Francis; 23
Arthur; 20
I do not own anything
October 7nd 1970
The nicotine soothed him, it calmed him and comforted him in so many indescribable ways. He took another long drag and watched as the smoke swirled in front of his face for a minute before disappearing in the cold night sky. He had left the party some time ago, sick of watching after a clearly intoxicated Gilbert and a mischievous Matthias. They would find their way back to the van without him, Arthur reasoned as he walked along the sandy pathway.
The park was truly beautiful this time of year, this time of day too. When he looked up he could see the stars shine and glitter, and Arthur mused that it had been impossible to see the stars in the London sky, back when he still lived with his father and brothers. Taking another long drag, Arthur saw a park bench between the leaves and fines and moved to rest his tired limbs. It was no wonder he was tired, he reasoned with himself, they had been really busy lately. Not that he was complaining, no, his life had been full of adventure and fun since he had arrived in the states some months ago. He especially liked it when he and the band found villages like the one he was in now, not as small that everyone knew each other, but still small enough that it emitted that feeling of closeness and togetherness.
Arthur took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Sometimes he wondered. Wondered if he was doing the right thing; going off to America weeks after graduation, letting a college education slide, up and leaving his family without more than a hasty 'bye' scribbled on a torn napkin. But then he imagined the other alternative, being back in London and being lectured again by teachers, always having to be on time, detention, duties and getting extra lessons when grades weren't satisfactory.
He shuddered.
Not that he had been a bad student, no, he had actually been quite smart. But still, he had wanted to leave, so leave he did. He didn't regret it, but thinking about the family he left behind he did feel guilty. After all, his family had been a good one, his brothers had loved him even though they gave him a hard time, always teasing and pestering him. His father had always been strict, even a little cold towards him, but Arthur knew it was simply the man's personality and that he deeply cared for all his sons.
"Eyebrows."
Startled, Arthur looked up and saw the face of the obnoxious French guy he had met a few days earlier. The boy was attending college not so far from there and was apparently Gilbert's good friend from before Arthur had met him in the London public school's music class, several years ago. They had seemed pretty good friends alright, not hesitating to piss of everybody and anybody. Arthur had not cared much for the French other at first, but after a few unpleasant arguments Arthur had taken a real dislike to the French pervert. He was vain, egoistic, prideful and couldn't keep his hands to himself for one single second. He also seemed to possess a self-confidence that rivalled Gilbert's, he knew that he was handsome and desired, he knew that most would give him everything he wanted. That was probably why the frog hadn't liked Arthur either; not only did Arthur not care for the Frenchman, he had also publicly rejected him several times. This was fun to do; since the blonde punk mostly wasn't that picky with partners or sex, it was an extra blow to the other's ego.
"What are you doing here frog? Stalking me now?" He tried to give Francis the best glare he could manage, but he was tired so it maybe lacked a little steam. A shame really.
"Non, why would I stalk such an unpleasant creature?" The frog continued to stand before him in all his annoying glory. "I was merely wondering where you were going at such an hour when I saw you leaving. I was thinking that I could bust you for something illegal, imagine my surprise when I saw that you left a perfectly good party to sit in a deserted park on an uncomfortable bench."
During his little speech, Francis had placed his hands on his sides, and Arthur wondered how anyone could ever confuse Francis with a straight person. Then the words sunk in and Arthur smirked.
"I've had a lot of those parties already and there will be a lot more. I'm not like you
Francis, all excited to finally get out of the dorm. I actually live my life to the fullest, not in some stuffy classroom learning a language that will be dead soon, give or take a few decades."
Francis laughed, a loud full-blown scornful laugh. "Believe me Arthur, I know how to have a good time." He purred. "Besides," Now his voice turned vicious. "I think I'm the one living my life to the fullest, tell me Arthur, what will you become in the future? Without any social standards, without a proper education, drinking, smoking and partying? You'll most likely end up on the streets, selling yourself for a few dollars. Although," Arthur was coolly looked up and down. "maybe you're already a bit of a whore, seeing your show the other day."
He should be offended, he knew that. Should be hurt and angry and sad after Francis had insulted him so thoroughly. But this was Francis and they had come to verbal blows before, they both seemed to be able to locate each other's shortcomings with ease and Arthur almost knew what kinds of insults would be thrown his way. In a sense it was nice to argue with the French boy, because of its predictably it was safe, because of its viciousness it was liberating.
"You really don't like people insulting your froggy language do you?" Arthur smirked, because that was expected of him. Because Francis's insults always bounced off from the enormous wall he had built around him. Because Arthur had long since stopped caring about anything regarding himself. But that comment about him being a whore, that was the one that could still sting him. The one thing that could break through to his walls and reach that scared fourteen year old boy that was still inside of him. "Really Francis, are you lecturing people about being loose?" Arthur scoffed. "Fucking hypocrite, throwing yourself at anyone who soothes your tastes…" Arthur paused, standing up and reaching up to lightly stroke the other's jacket. "As I understood it from Gilbert, I do sooth your tastes, don't I? You would've bedded me the first day we met if I hadn't resisted."
Francis narrowed his eyes. "Oui, but that was before I learned about your horrid personality."
Arthur smirked, his hand still firmly placed on the other's chest. "Don't fool yourself Francis, you don't care about personalities. You just care about yourself, sticking it in everybody willing enough. You are just so superficial and simple." Francis flinched. "Just a little rich boy who is too used to getting his way and trying to denounce anyone who doesn't meet those desires. Like calling me a whore just because we don't see eye to eye."
"I can call you anything I want, petit."
Arthur's eyes narrowed.
One way or another, he was going to put that smug bastard in his rightful place.
Please R&R
