Title: The Genius Next Door
Number of chapters: 15 + epilogue
Word count: 70k + total, 6361 for this part
Cover image by: Eric Rougier
Summary: They clean up and Matthew gets married.
Warnings: Please click on my profile for a full list of warnings if you need them.
Other notes: I'm going to update this every Monday and Friday from here on out. In other words, the last chapter of this story + the epilogue will both be posted on the 29th of July 2013. Thank you everyone for your support!
Slowly, Arthur and Francis picked up the pieces of their broken marriage, dusted them off, and started to assemble them back together.
The first thing they did was bank in Arthur's sick days at work. Francis had already banked in his, but he'd been missing for so long that the company eventually gave up on him and fired him. He was notified of this when Arthur made a phone call to apologize for Francis' absence and they shrugged the Brit off, telling him they didn't care.
The sick days totaled up to a grand number of two and a half months because Arthur had never missed a single day of work before. Because Arthur was afraid he'd get fired as well, he only decided to take two weeks off and then another two weeks when summer rolled around and then another two in the early fall…and so on. The first of the two weeks was just to help Francis ease himself into better habits, to help keep Francis off the alcohol and tobacco and to ensure he could do well on his own. To make up for lost time, mostly.
Then they established a routine. Arthur did end up making a list, but it wasn't of the problems he and his husband had. Rather, it was a list of reminders for them both — when they should be waking up in the morning, what they should be eating, when they needed to go grocery shopping again. Francis was no longer allowed to sleep in on weekdays, only on weekends, even though Francis didn't need to go to work. This was because Arthur wanted them to get them into the habit of going out for morning walks.
Francis was also not to find another job for at least another year — Arthur's work would support them, hopefully. The thing about the way they dealt with their finances was simple — Francis did what he loved and Arthur did what he loved no matter how much they were paid and the two were not to indulge on anything they did not need. They'd never been too well off, but they were happy. Now that Francis' source of income was gone, they would really have to cut back in order to make ends meet and pay for all of Francis' medicine — and that meant selling their microwave and television set and old antique items (that didn't end up being worth much).
This was to ensure that Francis was one hundred percent healthy once more before he went back to working on a daily basis again. Besides, it wasn't exactly like Francis could model clothes when he looked the way he did now.
As well, they decided not to tell anyone else about Francis' HIV. "It's nobody's business but ours," Arthur had said, grinning, and Francis had rolled his eyes at the Brokeback Mountain reference. "Well, at least for a few more months or so — at least until you gain back all your weight. That way, when you tell Matthew, he won't be as worried."
Francis kind of dreaded that day.
They covered up Francis' attempted suicide to Matthew, too, by telling Gilbert and Antonio to keep their mouths shut. Matthew had enough on his plate. Francis did call to let him know he was alright; Matthew yelled a little. Francis congratulated him on his engagement with Lovina, the woman who'd apparently been over at Antonio's on Christmas Eve and was one of Antonio's cousins and something like a little sister to him. Their wedding day was on August the 18th and they were to be wed in some obscure Parisian garden that was actually rather beautiful when he and Arthur looked it up on Google Images.
Francis supposed that meant that his and Antonio's family would be joined, in some distant sort of way.
Francis also went for regular checkups now, and Arthur with him. The first time they went together they head to Kiku, whom Francis had long forgiven, though there really had been nothing to forgive in the first place. Kiku acted maturely and professionally throughout the entire visit and was eager to have seen Arthur again, and right before they left Kiku requested that he talk to Francis privately.
"I'm," Kiku had said, at a loss for words.
"Yes," Francis had responded, taking Kiku's hands in his own. "Thank you."
Kiku had smiled, a little sadly, as he led Francis out. "Take care, Francis-san," he'd said. "Next week."
Francis rescheduled regular visits to Yao as well, though those ones were private. Yao and Francis became fast friends, what with Francis being more willing to open up to him and less moody about everything. Yao told Francis about his daughter, whom he lost four years ago to a horrible accident, and how they'd never managed to make up before her death because he'd detested that she'd never gotten over her crush on one Japanese boy called Kiku Honda whom he thought was too old for her. Francis took that as a lesson to never take anything for granted again and kept Arthur a little closer that night.
He and Arthur, surprisingly, got along. They argued less and laughed and pranked each other more, though their pranks could hardly be considered pranks when they were really just Arthur making scary noises in the closet when Francis was trying to sleep. Francis got him back for it by putting salt in his tea instead of sugar, but the old coot didn't even end up tasting a difference.
Francis' health started to ameliorate. After the first 'phase' of HIV, which was supposedly the most intense, the disease began to kick back and no longer took precedence in the things Francis did in his daily life. At times he could even forget that he had it, for he was able to function perfectly fine, especially when he started eating properly again and when he managed to quit smoking once more and always took his drugs (though they did make him feel a bit weak-kneed sometimes).
After Arthur's two weeks were up, Arthur began to work fervently at home as well in order to make up for the time he'd lost. Francis, feeling much better, did the cooking — which was a great relief to them both because Arthur couldn't cook worth a diddly damn.
Francis was left to kill time alone at home most of the days, though Antonio and Gilbert visited often. Gilbert brought Ludwig over the first time so that Ludwig could apologize for the punch on his brother's behalf. Ludwig was a fifteen year old third-year at high school and liked Francis a lot. Francis liked him back equally as much.
Matthew was still not allowed over because Francis still looked rather skeleton-like, so all of everyone else's visits to see Francis were kept a secret from him, which Francis found rather scandalous.
Antonio brought Lovina over twice and Francis had absolutely fallen in love with her — not because of her, that is to say, charming personality, but because he found her chattering and bluntness a great match for the ever-patient Matthew. And he'd never expected his younger brother to win the heart of such a beautiful woman either.
Alfred came twice a month because he and Arthur were good friends and although Francis did not know the man well, Alfred's persistent visiting began to help them form a sort-of amicable relationship with each other. Alfred also owned a mini-refrigerator, which he rolled around with him like a suitcase, which earned bonus points for friendship from Francis because Alfred had wine.
"Arthur told me you liked wine," Alfred had said, pulling a disgusted face as Francis eagerly filled his glass to the brim with it. "But dude, he told me you were kind of sick. You sure you should be drinking the stuff?"
"There are no downsides to wine," Francis had countered childishly.
"Won't Arthur find out when he comes home and finds you, uh, drunk?" Arthur had confiscated every beverage in the house that was not water or milk or orange juice, because Arthur strangely really liked orange juice.
"You cannot get drunk off wine," Francis had scoffed.
Alfred had just shrugged and opened himself a beer.
Because Alfred complained much too often about how much Matthew complained about not ever seeing Francis, Francis called Matthew at least once a night. Gilbert and Matthew's words about how Francis had been pushing his brother away had haunted him ever since they were uttered, and Francis was determined to fix their relationship too. They chatted about Arthur, about Alfred, about Lovina, about Matthew's giant bear-dog, about hockey — anything and everything that was on Matthew's mind in the heat of the moment. They discussed the possibility of legalizing same-sex marriage in France that the French government was slowly opening itself up to and what Francis was planning on doing about it.
"Nothing," Francis had said, shrugging. "Arthur and I are no less married here right now than in the Netherlands. We won't be getting re-married and we won't be re-affirming our vows. There's no point."
"Do you think pets can get married?" Matthew had then asked, because Matthew had always been the weird one.
"What?"
"Kumajiro."
"You want to marry Kumajiro?"
"No," Matthew had laughed. "Kumajiro wants to marry Gilbert's bird, Gilbird."
"How do you know?"
"I just do. I know everything about Kumajiro."
Francis had had to ask Matthew exactly how old he was again.
Later, one time before they hung up, Matthew repeated the same question he always did — "When can I come see — " but this time Francis accidentally pressed the Off button before Matthew could finish his sentence. Scrambling, Francis hurriedly dialed Matthew's number again for fear that his little brother would think that he was annoyed with him. Arthur had given him a strange look as he passed him on the bed.
"I'm sorry, I hung up on accident," Francis had said breathlessly into the phone.
"You knew what I was going to say anyway," had laughed Matthew.
"I didn't want you to think I was getting annoyed with you."
"I would have given you the benefit of the doubt and assumed that you wouldn't be. I mean, when was the last time you'd really gotten mad at me?"
Francis had had to give that some thought. "I can't remember," he'd admitted.
"I know when the last time I was annoyed with you."
"Oh, yes?"
"When you were leaving for Paris all those years ago. But I wasn't really annoyed. Just sad."
"Oh, come on," had said Francis, and the two had laughed. "You're over that now, right?"
"Maybe," Matthew had teased.
And then, right before they hung up —
"When can I come —"
But that was when Arthur had conveniently chosen to snatch the phone out of Francis' hands and click the Off button for him. "You two need to learn to have shorter conversations," he'd said, scowling.
Francis had thrown a pillow at him.
As for their half-sister, she received a call once every week or so, not out of lack of concern from Francis' part but rather because she was busy preparing for finals. She was studying in a university in Monaco to become a pharmacist, and Francis and Matthew could only hope against hopes that she'd make it partly because they were positive she'd send them some money. Matthew was still on his third year of university and was getting married, so he needed all the financial support he could get, especially since he really just wanted to move back to Canada with Lovina and open up a tomato-maple syrup-farm after he graduated. Francis had his medication to worry about.
During his spare time at home, Francis picked up how to make balloon animals filled with water, which he threw out his window at passing children after school let out. Once, one of the giraffes had landed on Arthur's face just as he was coming home from work early, which was how Arthur found out about Francis' incriminating hobby and got him to stop. So Francis picked up German curse words instead which he greeted Arthur with at the door, telling him they meant things like "I love you" and "You're amazing".
As for their sex life, it went down the drain. The farthest they'd ever go with physical contact would be Francis getting Arthur off a few times here and there when Arthur really needed it, but Arthur never touched Francis. It was as though Arthur thought Francis dirty, sullied, unworthy — claimed by another.
And as for Chel, they never mentioned her again, although Francis kept her in his thoughts.
Sometime in June, Arthur and Francis celebrated their third anniversary. Because they'd been apart for the better half of their second year together, they decided it really wasn't that much of a cause for celebration and it would just seem fake (Arthur's words, not Francis'), so they decided to host a get-together rather than go down for an expensive dinner or the sorts. Instead of telling their friends that the get-together was for their anniversary (because that would have been strange), they simply told them that it was the pre-Matthew's wedding party, one in which Matthew couldn't show up (not because he wasn't invited, but because he actually had to work that day. Matthew was very put out for missing the chance to see Francis for the first time in forever). Lovina, though, was extremely touched and slightly weirded out because she'd only met her fiance's brother twice and now he was throwing her pre-marital parties. Fortunately, she got too drunk that night to dwell upon the matter too much. Something about freaking out and breaking down.
Because Francis couldn't drink anything, he ended up moping on the couch with Arthur, who was also on probation in order to make Francis feel less alone about it.
"All things considering, this party was a horrible idea," Arthur said, sipping his orange juice and watching as a crowd began to form around Alfred, chanting out numbers as they counted how many grapes he could fit in his mouth.
"You were the one who decided to throw it," Francis muttered.
"We should have gone out to dinner instead."
Francis looked at the clock. 8:30. "We've still time," he said encouragingly, grabbing for Arthur's hands. "Want to?"
"I've work tomorrow."
"So? We won't be out long."
"I want to be home by 10."
"You big baby," teased Francis. "What, you thought people would actually start to leave by 10? Come on, please?"
"I wanted them out by 9," Arthur said, but allowed himself to be pulled off the couch by Francis.
Unfortunately, they never made it past the front door, because that was when Gilbert and Antonio found them.
"I still can't believe you decided to throw Lovina a party, Franny," said Antonio, grinning.
"Technically, it was for Matthew and Lovina —" started Francis, before Arthur tugged on his coat.
"Where you guys headed?" asked Gilbert. "You weren't planning on sneaking out on us, were you? Are we starting to bore you two lovebirds?"
Arthur and Francis gave each other a look.
"You guys are more party-poopers than Ludwig," laughed Gilbert, his voice sounding fuzzy.
"You're drunk, Gilbert," Francis said flatly.
"Not drunk enough to do this," Gilbert crowed as he lifted Francis over his shoulders.
"Hey!" said Arthur, just as Gilbert fell backwards. Apparently he was too drunk.
"Gottverdammt," Francis and Gilbert both cursed at the same time.
August the 18th, Francis was to see Matthew for the first time in over ten months. That, in itself, was a little horrifying of a thought, considering how the two brothers lived in the same city and Paris wasn't even that big compared to some of the American cities they'd been to. It would also be Francis' first time attending a real social gathering (besides their disastrous pre-marital Lovina party) in over ten months.
Francis spent over an hour and a half in front of the mirror that morning, using heavy makeup to cover up the dark spots under his eyes (they weren't that noticeable now) and to make sure his stubble was acceptable and didn't make him look homeless and to make sure his hair was neatly tied back with a ponytail (it'd grown long enough for just a short one). He'd also spent fifteen minutes trying to fix Arthur's hair, which wouldn't lie flat, so they attempted to gel it. That made Arthur look like he was part of the Mafia, so then they had to take another ten minutes washing it out and then they were almost late to the ceremony.
In the garden, upon sight, Matthew immediately threw himself at Francis and the two gripped each other tight and laughed until tears were coming out of their eyes. Matthew then composed himself, still grinning, and shook Arthur's hand before taking his place back at the altar. Francis and Arthur had seats right at the front, though they were also seated closest to Alfred, the best man, who stepped off the altar just to talk to them. Francis was pretty sure that that was illegal.
"Isn't this fantastic?" Alfred cried as Lovina made her way down the aisle within moments with Antonio while everyone was gasping. "My little boy is getting married! I really need to get married, too. Everyone is getting married. Even Kuma is getting married."
"He is?" Francis asked with surprise, before he saw Gilbert behind a sea of faces give him the thumbs up.
Francis scanned the crowd. Most of them were people he knew — distant family members, friends he knew Matthew had from college, people from all sorts of cultural backgrounds and ethnic groups. Matthew had a talent for attracting the few people in Paris who spoke more than just French; Arthur, on the other hand, seemed to only attract the people who spoke French, which was unfortunate for him because Arthur couldn't speak a nugget of it.
"Don't you think Matthew is still a little too young to be getting married?" whispered Arthur to Francis.
"You're telling me now?" asked Francis. "We got married when we were twenty-two and some. Matthew's just turned twenty-one."
"Yeah, well, we were pretty young too," scowled Arthur, because he just had to find a way to ruin everything.
"Regretting it?" Francis grinned just as someone snapped at Alfred to take his proper place once more.
Lovina looked beautiful in her wedding gown, and Antonio was reduced to tears by the time he reached the end of the aisle and had to give her away. In his typical passionate way, he grabbed at her face and kissed both her cheeks before taking her hands and then kissing those too; Lovina looked a bit put out at the thought of her makeup being smudged and just scowled a whole bunch, which was right when the cameras started to really flash.
And Matthew, Matthew was equally as stunning. Francis couldn't believe how much his younger brother had grown over the past year or so. Matthew was a few inches taller than him now, his hair about the same length as Francis' but delightfully wavier, his normally pale face tinged with the faintest rosy blush. He was in an extremely expensive suit — Francis could tell just by looking at it, having been turned rather sharp and stingy these past few months — and his shoes were shiny and polished. His eyes were sparkling amethysts.
When the two lovers embraced and were officially declared husband and wife for life, Francis cried.
"You're such a baby," Arthur scowled, handing Francis another wad of toilet paper as the Frenchman sniffled in the corner of the washroom.
"I'm your baby," said Francis through his tears. Arthur rolled his eyes. "It's just that I missed so much of his life," Francis continued. "Ever since I left for Paris we never really got back the closeness we had before. And now I haven't even the opportunity to make up for that. Now he's a family man — now he'll look to Lovina first rather than me, and then he'll have children, and then he'll have grand-children, and he'll make a family all for himself and I won't be in it."
"Come off it," Arthur said. "You'll be Uncle Francis."
"That makes me sound so old," laughed Francis. "I don't want to be an uncle — then I'd be part of his extended family, not his immediate one anymore. We're brothers. We should be closer than just 'the uncle who gives my kids money sometimes'."
"Hey, at least you have the chance to be an uncle to your nieces or nephews. My brothers still aren't married, remember?"
Francis shrugged, ripping at the toilet paper in his hands out of lack of anything else to do and tears to wipe. His makeup was ruined; the foundation was blotchy and darker in certain areas of his face. He had strands of hair sticking up all over the place, too.
"Here," said Arthur, handing him a bottle of pills. "Take your medication."
"I'm too sad to," pouted Francis, but he took them anyway and washed them down with water from the sink. "Wait for me," he said when he saw Arthur about to exit the bathroom, "I have to fix myself up, and then we'll go back outside for the dinner."
Arthur rolled his eyes but waited patiently for Francis to re-apply his concealer and let down his hair and brush it. When he was finished, he stretched out a hand expectantly as though waiting for Francis to take it before he seemed to remember himself. He blushed and dropped it and looked away.
"What?" asked Francis. "We can still do this." He laced his fingers between Arthur's and smirked up at his husband.
"We're two grown men," said Arthur. "I'm not holding hands with you."
"Matthew and Lovina will probably be doing it," reasoned Francis.
Arthur just laughed and pushed Francis away.
The two exited the bathroom and found their seats at their tables, which so happened to be the same table where Alfred and Gilbert and Antonio were conveniently located at. Matthew probably figured that the five hung out with each other so often that they'd want to be sitting next to each other for the whole night, a logic Francis would love to refute. Especially because Matthew had thought it particularly funny to put Alfred in between him and Arthur.
"Alfred, it really doesn't matter what seat Matthew assigned you to," Arthur sighed, standing behind Alfred with his hands on the American's chair. "It's just one seat over if we switch."
"If it doesn't matter, then why do you want my spot so badly?" asked Alfred stubbornly, his head in his arms.
"To —" And Arthur gave Francis, who was on Alfred's right, another look. "Never mind. Have this spot for all I care. Because I don't. Care, that is."
Alfred looked smug at his victory.
Francis, meanwhile, was contemplating on whether or not he should give a toast to congratulate the newlywed couple, which he could spot on the dance floor that very moment. It was an outdoor reception, and though it'd be hours before sunset, the lights were already set up and were illuminating the stage on which Matthew and Lovina were situated. They looked gorgeous, the two of them, and Francis wondered whether it would be worth interrupting their moment.
Alfred, apparently, was having the same thoughts — only he reached his conclusion far more quickly than Francis. "Toast!" he cheered, standing up and clinking his butter knife against his wine glass.
When everyone else fell silent and looked to Alfred, it became painfully obvious that the American had no idea what to say next. Arthur coughed pointedly from his left and surreptitiously refolded the napkin in his lap.
"Um," said Alfred. "As you guys know, Mattie's one of my best friends."
Matthew beamed at him from the stage and gave him an encouraging nod. Francis rolled his eyes and tipped his glass over a little bit so that the wine just barely peeked over the edge but didn't spill.
"And I still remember when he met Lovina," Alfred said, which sent a shot of envy and jealousy straight down Francis' spine. With one look at Matthew's puzzled face that seemed to say What? No you don't, you weren't there, however, Francis relaxed. It was obvious Alfred was just trying to bullshit his way through the toast because he just wanted some attention.
"Lovina was very beautiful," Alfred said, and Francis could swear, swear, that he could see beads of sweat forming on the peak of his hairline. From Alfred's other side, Arthur was making gagging noises, and Francis stifled a laugh.
"And uh, I knew you guys would be perfect for each other," said Alfred. "Like, as soon as I saw you two. You two, I just knew it."
Arthur was beginning to look almost nervous for Alfred, and Francis was beginning to feel nervous for himself too because since they were sitting in such close proximity to the American, any embarrassment of his to suffer was an embarrassment to them. Francis covered his face with his hands.
"Thanks, Alfred!" called Matthew excitedly from the stage, and Alfred visibly loosened up even more.
"Congratulations to the newlyweds, who I knew were gonna get together!" Alfred cheered again before slugging the whole content of the glass down and then slamming it on the table with a flourish. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as everyone applauded and lifted their glasses as well.
"Jeez, you two just couldn't quit, could you?" hissed Alfred fiercely as he pulled his chair back up and sat down. "You try making up a toast on the spot. I double dare you."
Francis excused himself quietly and got out of his chair, feeling Arthur's eyes on the small of his back as he made his way to the stage. He wanted to get a word in with his brother before they were to be inevitably parted once more for God knows how long.
Matthew saw him coming and helped him up, leaving Lovina to stand a bit to the side. Francis pulled Matthew in for another hug, pressing his chin into his brother's shoulder and whispering fiercely in his ear, "I'm so proud of you, Matthew."
"Thanks, Franny," laughed Matthew as they broke apart.
"I only wish I'd been there for you more. I didn't even know about Lovina until Gilbert told me you two were engaged."
Matthew's brows crinkled. "Of course you knew about Lovina. You were there when we met. It was at Bella's birthday party two years ago, and you'd brought me along as a guest."
Now that Francis thought about it, perhaps he had been there when they met.
"It doesn't matter anyway," pressed Matthew hurriedly, seeing the worry flit across Francis' face. He took Francis' hands in his own. "What matters is that you're here now. Thanks so much for showing up. For a while up at the altar I didn't think you'd come."
"And miss your wedding?" Francis smiled, taking in Matthew's beautiful bright face. Perhaps he's missed him more than he thought he has.
"Well, I heard you were sick. I mean…" Then Matthew frowned and looked Francis up and down. "Hey, you don't look so good. Are you still sick? Has it really been that bad?" He reached up to feel Francis' forehead.
"No, I was crying in the bathroom," said Francis bluntly, brushing Matthew's fingers away from him.
"Over me?" said Matthew.
"Yes, because you seated me at a table with Arthur, Alfred, and Gilbert. The three will be arguing all night long, I just know it."
"Um, is it actually because I put Alfred in between you and Arthur? You know that that was a misprint, right? Just tell Alfred to move over one."
"Arthur tried."
"No, but really, is there something wrong?" Matthew gripped Francis' shoulders tightly, and Francis became aware of just how small he'd become in comparison to his little brother. "You really, really don't look good, Francis. Can we please talk after this? Face to face? You know, about your disappearance for a good four months or so. Are you and Arthur not over that?"
"We're managing. Please let's not talk about those matters anymore — this is your wedding, and I don't want to spoil it." Francis knew that he and Matthew would never end up having that talk.
"Of course." Matthew hesitated. "But three years, huh?" He clapped Francis on the back, smiling. "That's impressive. I hope Lovina and I will last a hundred."
I hope I can last another ten, thought Francis wryly. He had no idea how long HIV patients could hold out for before their immune systems finally gave out.
"But Francis, you'll give me a call if anything goes wrong?" asked Matthew just as Francis was turning to leave. "You'll tell me? You still know I'm here for you, right?"
Francis felt like he was about to break down again, and covered Matthew's hand with his own. "Yes," he said, managing to crack a tiny smile. "I know, Matthew."
"Here," Arthur said, pulling out a bottle of pills from the front pocket of his suit as they walked through the park together just as the sun was beginning to set. "Time to take your medication again."
"Today was a good day," Francis said absentmindedly as he swallowed a couple pills. "It's been a while since I've really interacted with other people, besides you and the sparse company we sometimes have over. Hey, how do I look?"
Arthur snorted. "Like the same as you always do."
"Still sickly?"
"You can't really tell."
"Matthew could."
"Matthew's your brother."
"Matthew's the one person I want to hide it from."
"Does it matter anymore?" Arthur said, walking to lean over a railing on a bridge that overlooked a small lake. From his close proximity, a few streetlights turned on.
"What do you mean by that?" asked Francis, joining him. The two watched tiredly as a couple of ducks waddled onto dry land and shook themselves out and disappeared into the darkness.
Arthur said, "He'll be hurt that you kept it from him for so long."
"You said it'd be a good idea."
"Well, I'm having second thoughts now. What if he's really angry with you?"
"He never gets angry with me."
"Well, don't take that for granted!" Arthur snapped, whipping his head around to shoot Francis a glare.
"Why are you so upset?" asked Francis, trying to get a glimpse of Arthur's face, but the Brit had already looked back down again.
"I'm not upset," muttered Arthur.
"Liar."
"I just," Arthur sighed. "I'm not having very optimistic thoughts right now. It doesn't matter."
"It matters," Francis argued. "Tell me."
Arthur didn't, so Francis took a guess. "You probably still think I'm going to be dying any day now." And when Arthur didn't respond, Francis took that as incentive to continue, bitterly. "Goddamn it, Arthur, I thought we've been over this. Is that the only reason you've been so nice to me lately? Because you're afraid I'm going to topple over any second?"
And sure enough, try as Francis might, he couldn't remember a single time in the past four months when he and Arthur had been upset with each other. They'd been on relatively good terms — teasing each other, surprising each other with meals in bed, listening to each other.
The only thing that differed between their relationship now and their relationship a year ago was that they no longer fought and they no longer had sex.
But neither had they really talked about this problem of theirs, either. Which was perhaps just as bad.
The months that Francis had been gone had scarred them both. Francis liked to imagine that it'd be easy for them to get over it, to heal, to move on — but it seemed even now, even four months later, there were still issues between them, trenches of pain neither could fill with just each others' mere presence.
"Do you know what I did when you went missing, Francis?" asked Arthur quietly. "Nothing. I did nothing."
Francis tensed up. "So?"
"You don't get it. You were injecting God knows what into your system, probably drugged out of your own mind, drowning under booze and tobacco and living in some crummy run-down shack with a couple that didn't give a shit about you because I hadn't thought to give you money or anything when I kicked you out. The apartment belonged to both of us, but you were the one who lived on the streets. And you had no one to talk to — no one to be there for you —"
"It wasn't as bad as you make it seem," said Francis, because he couldn't remember the half of it.
"And what was I doing?" Arthur pressed on, "What was I doing?"
Francis held his breath. Arthur had never told him.
"Nothing, Francis. I went to work and I came home and I ate supper and I took showers and I went to sleep. And then I did it again the next day, and the next, and the next. I was okay."
Francis swallowed. "That's good to hear," said he truthfully. "I wouldn't have wanted you to go through what I did. You didn't deserve that — not after what I'd done."
Arthur just shook his head, looking down at his hands. "What does that even mean, Francis? That I got over you? That I'm okay without you?"
And Francis just felt sick on the inside because he'd never considered the idea that Arthur could just move on from him, just like that. But this was a good thing. This meant Arthur could adapt — survive — be alright.
"You have to promise me," said Francis. "That you won't let me hold you back. If — when — I do die, you'll move on. Find someone else. Live your life the way you're supposed to." In the end, what did Francis matter anyway? What was Francis worth to Arthur?
"Francis, it's not like that," Arthur said. "It was as if my mind couldn't even process that you were gone. It was like I was in denial, like I was numb. Like the reality I'd been living wasn't really there, not the way you were."
"Forget it," said Francis, because he just wanted Arthur to be happy. "I'm okay, Arthur," he said. "I'm okay."
"It's not true," Arthur said. "Whatever you're thinking, it's not true."
And Francis could only nod, believing it. However inept Arthur was with dealing with his emotions, there'd never been a doubt in the world that he did not love Francis. And the guilt Arthur suffered for not having been able to show that more — wasn't that enough proof that the insufferable Brit cared?
"There's more," said Arthur solemnly.
"Tell me," he urged.
"What you did with Chel…"
"I thought we weren't going to talk about her," interrupted Francis. "Please, Arthur, I don't want to talk about that. Don't make me talk."
"I'm not." Arthur tucked a strand of loose hair from behind his ears and started to fiddle with the sleeve of his suit; a loose button came off and Arthur looked at it absentmindedly, twirling it around between his fingers. He gave it to Francis without thinking and Francis' fingers closed around it automatically, feeling the way the smooth plastic cut into the lines in his fingers.
"What you did with Chel," said Arthur, looking at Francis. He took up Francis' free hand. "I just wanted you to know that we've been married for three years and have known each other for much longer before that. And that whatever obstacles we encounter we can overcome, because we're grown men and we can make compromises and sacrifices and talk things over. And when I took those wedding vows — I mean, it wasn't a joke, Francis —"
"I understand that," said Francis. "Me, too, Arthur."
"I just wanted you to know that I forgive you," said Arthur, and Francis stared back at him blankly. "Yeah, we should probably have talked about Chel more. Crud, we should probably have talked about everything more. We're bad at this, but we're learning.
"And I've been thinking a lot — I mean, a lot, in the past months after you and I had gotten back together, and what's really important to me, and what's not, and what I expect from you, and what I don't. And what I want out of life.
"And then I decided that I wanted you to know that I forgive you, for what you did with Chel, and that I don't blame you for your sickness and I don't feel like I'm being slowed down at all by you. And that what I really want is you, and what I want even more is us being happy and growing old and fat sometime. It's a bit cheesy, but in fact," Arthur laughed, running a hand through his messy hair, "In fact, I think we're rather poetic, you and I. It's nice."
"That's just because you're a writer." Francis swallowed thickly.
"And I want to romanticize myself. Maybe."
Francis tried to look elsewhere, anywhere but at Arthur's searching gaze. The ducks returned below the bridge and one quacked loudly and from afar a few crickets were rubbing their legs together and making their eerie sounds.
"I didn't think you'd," whispered Francis.
"Forgive you?" said Arthur. "At all?"
Francis shook his head.
Arthur smiled kindly, gently. "You can be a real idiot sometimes, Francis Bonnefoy." He leaned over and kissed him, willing Francis' lips to part and they did. Francis, through his confusion and inner turmoil, managed to relax in the other's mouth, letting himself go.
"I love you," Francis stuttered when they pulled apart, and Arthur only pulled him back.
He was forgiven.
They could start anew.
End Part II