NEW CHAPTER! Ain't you excited?

Chinese: (I prefer using some Chinese words instead of adding -aru at the end of sentences)

早安, 爸爸 : Zao an, ba ba - Good morning

爸爸 : (ba ba) - Dad

你 好 吗 : (ni hao ma) - How are you?

我知道了 : wǒ zhīdào le - I see... (I know now; I understand)

Français:

Serait-il plus heureux avec moi?" : Would he be happier with me?

My Cold Warmth

Arthur snorted. The police. A young officer stopped their car and walked to the left side to meet the driver.

"Sorry, Sir. The road is closed." He militarily stated once the windowsill was lowered.

"Thank you very much for the news, but we have already noticed. As my house is precisely over there, would you please show us another way?" Arthur replied with false courtesy.

Hearing the mocking tone in the civilian's voice, the officer stiffened nervously, but didn't give sign of his slight anger to the man in the car. Pointing to the end of the street, he remarked. "If you go straight on along the way and then turn right, you might have some chances to get closer to your house."

"What does it mean 'get closer to my house'? That I can see it from the distance, but not get inside because of the annoying Yorkshire in my neighbours's garden? Sorry, chap, but I'd rather spend my afternoon here in this place than hear a noisy ball of fur barking all along without being able to kill it with my own bare hands."

Francis chuckled, much to the contestants annoyance. It was a serious competition going on between the two and snickering before the challenge had finished would surely bring misfortune to the three of them. Or, at least, ruin the atmosphere.

Noticing the glance Arthur had sent him, Francis stopped immediately, but even if he was now staring outside the window, hearing the two bickering made him smile for some unknown reason.

"Sir, all I can suggest is that you keep on driving and see yourself if the access to your house is closed even on the other side of this road." Said the policeman eventually.

"Fine, then. Thank you and good-bye." Arthur answered quickly and followed the street till the asphalt was connected again with another black river. Once he turned right, his once stern face turned into a much more amused one.

Francis elbowed him. Teasing policemen, or "Bobbies" as Arthur called them, was one of their favourite past-times. Being a rebel as a teen, Arthur had always kept a sort of hatred against those self-proclaimed defenders of Justice. Defenders of the Economical Interests of the Upper classes, he used to say. And Francis... Francis just followed him. Arthur would rant about Anarchy while getting ready for a manifestation on gulping liters of Guinness, while Francis' mind just tried to grasp those complicated yet fascinating concepts his mate was absorbed into. He always managed to find some time for Arthur. It didn't matter if it was just a couple of hours, but he felt the need to be near the other every once in a while. He supposed it was all because Arthur was the only one showing him real care and affection. Of course, the Brit tried to hide his delicate feelings of friendship by being always somewhat rude or violent, but he also never missed an occasion to meet up with him or give a good advice or reply to a letter or... Or. Arthur had always been there, without asking for anything in return.

Francis' gaze lowered, while his lips returned to a fine straight line. He didn't deserve such a good friend by his side and yet, there he was. Arthur, always next to him, both when the sun shined and the rain fell. And him? He had never done anything right in his life. Always following his parents' orders, never standing up for himself, never trying to revolt, never reaching for the phone when he knew Arthur was feeling ill just on the other side of the Channel. What kind of a friend was he?

A touch on his shoulder and he turned bewildered to look into the other's worried eyes.

"Are you okay?" Arthur asked rather concerned. He didn't like when Francis started day-dreaming. It was never a dream passing through his mind.

Francis' eyes shifted to the side and closed a little. Returning to a proper position, he stated on grabbing the collar of his T-shirt. "Yeah... yeah, I'm fine, thank you."

Arthur straightened, too, glancing both to the wet street and to the frail frame next to him. He sighed. He might have a better-built body, but he still seem so weak...

Another policeman stretched out his arm to stop their vehicle, but this time Arthur didn't dare challenging him. Instead, he smiled at him friendly and asked . "Working even on Sunday, eh, Vash?"

The blond officer replied bitterly. "Shut up, Arthur. I've got a gun and I'm not afraid of using it!"

Arthur smirked. The Swiss really needed a nice cup of tea. Or a psychiatrist. But then, who would take care of his young sister? "How's Lily?" He replied calmly.

Vash' eyes widened in rage. "Stop messing around my sister, you sicko! She's too young and innocent for a bastard like you!" He roared nervously, already pointing to Arthur's house. "Leave your car nearby and walk to your house before I kick you in, got it?" He added with a much more furious tone.

"Got it. See ye, Vash." Arthur remarked rather sarcastically, pressed the pedal on changing gear and parked right in front of the Chinese man's house.

Once he was sure he couldn't listen to them, Francis humorlessly whispered. "So, THAT is Vash."

"Nice guy, isn't he?" Arthur replied smiling brightly.

"He's a neurotic!" Francis exclaimed still whispering.

"Exactly. Nice guy, isn't he?" Arthur's sing-song voice repeated on exiting the car. Once they were both on the pavement, he added. "Give an alcoholic parent to a 12-year old boy and make him watch his beloved daddy beat his poor mommy to death and here you have a young officer over-obsessed with his little sister. Nice story, huh?"

Francis stared in horror. "You're lying, aren't you?" A small glimpse of lost hope had already formed in the angle of his eyes.

"No." Arthur replied not even glancing at him. "I'm sorry for them, but shit happens." He then sighed and pulled Francis closer to make him stop in front of the Chinese man's door and rang the doorbell twice. As Francis chewed on his lip on looking back at the blond Swiss guy, Arthur added calmly. "Don't feel guilty, it's not your fault."

"I know, but..." Francis started to reply.

"But, what?" Arthur's green eyes peeked at him. "Don't think you're the culprit for everyone's unhappiness, stupid megalomaniac. Who do you think you are? God?"

"No, but..." Francis was now seriously looking at him.

"Everyone's got problems." Arthur started firmly. Francis couldn't but keep silent. "Everyone's got his stinky pile of rubbish on his back . And everyone has to go around with this sickening burden, that can't but get heavier and heavier. Got my thread?" Arthur asked on glancing to the side. Suddenly, he felt like one of those depressed wise old man always feeding the ducks at Hide Park, giving out counsels for nothing.

"I think I do..." Francis stated back. He wanted to say something, when the door suddenly opened.

"早安, 爸爸 , Mr. Kirkland and Mr. ..." A young boy with almond-shaped eyes said on opening the door.

"Hello..." Arthur stared at the young boy leading them into the house.

"爸爸's waiting for you in the kitchen. You know the way." He simply stated before running up the stairs to disappear in his room.

"Arthur! Francis!" A loud voice called made them turn their eyes, still following the figure that had disappeared on the first floor. "你 好 吗? I tried calling a couple of times, weren't you at home?" He added, noticing the poor clothes the others were wearing.

"Uh? No... Actually, Francis and I spent the night out..." Arthur replied with a kind smile dancing on his face.

"我知道了 ... You should get home, then, to check if everything's alright!" The Chinese man added slightly concerned.

"We just preferred visiting you first in case you needed some help, Yao. Is there something we can do for you?" Arthur remarked with great care. Yao was a friend, after all, and it wasn't gentlemanly to leave a friend alone in times of disgrace.

Yao took his time to think over it and then ran to the kitchen to get his wallet. "Would you please buy me some water? Apparently, we'll be out of it for a while. Electricity is gone, too, as well as any other service and asking my son to carry all those bottles all alone is somewhat cruel of me, don't you think?" He asked with a certain fake sadness on giving him the exact amount of money.

"So... That's your son. He seems a nice guy." Arthur commented. "Anything else?" He asked plainly after putting the money in the pocket.

"Not really. And you can bet he's a nice guy. One day, he'll be a great physician, you'll see!" Yao boasted on dashing past them to lead them to the door. Francis just had a look around the orange and red house. It smelled of incense and tea. Marvelous.

In no time, Yao had pushed them outside his shelter and, having exchanged small worried smiles with Arthur, he went back inside his house.

"He hasn't changed a bit." Francis said plainly, on walking by Arthur's side. He still looks at me like a madman...

"You're wrong."

Francis gazed to his mate, almost not understanding the answer.

"He's got older, but not weaker. He's wiser, but not less practical. He's a much better man and a far eviler one." Arthur stated calmly. He always had a gift for understanding people's inner world.

Francis laughed humorless. "You're a cynical bastard."

Arthur scoffed. "I am, you spoiled crybaby. And have I told you you stink yet?" He rummaged in his pockets for the keys and once he had got them, he opened the door. "Go and get a shower, or your smell will impregnate the walls, you rat."

Francis smiled gingerly. "I bet you'd love my smell never to leave you." He whispered on dshing upstairs. He needed a hot shower, more for his nerves than for his scent of skunk.

Once he got to the bathroom door and tried to open it, much to his surprise, he found it locked. Slapping his forehead as soon as the memory of the evening before hit his brain, he jumped to the side and strolled to Arthur's room serenely, listening to the suffocated huffs coming from the kitchen, where his host was boringly washing the dishes. He couldn't contain a small chuckle escaping his lips at the thought of Arthur in a frilly apron. A frilly PINK apron. With a big heart-shaped pocket right in front of his chest saying "Don't kiss the cook. He tastes horrible."

When he walked past the living room, remembering the fun they had the night before, the image of the soft pillow, companion of every adventure, suddenly smashed into his mind. The pillow. Merde. He insulted under his breathe, giving his head small knocks as to punish his brain for forgetting about the loyal friend. Promising himself to remind Arthur about it, he headed towards the bedroom. His hand hadn't reached the handle, that a knot had already formed in his throat. The room at the end of the corridor.

Francis had never had the chance to get into that room. It was Alfred's. And no-one could enter it. It didn't matter how much he pleaded, whined or cried, that room was off-limit. He had even stated once, that he would manage to step into those four walls, just to make Arthur angry. But he had never had the courage.

When Alfred was still around, Arthur used to make promises like "We'll let you in only when Alfie's fine with it." But Alfred was never fine with it. Alfred... It wasn't like they couldn't stand each other, on the contrary, there was a sort of mutual respect between the two. But that room was only for Arthur and him. And Francis couldn't bear being excluded.

Peeking behind himself and listening more carefully to Arthur's now singing voice, he made sure he had enough time to have a quick look inside. Tip-toeing to the white wooden door, his gaze rested a bit on the light traces of humidity to its sides, where the dye had already started to come off. Why wouldn't Arthur keep it nice and clean like every other place around his house, he wondered and yet, reached for the brass handle. His hand took his time before pushing the door open, may it be because of the slightly creepy crimson-red sign stating ALFRED, which strangely seemed more threatening than ever. Had the hue always been so blood-like? And was that stinky mould?

As the old gray caged shadows started being illuminated by the fair new light, a lightly frightened Francis tilted his head to catch a glimpse of whatever there was inside of the forbidden room. He wasn't so sure he really wanted to know what he had been denied for so long, and yet he was too curious to let the chance slip away. His hand travelled along the wall tentatively in seach for a switch, when eventually a clicking sound made the old dusty lamp light up.

Francis blinked.

It was an empty room. A gray, dusty, dirty, empty room. It crept him out immensely.

He switched the light off, loudly shut the door, quickly dashed into Arthur's room, occasionally glancing behind to see if something would come after him. He couldn't explain the sudden feeling of anxiety that had gotten inside of him. The dark room he had always wished to enter was just a dull, boring chamber, whose cracked walls were stained with spots of humidity and... hand marks? Were those gray traces of hands on the walls? And what about the dark brushes on the corner walls? All in the same area. All at at the same height. All in the same dark, crusty, deadly colour. They looked like... He shook his head. It couldn't be possible.

Arthur used to cut. He knew that. He knew perfectly. That was why he soon started to invite him to the mountains in summer, so he would always have an excuse for covering his arms. And not be all by himself, of course. Yet, he promised to stop after the.. accident. He promised that if Francis got over the thing, if he started to eat, drink, move, work, live again, he would try to quit it. Sure, the Frenchman couldn't really say he had started to live again. Day after day, the unbearable routine brought him nothing more that absolute boredom. And he didn't feel alive. Absolutely. Inside, he had the feeling somewhat was missing. A feeling, he didn't experience when Arthur was around, tough.

Francis stared at himself. His hand was clenching his tee-shirt right in front of his heart and his back was leaning on the cold bedroom wall to support his suddenly weaker figure. He coughed, stood up, peeked behind, entered the passage and reappeared behind the mirror. All without thoughts.

Once he was in the bathroom, sighing, he walked to the chair, disentangled it and set it aside. Then, it was the closet's turn to be put back in place. He was sure that after a nice shower, he wouldn't have the same will to do such hard work. Plus, he somewhat needed to create another escape door from that room. No-one ever knows. Once the closet covered the same dust as the night before, he put all the towels, shampoo bottles and sponges back where they belonged, until there was nothing else left on the floor. He did everything mechanically, wishing no other thoughts entered his mind.

Smiling slightly, he looked at his satisfied expression in the mirror. Not losing confidence, he took off his tee-shirt, admiring his own trim body, his strong arms, his hairy chest, his muscular abdomen. He liked himself, he adored himself. His body was simply perfect. Mainly and perfect. Sometimes, he had wondered if it was too narcissistic of him to fall in love with his own self after spending hours caressing his well-built figure, his golden hair, his sculpted muscles. His smile just grew wider. What did Arthur think of him? Suddenly, he wanted to know.

Actually, he had always wanted to know. But it had never been the 'right moment', as the Brit would say. When was the right moment? Francis couldn't tell. He just kept on watching his body change in front of the mirror day after day, month after month, year after year, wondering what would creep into the Englishman's mind if he only paid him a little more attention. Would he like him as much as he liked himself or would he laugh at him for being so selfish? What if he liked him? Right... what if he liked him?

Frowning, Francis let his hand travel down to take off his left garments. He didn't even notice the dirt around the hem of his jeans, as the thought started carving his way into his brain. He had never considered the idea of being in love with a man. It wasn't like he considered it against nature or anything. He perfectly accepted the idea that Nature had its way and in his mind, this kind of prejudices were all because of a retarded cultural background. All knew sexual equality was a success only rich developed countries could manage to obtain. And it wasn't even sure all those so-called devoloped countries would accept a relationship different from a male-female one. As if nowadays people had sex only to have children. What were women, then? Sperm containers? And men? Just a bunch of rapists over-obsessed with the idea of a male heir?

Francis felt dirty. He needed water to wash away the feeling of guilt which had started to coil in his lower abdomen. In his mind, having sex frigidly just to make babies was like committing a crime. Even animals feel something when they're with their partner! Life would be a lot sadder, if humans weren't granted the possibility to pleasure themselves by loving each other.

Love... it wasn't only about sweet nonsense, tight hugs, passionate kisses, hot sex. It was something greater. It was the need to have someone by your side, to share your own self with this same one, to belong to him entirely. Him... Arthur.

Why was Arthur so present in his thoughts, lately? Of course, they had a nice friendship and all, but it was nothing more than that. No physical attraction, no desperate need for contact, no crave for ardent kisses. He just needed to hear from him from time to time, to know he felt right, to know he was still around with his load of problems and worry well-placed on his back. He felt the need to make him happy.

Happy... "Serait-il plus heureux avec moi?" The thought stroke Francis like a loud thunder. His whole body tensed, his eyes widened, his breathe stopped. Only his heart kept on skipping faster and faster under the warm water.

End Ch. 10

Not so long as I expected, but if I had to add all rest, this chapter would never end.

Your satisfaction and reviews are both well accepted, especially if you have something to say about Francis' thoughts on homosexuality or your general opinion on this little piece of cr- erm. Call it the way you prefer.

I guess a Frenchman would think of it in a rather modern way. (Referring to the general opinion about it and the laws concerning the matter in France, they are waaaaay more evolved than here in my poor country.). Still, it's not so common or natural, anyway. Actually, for some guys and girls it is still a "problem" to be a homo in these countries, but in my mind, our Frenchie grew up to be a rational, clever man, able to discuss anything without giving a damn about the speaker's sexuality. Of course, until he himself started batting for the other team...