfred's face between his hands and pressed their lips together. "Why do I indulge you so much?" Arthur mumbled as the couple kissed. Alfred chuckled and only pulled Arthur closer.
When they parted for air, Alfred had a devious look in his eyes. "Shall we christen the new apartment?"
Arthur blushed but did not make any sound of protest as he was swept up into the arms of the American and carried to their apartment's new bedroom.
"What the hell are you saying, you're not making sense, Alfred!" Arthur shouted in desperation. His throat was dry and his voice hoarse but his eyes brimmed with tears. "I thought... I thought you were completely sure of yourself! You made it seem like you were sure!"
"So was I, but I think I need a break..." Alfred said his voice obviously controlled and strained but still his face held no sign of pain or remorse.
He was breaking up with Arthur and it hurt. He said he needed to figure out if being gay was what he wanted to be labeled as whenever they walked out in public. He still looked at girls, he said. He wanted some time and Arthur thought there was no way Alfred would choose him over a societal stigma if he had the chance.
"Then I don't ever want to see you again!" Arthur said, his voice finally cracking at the end, his tears finally spilling over. Alfred swallowed, his own throat closing up.
"Arthur, I don't want to never see you again... I just need some time..." he said softly.
"They why are you doing this?" Arthur paused, refusing to sob audibly in front of Alfred.
"I just... need to figure myself out... I'm really sorry, Artie-"
"Don't. Don't say my name. Just... I'm going to go..." Arthur choked. He tore his eyes away from Alfred's form in their once happy apartment. He had to get out of there. This apartment would only cause him pain to remain here.
Through burning eyes, he threw most of his clothes into a rucksack and some of the basic school supplies he still needed for his classes and then rushed out of the apartment. He didn't see Alfred as he left but he knew he probably had retreated into the small laundry corner of the apartment.
Once Arthur had left the now stuffy place he once called home, he walked to the nearest bridge and wiped his face. He ignored the curious and sympathetic stares and went to the side of the bridge, looking down at the inky black water below.
He pulled out his small ring of keys, singling out the one that unlocked the apartment. I know I might regret this decision later but...Arthur then pried the key off his key ring and threw it into the river.
"Good riddance," Arthur muttered, the words tasting somewhat... freeing but bitter. Then, he turned his back on the city of New York.
Francis woke up earlier than he expected. He checked his phone's clock and saw that he had slept a full day. It was seven in the morning of the next day and Francis already knew he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep.
The hotel room was still dark, partially because of the rising sun but also because the hotel's thick, heavy curtains.
Arthur slept soundly in the second bed and Francis was strangely comforted by the steady rhythm of his light snores. He quietly slipped out of the hotel room, heading down to the complimentary breakfast the hotel served. There were a few businessmen and families sitting at the tables talking quietly but otherwise, the breakfast rush had not yet arrived.
Francis poured himself some coffee and grabbed a still-warm croissant from the bread bowl and sat down towards the back of the seating area. The croissant wasn't half bad and the coffee was comforting and warm.
Francis occupied the quiet time passing by finally paying attention to the architecture of the hotel itself.
With high vaulted ceilings and large stone pillars, the dining hall was equally as beautiful as the concierge. Through the double French doors to the left, Francis could observe the bellhops and doormen standing at the revolving glass door. The plants used to decorate the atrium of the hotel were waist-high, beautifully potted and leafy or flowery. Marbled floors were swirled with mica and other minerals that sparkled under the soft halogen lights. All in all, a beautifully chosen hotel by Kiku.
Francis's focus was diverted from the floors to the person who pulled the chair across from Francis out and promptly seated themselves without asking permission.
"Alfred...?" Francis frowned, not quite sure if the name he used was correct.
"Yep. Mornin'." Alfred plopped his plate and his own coffee mug down with a clunk and promptly began eating. Francis noticed that Alfred's plate was practically overflowing with what Francis believed to be one of everything from the breakfast bar.
"... Are you going to be able to finish all that?" Francis asked, almost amazed Alfred was somehow shoveling in all the food at an alarmingly fast rate.
"Yup. I'm extra hungry today. What're you doin' up so early anyway?" Alfred asked casually between enormous bites.
Francis took his time watching the American in amazement. Did all Americans eat like Alfred? It was in such a sharp contrast from Arthur's eating habits that Francis couldn't help but to wonder.
"Ah... I could not sleep any longer..." Francis said. "I slept an entire day anyway."
"Hm. Yeah, Art slept for two. Though, he always is sleep deprived so the extra day was probably just him catching up," Alfred said thoughtfully.
"So I've noticed," Francis said. Arthur didn't like pet names, so why was Alfred using one? The two fell into silence as Francis sipped his coffee and as Alfred ate. When Alfred's plate was almost done, he stopped and looked up at Francis.
"You're staring at me," he stated.
"Oh? Was I? My apologies," Francis said, trying to keep some poison out of his tone. "I was thinking."
"Hm. How are you going to solve this problem of you story characters in the 'real world' then? Were you thinking about that?" Alfred asked, the sharpness in his voice a bit more prevalent this time. Before Francis could respond though, Alfred stood and went back to the breakfast bar and reloaded his plate up with more food than the last time.
"So. Theories?" Alfred asked, starting his second feast when he came back.
"Well... Arthur killed me at the end of his series..." Francis said recalling his demise. "Perhaps when I was fictional, I wished to have another chance and not be dead?" Though Francis had new and old memories, he didn't have memories between his fictional demise and his awakening in the 'real' world. It was like a blank space, a fuzzy memory gap.
"That could be plausible. Hm..." Alfred thought. "This may sound crazy... but what if Arthur wrote about a different dimension and you just jumped the dimensional gap?"
Francis raised an eyebrow. Odd theory, but at this rate, anything seemed possible.
"Maybe. This situation is definitely not natural," Francis shrugged. Frankly, to him, he didn't really care about how he got here. "What about Jack? If I'm here because I wanted a second chance, why is Jack here?"
"Who knows." Alfred said casually. There was a pause and then Alfred lowered his voice. "You know, Arthur doesn't like the French."
Oh. So that's how Alfred likes to play it, huh? Straight to the point. "And yet the character he made was me. And I am French." Francis sighed a little. Arthur had not told him about Alfred but it didn't take too much intelligence to know that the American was not 'just a friend'. Alfred's gaze hid nothing.
"And he killed you," Alfred said. He ate a piece of bacon nonchalantly.
"But he saved me from Jack," Francis countered, trying to keep the irritation (and amusement) out of his voice. Alfred argued like a little child.
"Art's a good person," Alfred retorted.
"His name is Arthur," Francis enunciated. Did Arthur let the American get away with the pet names when he was around Alfred? Did Arthur still have feelings for Alfred or was what Alfred said true? Could he just have said the words of favor to Francis just to make Francis feel better? Arthur had seemed... cautious of Francis when they talked in the bathroom.
"We were in a relationship once," Alfred said casually, though his eyes were challenging Francis. Francis did not think of himself as an easily angered person but he felt himself prickle a bit at the mention of the hidden truth.
"We are in a relationship now." Francis nearly hissed. He watched in satisfaction as Alfred's face changed from cocky to apprehensive.
"Well... well, I'm going to be in one later with him!" Alfred huffed. "I'll be able to provide for him better than you! You're just a character from a book!"
"You don't have as much passion as I do. Arthur and I have natural chemistry." Francis didn't know why he was arguing with the American in an equally childish manner that he had just scoffed at but he couldn't help but to engage in the tiff.
Though the two argued like toddlers, there was some tension in the air and some of the other patrons of the breakfast became a little uncomfortable as they heard the two men's voices raising in volume.
"Hey, you two idiots..." someone said from behind them. The two men froze mid sentence and slowly turned.
"Oh, bon matin, Arthur How did you see-" Francis began.
"Don't give me that rubbish, frog. I could hear you two bickering from the elevators," Arthur nearly growled at the two. He pulled out a chair from the table and sat down, a mug of tea in his hand (unsurprisingly).
"Oh, I didn't realize we were being loud..." Francis said. He noticed that Alfred's big mouth had fallen silent and looked a bit guilty but his eyes were still defiant and steeled against Francis.
"Did you two at least think about the problem Jack presents? The more time that passes, the more of a risk he poses towards us and the public," Arthur explained, completely ignoring the topic that he had heard Francis and Alfred argue about. He didn't want to think about that. Alfred nodded. He knew his brain wouldn't rest until there was a solution.
"Maybe we should re-research Jack's background. Even if this is New York, not London, maybe there will be parallels?" Alfred suggested. "We know he's probably not going to follow his original story but maybe there are slight similarities?"
"Hmm... That does sound like a good idea..." Arthur thought. "Though, I didn't bring any of my books with me..."
"We can just go to a bookstore, Arthur. There's a Barnes & Nobles close to here." Alfred shrugged, secretly happy that Arthur and him seemed to be able to have controlled and quiet conversations now.
"Oh... Okay then," Arthur nodded, looking a little confused at the mention of the American bookstore. Kiku joined them then, pulling out the chair across from Arthur and yawned.
"Good morning, everyone." Kiku said gently, as to not startle anyone with his appearance. He was met with brief hellos from all three men. "So, do we have some sort of plan for the day?"
"Yeah, we're going to Barnes & Nobles later... You should come with us since you're part of this too..." Alfred said, taking a sip of his coffee.
"I agree with that suggestion," Kiku nodded. "However, please allow me to get some tea and some breakfast before we go." Kiku did not wait to get affirmation, but knew he did not need any.
Arthur now sat at the table again, playing peacemaker with his ex and his lover. He sipped his own tea. Why was all of this even a problem?
Arthur let his mind wander once Kiku returned and all four men got dressed to leave the hotel. They walked down the street as the bookstore was too close to take a taxi.
Jack was a creation of Arthur's mind, meant almost to be a version of Arthur who could not feel the pain of love or betrayal. Francis was meant to be a threat to Jack's way of life as his position as a news reporter and a rather flirtatious, but kind hearted man. Both were born after Alfred broke Arthur's heart, and yet here Alfred stood next to him, once again wrapped up in his life again.
Rewriting the story seemed impossible and unlikely that it would change the predicament they were in considered in that Arthur's story was published globally and changing one version of the story could possibly cause other problems.
Thinking about it, Francis and Jack's presence definitely stirred up Arthur's life that many would consider boring. Why did Jack and Francis materialize in the physical world? Did they appear to bring him back to Alfred? Was getting Alfred involved just a coincidence or was it meant to be? So many questions and yet Arthur had no answers...
"Hey, Arthur?" Francis stood in their shared room, standing with his arms by his side and almost a sad look on his face.
"Yes?" Arthur asked quietly. The silence grew between them but it was a comfort and pensiveness.
"I just want to let you know that whatever happens if I have to die again to solve all this, I want you to know that I love you, no matter what. Beyond character and creator," Francis said quietly. His eyes were a controlled blue and his face a gentle and relaxed state. "Know that if something happens to me, it will be for your happiness."
"What the bloody hell does that mean?" Arthur asked, frowning at Francis. "It sounds like you're going to do something crazy like sacrificing yourself or something."
"No, I won't be doing something like that, but I just wanted to let you know what I was thinking." Francis said. He finally moved from his spot and walked over to where Arthur stood, wrapping the British author into a warm embrace. "I love you. Je t'aime."
Arthur gulped, feeling strangely like this was a goodbye more than a reassurance of love. "I... I love you too. We'll come up with something.
Then a knock on Arthur and Francis door again.
They parted as Alfred and Kiku stood outside. Time to go to the bookstore.
They arrived in no time at the store that held stock of everything from dealing with anxiety, to cooking recipes for stay-at-home moms, to lovers transcending time and distance, and adventures in mythical lands.
The men found Arthur's series quickly and went to the bookstore cafe. Kiku had brought a pen and a pad of paper to take notes.
They each skimmed a book, each reporting details for Kiku to write down. Francis, Arthur and Alfred were all on some sort of level of discomfort with reading throught eh books.
This is my life, Francis thought.
This is my rival and ex in one, Alfred thought.
This is my writing that definitely needs improvement, Arthur thought (like a true author).
All four men racked their brains for ideas to get rid of the serial killer on the loose.
Arthur rubbed his eyes after scanning the last page of his tenth chapter of his third book. He rose his arms and stretched, leaning back in the chair.
"I'll be right back," Arthur said, standing and stretching completely. He felt a few joints pop and he sighed, walking off to stretch his legs.
His companions nodded, still engrossed in their own books.
Arthur began walking through the bookstore, between the shelves of books that towered over Arthur's head, occasionally scanning the titles and spines of various types of books.
"You won't find your answers here," a voice spoke over the shelves of stories and advice.
Arthur stopped. No... it couldn't be. "Where do you suppose I find them though if you're on the loose? I'm running out of time in this country..."
"You know how I am," A chuckle. "You'll figure it out."
Arthur frowned and walked slowly to the end of the book case, inching closer and closer. "And what makes you think I will since I'm struggling with my friends now? How would searching elsewhere help me...?"
"Fresh eyes," Jack chuckled.
By then, Arthur reached the end of the book case and jumped around the corner BUT...
There was no one on the other side.
Confused on where the voice had come from, he walked to where he heard the voice looking around.
But there was nothing.
Arthur sort of got what Jack meant by 'fresh eyes' but... he also had a sneaking suspicion of what Jack might actually mean.
Arthur returned to his friend sand sat down slowly. "Chaps... Jack was here."
Everyone stopped and looked up, Kiku's pen ceasing its scratching.
"What? Are you okay?"
"What did he say?"
"Did he do anything to you?"
The questions came fast and all at once, but all were questions of concern for Arthur's well being and of Jack's words.
"Hold on, hold on..." Arthur put his hands up, his brow furrowing. "Let me just tell you guys what happened instead of answering individual questions..."
They all fell silent obediently.
"Fresh eyes?" Alfred started. "Does... he mean...?"
"You," Arthur nodded. "Or, at least I think so. That may be the reason why he involved you..."
"But why does the story need a new outside opinion?" Francis asked, thinking, almost jealously, about Alfred's new role to the plot.
"Because you guys know the story super in-depth. This is only the second time I've read this book," Alfred said, raising the book slightly. "I'm noticing a lot more the second time..."
Kiku nodded, looking at his notes. "Alfred's right. He contributed a lot more notes than all of us. He's catching things we overlook as we find the main details." Kiku flipped a page of handwritten notes. "He caught that, ah..., the book Francis," a slight pause and a glance at the physical Francis, "found that Jack seems to like almost taunting his victims with hints how to get out of their situation. And the hints are all true. He knows his own weaknesses and points them out."
"Always one step ahead," Arthur murmured. He remembered writing the frustration of Francis trying to solve the case. It felt almost the same.
"I also noticed that Jack has something against love?" Alfred said, more as a question that a statement. "Every time Francis, uh storybook Francis, I mean, mentioned it, he'd either go silent with his messages or he'd go on a rant of some sort..."
"Because he didn't have it himself?" Kiku tried.
"No... no, more so... he rejects the idea, or the importance? I don't know, it's just a thought..." Alfred shrugged.
"Well imagine if it is plausible though," Francis started. "We can't exactly show him love if we can't get a hold of him and I'm pretty sure that making a profile for Jack on eHarmony or Tinder would do us any good.
Kiku laughed and earned a chuckle from Alfred. Arthur was still thinking.
"What are you doing here, Jack?" Arthur said, his entire body tense.
"You called for a cab. Here I am," Jack said from the front of the car.
"I wasn't expecting you," he retorted.
"Aw, don't be picky now..." Jack said, turning his face only a quarter of a turn. "Besides, we have a few things to talk about."
"Like what?" Arthur asked, glancing out the window. Jack drove through the streets like an experience taxi driver, signalling, merging and easing in and out of accelerating like a true New Yorker.
"You are my author, my creator. I know my own story and how your story is pretty much unfinished, basie don how you ended your series," Jack started. Arthur felt his eyebrows furrow.
"What did you mean?" Arthur asked. "They story is finished. I finished the series. It's done..."
"Not quite, Artie. You still have some things to wrap up before you can get rid of me. Of Francis. You've left so many things unresolved, so many possibilities that are free to happen, " Jack nearly growled. His voice steadily starting rising, getting harsher with each punctuated word. "You were afraid and that made you weak. Lazy, even,"
Arthur swallowed, his throat suddenly thick and tight. Even if Arthur didn't want to admit it, somehow, he knew Jack was right. Finished the series had been a relief but even Arthur knew the ending had been rushed, an attempt to rid himself of a character that experienced love and had become so obnoxiously popular.
"Figure out how to fix our mistake or I will do something about my unlimited freedom," Jack said with a deadly quietness. "Have a good diner, chap."
Arthur realized the cab had stopped and Arthur was back at his hotel with five minutes to spare to get up to his hotel room. As if in a dream, he opened the door slowly and got out, but didn't pay. Jack didn't seem to mind as he drove off, the yellow cab easily blending back in with the rest of the cars.
Arthur stood on the sidewalk for a few more moments and then walked into the hotel, riding the elevator up in silence. When he faced Francis, he forced himself back into normalcy.
Francis and Jack were here in the physical world because... they didn't have "proper" endings? But... how would Arthur solve the problem?
Was it just as simple as writing another book or an epilogue only he knew about or did the "bonus" chapter(s) have to be published too?
Would the new ending change things with Francis?
