This isn't one of the silly chapters.
Francis had always been excellent at reading people. Ever since he was a little boy he always knew when it wasn't the time to annoy his parents, when was the time someone needed to be cheered up, when he should just shut up. This skill made him very talented in social life. Francis had always made new friends very quickly, though rarely long-lasting. Despite his charms and skills, Francis was rather vain and stubborn, and often that did not pay off. In a way, Francis was very selfish, and that was seen in his relationships; many times he had dated two people the same time.
It was a wonder how he managed to not lose his reputation and continue his life as the most romantic and charming guy in school.
However, if Francis managed to bond with someone properly, that relationship would last. His close group of friends knew this, and they appreciated the Frenchman's attention. Francis wasn't exactly the best boyfriend despite his romantic nature, but once you really got close to him he certainly was a trustworthy friend who knew what you were thinking.
But Francis was also very competive and proud; and when someone didn't like him at first sight, it made him very interested in this person.
Arthur Kirkland. When Francis first met him, he labeled Arthur as Lydia's rebellious relative who was a chainsmoker (bad teeth, what else could explain that) that was upset about something and rude because he wished to be alone. But, as they had talked, Francis noticed his assumption had been incorrect; Arthur was defensive yet proud, but Francis couldn't see the reason.
It didn't make sense. He always saw the reason. Always.
Intrigued by this new person, he had continued to study him, to find out who he was dealing with. But everytime he got closer, thought he knew what was going on, Arthur did something that proved him wrong again. Only when Arthur told him things he could see better, and Arthur didn't tell much.
It was like a game.
Arthur didn't let Francis close; the Frenchman had to sneak around and clutch to every word the other blonde said to get to know him. And even after six months, Arthur was an enigma who didn't want someone like Francis to know his weaknesses, his dark sides. Arthur's quick bonding to Katyusha was a proof of that; they knew each other's pasts, and protected each other from the public eye. Arthur didn't trust Francis to do the same.
Annoying and interesting.
So far Francis had found out Arthur was a proud, protective individual who did not let anyone too close. Arthur was talented to mislead people, and good with words. What more, it appeared arguing and fighting seemed to be the key to get closer to him.
No problem. Francis could do that. It was quite easy, considering they didn't get along very well.
Well. They didn't get along at all.
Well. They got along by not getting along.
Their relationship was a mess.
They spent too much time together to be enemies; they constantly denied their friendship. And a growing number of people just considered their relationship to be alike to and old married couple.
And then there were the people who claimed there was sexual tension between them.
Francis did not know where he fell on this matter.
Two days ago they had recieved the word that their mother had been one of the convicts that had fled from the prison. Arthur had literally felt his heart stop beating and blood freeze. The one thing he was afraid the most was happening.
He didn't want to break the bubble of happiness he had found for his siblings.
After a long conversation, Lydia and Arthur had come to the conclusion that they wouldn't tell the younger ones unless something critical happened. It was safer that way. The police had told them their mother might try to contact them. Arthur dreaded it.
Lydia was doing grocery shopping and had taken Sydney and Jett with her. Matthew and Alfred were on some kid's birthday party. Arthur was alone at home, and very happy about that. He was in the need of this. Very much in the need of this.
He had found himself a book to read and had retreated to the sofa in Lydia's living room. The words seemed empty and meaningless and it was hard to focus, his mind always seemed to find its way back to his mother. Arthur felt like he was suffocating; every time something was going good things turned to the worse, every fucking time.
Suddenly he realised he was crumpling the pages of the book. Arthur sighed and put the book aside, hoping Lydia wouldn't notice the damage. He closed his eyes and breathed, wishing all the problems in his life could just disappear. He wished, he wished he had always lived with Lydia and that his siblings had always been happy and safe, he wished he didn't know how to get rid of drugs in a minute, he wished he didn't know what it smelled like in a police car, what guns smelled like, he wished he didn't have to be wary all the time to not let his friends know what had happened in his past, hell, he even wished the biggest problem in his whole life was arguing with Francis.
But things weren't like that. They never were, they never would be.
And then, to break the silence in the most appropriate of all ways, the most bloodcooling of all ways, the phone in the corner of the living room rang.
Arthur had heard many kinds of sounds in the past; gang fights, violent crashes, screams that were suddenly silenced by a gunshot, the choking gurgle of a addict vomiting, but the broken sound of the phone was the scariest of them all. He looked at the phone, face pale, a million thoughts running through his mind and all of them too fast to comprehend.
Suddenly he wasn't very sure if he was in charge of his actions. Slowly he stood up, eyes never leaving the white phone, and walked to it, swallowing hard. He didn't know which was worse, to not answer or to answer, but seemingly his thoughts couldn't reach his body because he had already grasped he mouthpiece, lifting it next to his ear.
"Arthur Kirkland", he said, voice shaky and insecure. He didn't want to hear who was on the other side, but the same time he felt like exploding, wanting to be let out of the pain of ignorance-
"Hi Artie", the broken, all too familiar voice said.
It was her.
"Mum", he breathed out, all the things that were on his mind shattering and falling on the floor, disappearing, being replaced by the fragile reality that he was living.
"Artie", she repeated, and Arthur could see her smile, lopsided, insecure, delusional. He closed his eyes. "I've missed you so much", she said, a careful laugh following the words. "It's been a hell for me."
"Mum, what are you doing?" Arthur asked. He heard a sigh on the other end. "I can't stay in the prison, Artie. I need to see you kids. I just miss you so much...I can't stay. It's eating me alive. I've just found myself craving for hugs and the good old days with you kids."
Arthur swallowed. "You broke out of jail, you idiot. That's stupid, and dangerous."
"I know, I know. I just wanted to see you kids, Artie. I love you."
He sighed, feeling weak in the knees. "You're crazy. Where are you even? The police is after you-"
"I'm in a gas station, 150 miles up north from there. Susie, my mate, had unfinished business to do so we came here-"
"Mum, do you realise what you are doing?"
She huffed. "Yes, I do. I'm not stoned. I know this is dangerous. I don't care. I want to see you kids, and take you back, I want to make up the things I've done in the past. I'll stop drug use completely, for real, I tell you that, and focus on you kids. I will get a proper job and bake and take you to school and beaches and carnivals and everything that. I will do that, Artie, I promise you..-."
Arthur stayed silent. Her words were like honey, he wanted to say 'yes, I believe you, come here and we'll do all that', he really did, but he knew better; he had heard them before. He knew they were empty. He knew he'd only hurt everyone if he believed her.
Better to make the damage as small as possible.
"No", he said, cutting her off. "You're not going to do that. You try, for a while it works, and then it just crumbles down again."
She didn't answer. Arthur bit his lip.
"Artie, it's not going to be like that this time. This time I mean it."
"You said it last time too. And every time before that", Arthur spat.
"Artie, I love you, and I love Syd and Jett and Al and Mattie too, I want to be with you, I want to do this-"
"I know you love us! But we're doing great. We're happy, mum. All of us. I don't want to break this. Lydia knows how to take care of us. You don't."
"Arthur-!"
"I'm sorry mum. I love you but..."
And that moment Arthur made the hardest decicion of his life.
"If you keep on that track, don't call us. Don't contact us ever again. Don't fuck our lives."
"Arthur, don't you dare-!"
"I love you, mum. I really do. But I can't risk this. Good bye."
"Arthur-!"
He put the mouthpiece back in it's place. Silence surrounded him.
Arthur had just abandoned his own mother.
The reality of the situation felt overpowering and Arthur found himself on the floor, a suffocating feel in his throath.
Arthur didn't say a word of what happened to Lydia. She didn't need to know. It was better that way. No one had to know. He had simply said he didn't feel good and had had retreated into safety of his room, and stayed there until he was certain everyone was asleep. It was then when he found himself walking quietly in the silent house, down the stairs, towards the solace of the patio.
It was night, there would be no one to see him, or to hear him, he told himself.
The backdoor opened with a creak, and Arthur slipped outside. The air was cool, occasional breeze brushing past him. Arthur closed the door carefully and sighed, feeling heavy and weak inside. He let go of the handle and sat down in the dark, leaning on the wall.
He had abandoned his own mother.
His own mother.
Arthur drew his legs close and buried his face into his hands. He was a sick, horrible person.
He didn't know how long he stayed there; maybe five minutes, maybe half an hour. Time seemed to warp and lose its meaning. His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by familiar footsteps and a shadow casting over him.
"What's wrong?" Francis asked, voice genuinely worried. Arthur didn't know whether he should answer or give Francis the bird; he did neither, he just sat and didn't turn to face Francis.
"Arthur?"
Still no answer. Francis stood there for a moment, probably debating on whether he should leave or stay. Eventually he sighed and sat down next to Arthur, eyes drilling into Arthur's skull.
"What's wrong?" Francis repeated his question, and Arthur sighed. Francis didn't need to know what he had done, but Arthur wanted, needed to tell. Tell someone who wouldn't be affected. He drew a shaky breath, keeping his eyes on the ground.
"Mum called."
He noticed Francis go tense.
"Mum called", he repeated, voice steadier now, "she had escaped from prison. She called to tell she wanted to see us. To come and take care of us", he said. He let out a nervous laugh. "She sounded so happy and excited and real. She said she loved us and missed us and...she said all those nice things I wanted to hear but feared for."
Arthur turned his head, facing Francis. "And guess what I said to her. Guess, Francis."
The Frenchman's blue eyes seemed suddenly very dark in comparison to his pale skin. Arthur smiled, for a reason he couldn't figure.
"I told her to stay away."
And that moment all the walls broke, the walls that had kept Arthur steady and strong crumbled down, and tears stained his cheeks for the first time in years.
"I told her to stay away. My own mother. I told her to not come to our lives anymore, to let us be happy and-and...-", Arthur sobbed, inable to hold himself from breaking down. "And then I hung up. I abandoned her."
Arthur let out another strangled laugh as Francis stared him, baffled by the situation. "Look at me, Francis. I'm crying. I haven't cried for years. It doesn't- It doesn't make sense. I shouldn't cry. I- I'm a horrible person, and I-I shouldn't be able to cry. Only h-horrible people abandon t-their family. And they do-don't cry about it", he rambled, sobbing cutting his words. Arthur felt weak, exposed, and he couldn't help it; he didn't want to show his weakness to Francis, but he couldn't act strong anymore. He tried to wipe his tears, only to notice they were replaced by new ones.
"You're not horrible", Francis whispered. "You're not horrible."
"I am", Arthur argued, wiping his face.
"You're not. You're strong, Arthur. You...you did the right thing", Francis said.
Arthur didn't know if those were the right words; nevertheless, they were the words that took down the remaining shields and he lost all control, inable to talk. All the pain from the years, every tear, they were now on the surface and coming out, and Arthur could not stop it. He cried.
Francis wrapped his arm around Arthur and let him wet his shoulder, cry away the dark memories.
I've been planning this chapter ever since I first got the idea for this fic, and still, it was difficult to write. I'm glad I'm over this one though.
