A true Englishman will never trust a sunny day. Its warmth is too tenuous, too easily obscured by the clouds that never venture far and is therefore difficult to enjoy. As Arthur sat with his back to the yellow rays that filtered through the window, their light illuminating the dust that floated through the air, he couldn't help but reminisce over past spontaneous days of sunshine.
Whether mid-winter or the hottest month of the year, his mother had never failed to capitalize on the sun's rare appearance, packing up the family and whisking them out the door to wherever she set her heart in that moment. Quite frequently they would find themselves trudging home in the rain, all of them exhausted and at least one of the twins hoisted up over someone's shoulders half asleep, but with joy etched onto their faces. No such expression touched his lips then, however, as it was only a memory and not one that he was granted the time to lose himself to.
Above the sound of whirring clippers and hair driers he was called to attention by the man that flounced down to meet him.
"Arthur, it's been a long time. Good to see you again," Feliks greeted in his usual drawn out lilt, flashing his best customer service smile, "Come down and take a seat."
He turned his back and led Arthur further into the small salon, stopping by a free chair which the other awkwardly slipped into.
"So, what are we doing today?" the smaller man cut straight to the chase as he stood at the back of the chair and began to run his hands through the uneven locks.
Body stiffening at the unfamiliar touch, Arthur resisted the urge to pull away. "I was, um, just hoping you'd be able to fix…this," he gestured to the frayed looking bangs that clashed with the rest of his overgrown mop, glancing at the reflection of the man behind him in the intrusively large mirror he sat before.
Feliks hummed, squinting at what he had to work with the way a sculpture would a block of marble, pulling the sandy strands taught between his fingers.
"Sure, I appreciate a challenge," he accepted with a nod, "What should I do with the rest of it?"
Ignoring the sly insult, Arthur shrugged a shoulder, uncaring. "I don't really mind, just make it match?"
Again, bobbing his head, immaculately kept blond locks swaying around his jaw, Feliks disappeared into a back room briefly to return with his tools.
Nervously watching the reflection as he took a pair of scissors in hand and looked for where to make the first cut, Arthur was unable to control the accelerated beating in his chest. It had been years since he had been to an actual barber; with their budget it had been a choice of Francis doing his best with a pair of kitchen scissors over the sink or letting it grow out. Not that he was complaining, in fact he would have rather had Francis do it, unsure if he was comfortable with a man he would usually avoid a hand shake with holding a pair of blades so close to his neck.
Taking a breath through his nose, he told himself not to be so paranoid and forcibly released his grip on the arms of the chair.
"So, how are you and Francis doing? I heard you got a new place together on the west side of town, going up in the world I see," the infamous town gossip made conversation, slicing through a thick chunk with ease.
Eye quivering at the crunching sound, Arthur's muscles tightened once more.
"Yes, we moved a few months ago, it's going well, thank you," he exchanged pleasantries through gritted teeth.
"Tor and I were thinking of moving, you know. We've been checking out apartments over there," Feliks continued casually, blades snapping with the speed of a butterfly's wings, "We've just run out of space, our place is so small, you know what I mean? I need a new project."
"Sure, of course," the progressively on edge man vaguely responded, wishing the other would pay more attention to what his hands were doing rather than what came from his mouth.
"And thinking about the future as well, like, we can't keep renting forever. Head up," the smaller man directed, placing a delicate finger under Arthur's chin to tilt it back.
Doing as he was told, wanting it to be over as quickly as possible, he flinched as fine trimmings littered his face, getting stuck to his lips.
"Mm hm," he vocalised, face twitching as he tried to dislodge the irritation.
A hand redirected the angle of his head once more and he felt the chilled steel press against the vulnerable skin of the back of his neck, more snippets of hair tumbling down the gap of his collar.
"What estate agent did you use?" Feliks mumbled around a comb he held in his mouth.
"I can't remember," Arthur strained, subtly inching away from the metal touch, "I'm sorry, but do you think this will take long? I have to get to my office after."
He didn't wish to appear rude but had come woefully unequip for the small talk he should have expected.
Feliks kissed his teeth in thought and shifted his weight. "Like forty minutes maybe," he replied, "You've got a lot of hair."
Holding in a sigh, Arthur went quiet, resigning himself to the situation.
The scent of overly masculine fragrances and product saturated the air to such an extent he could taste them as plumes of mist were sprayed over his head, only adding to the smell. So called 'all natural' serums chocked full of artificial, faux organic extracts stung his nose and eyes and he could feel the beginnings of niggling pain in his head from it all.
Whatever was popular that month played on the store radio, the chart hits interspersed with the occasional Christmas classic. Behind him, the Polish native had given up on conversation, clearly sensing his client's reluctance, and happily hummed along to Mariah Carey as he dropped handfuls of his mane to the floor.
"Ugh, I would kill for hair this thick," he envied, "Is that, like, an English thing, or what?"
"Genetics, I suppose," Arthur considered, looking at himself in the mirror to see half his head significantly trimmed down. Although feeling somewhat overly exposed, it was too late to change it and so he found himself not arguing with the other's creative vision. It was better than anything he could manage, after all.
He was loath to watch the man reflected for too long, however, as more of the pallid face was revealed than he had seen in some time. Without the wispy stray strands to frame his features he was starkly aware of how hollow his cheeks appeared, the skin caved in where there was no bone structure to support it. His eyes, also sunken and enclosed between wrinkled, deep purple lids, were disproportionately large, almost protruding out from his shrunken skull. The eyeballs themselves, shaded by the cavernous sockets they hid deep within, had darkened in their shade of green. Either from the accentuated shadow of his brow bone or a reflection of his mood, the once bright forest colour was tinged by a murky sludge, a layer of grime over the glassy surface.
Blinking his gaze down, he instead picked at a loose string from the bandage that covered his hand, concealing the worst of the damage. A blueish, plum bruise seeped from behind the coverings though, down his middle and ring fingers and he couldn't resist the compulsion to poke at it. Squeezing one of the twig-like appendages between his finger and thumb, the pressure produced a short, biting ache and he let go of it again, not sure what else he had expected to happen.
Little tumbleweeds of yellow hair cascaded down his neck, the sensation like a million ant legs, and managed to find their way into his shirt, as he knew they would. The back of his neck spasmed, an uncontrollable action as his body reacted to the unpleasant touch, but it didn't solve anything. All he could do was sit and bare it as he gave polite but curt returns to the occasional line of small talk, the whole of his being tenser by the second.
"Okay, hang on just a minute, I'll be super quick," Feliks broke his own line of one sided conversation and quickly sashayed back into the store room, leaving Arthur alone.
Immediately raising his hand to his neck, Arthur scraped at the irritated skin like a man possessed, scratching at it as best he could with his non-existent nails. Gritting his teeth as the satisfaction was addictive he abruptly stopped when he saw the other return from the corner of his vision.
"I'm going to clean up the back, okay?" he sounded rather pleased with himself and Arthur couldn't help but feel his enthusiasm and effort was wasted on himself.
Plugging the electric razor he held into the wall, Feliks bent himself to a strange angle where he could create the straight line he aimed for with exact perfection. It sprung into motion, blades buzzing a little too close to Arthur's ear and he braced himself as the device was pressed against his neck.
Desperate to pull away, he remained frozen stiff for fear of what a slip of the hand may do, screwing his eyes almost closed, shoulders rising to try and protect the exposed skin. Jaw seizing up as he clenched his teeth to the point of shattering, the high-pitched drone grew louder as the razor carved a path around his right ear, then his left, then ceased, finally allowing him to relax.
Breathing a long-held sigh he hadn't realised he was keeping in, he let his shoulders slowly drop and rolled them a little in their joints, easing the stiffness, whilst Feliks was preoccupied with smearing some waxy looking glue over his hands.
"So, I'm going to style it a little then we're all done, okay?" he rubbed the grey substance between his fingers, most of it dissolving, and moved in to slather it through Arthur's shortened do.
Leaning forward out of his reach, the Englishman would have rather forgone the unnecessary step and gotten on with his day.
"You needn't bother, really, I'm only going to work after this," he excused, forcing a polite, tightened smile at the man behind him through the mirror.
A perfectly plucked brow was arched at him as the other folded his arms, cocking his hip in indignance.
"Would you let me have my fun, please?" he asked with such exaggerated exasperation that Arthur sat back and allowed him to do as he wished.
Running both hands through the short tresses, Feliks worked the product in, pulling the strands along the sides of his head out straight to check that both sides were even then flattening them down with his palms. His fingers smelled of perfumed chemicals and stale cigarettes, but they were warm and the way they expertly handled their work sent a tingle through the uneasy man's core.
It didn't take him long to mould his creation into the shape he envisaged, and he stepped back with a self-satisfied simper.
"You like it?" he enquired, expecting no less than praise.
With a nod, Arthur humoured him. "Yes, it' nice, thanks," he failed to enthuse, lips pressed together in an appreciative expression.
"Of course it is, I did it, you look fabulous," Feliks congratulated himself, leaning over the back of the chair to trace the shape of his client's eyebrow with his finger, "Now we just need to do something with these."
Said eyebrow was raised in retaliation as Arthur bit back his unimpressed retort.
A chuckle fell from the other as his own comments amused him. "I'm only joking," he relented, "I wouldn't subject myself to that."
Raising a hand to self-consciously smooth down the hairs of his brow, Arthur's forehead creased a little at the jibe, but he didn't take it to heart. Having known Feliks for years he had built up a tolerance to his cattiness. The towel around his neck was removed, hair flying into the air like golden snowflakes then twirling to the ground.
"You can pay down at the desk and tell Francis we have to go and get a drink together soon, have a catch-up session, be sure to tell him for me."
"Sure," Arthur consented as he slid from the seat, brushing himself down, "Thanks again."
The other had already set his attentions on his next project, though, as he made his way over to another waiting client with a welcoming smile. Doing as he was instructed, Arthur stepped over the small rug of hair that surrounded where he had been sat, feeling a little bad for whoever would have to clean up after him, and made his way back to the desk.
Deceived by the unseasonal climate, Arthur was caught off guard by the icy gale that whipped past his unprotected ears as he exited the shop. Bitter wisps swept over the back of his neck, like the embrace of a frostbitten lover, and he shivered violently. Flipping up his collar, he hunched his shoulders for coverage but found the chill still got through, his thinned out locks unable to defend against the cold as winter's frigid touch grazed his scalp.
He didn't particularly care for the way Feliks had styled the new look and slowed to a stop outside a nearby store front to make the necessary adjustments. Looking into the windows reflection, he swept a hand over what little he had left, more loose threads coming out between his fingers. Feliks had left him with but a fraction of his mop, the bulk of his hair all plastered forward with some kind of sticky gel that kept it in place while the sides lay flat and bare looking in comparison to what was there before.
Combing his fingers through it, he groomed the look so that it lay more slicked back atop his head but still felt it looked wrong, showing off too much of his forehead. He scrambled his first attempt to start again, this time parting the choppy fringe at the front down the centre and tucking it to the sides. However, it was too short to tuck behind his ears and, despite Feliks' best efforts, the evident butchering his hair had suffered had left the front part uneven beyond immediate repair and would have to grow out before he could properly style it how he usually would.
Again, ruffling the unflattering style, Arthur looked into his translucent reflection and watched his shoulders sag as he found no way to make himself seem presentable. Amongst the rooftops somewhere in the near distance, the clocktower chimed out enough strikes to tell him he was running late. Taking the signal to hurry himself along, Arthur glanced back into the mirroring surface, quickly flipped the irritating, blond mass over to one side and gave a hopeless sigh as he moved on.
The streets were mostly quiet, only the retired and the unemployed around him going about their days, empty busses moving with ease for lack of the traffic which had the roads in a gridlock an hour earlier. Dark splotches on the paving slabs showed evidence of a rainy night and a crispness filled the air, the heavy atmosphere of decay felt throughout autumn and the beginning of winter finally having been washed away by the stark coming of the year's coldest months. That mornings white light had managed to dispel most of the dampness, however, no puddles left lining the gutters, and so Arthur walked close to the curb without fear.
From between column like buildings, the arctic sun played hide and seek, scorching his eyes whenever it jumped out from the stone blockades to ambush him. Wincing every time, floating greenish, blobs obscured his vision and he narrowly avoided colliding with a lamppost more than once, but before long he was protected from the glare as he entered the foyer of his building.
Automated doors parting for him, Arthur dragged his feet across the marble threshold and into the elevator, crammed in alongside his colleagues like a sardine. The discomfort was brief, though, as the claustrophobic space emptied out before he reached his floor, only himself left inside by the time he stepped out since those who worked above him, in position and location, had been in for hours by that point. He didn't envy them.
Glancing over the heads of his fellow office rats as he passed their cubicles, he gazed out the window for as long as he could before he would be closed away in his granite box for the rest of the day. He made the most of his view whilst he could, knowing by the time he escaped the sun would be on its way to the other side of the world, as though the northern hemisphere could only tolerate its presence for so long.
Yet his pace didn't slow, as pragmatically brisk as ever. It seemed wrong to dawdle in an office, the atmosphere so thick with communal stress that one might get stuck if moving too slowly, and Arthur was soon turning down the foreboding corridor that led to his office.
The ceiling above him dropped, the natural light of the window blocked out instantly and, despite how low the fluorescent bulbs hung, the short stretch of hallway was dingy. Sounds of other humans grew distant and muffled and the scent of synthetic, grey carpeting became more noticeable as less feet had walked this section of the office and the pungent smell remained unworn. Turning the corner, Arthur readied his keys in his pocket, assuming his office had been left alone in his absence and prepared to wile away the next eight hours in painstaking, solitary function.
He blinked slowly and let a sigh filter through him as he walked the short distance down the adjacent corridor that lead to his office but stopped short when he found, to his mild confusion, someone waiting for him. A half-shadowed form hunched by the doorway, crouching low with a slip of paper in their hand that they were about to slide under the crack below the door. Although the person's face was covered by their shoulder length, ashen brown hair, Arthur instantly knew by their size who his visitor must be.
"Erika?"
He questioned to gain her attention but, in spite of his gentle tone, the poor girl almost fell flat on her ass at the shock of being addressed so unexpectedly which, in turn, caused Arthur to jolt a little with the surprise of her surprise.
"Oh, I'm so sorry Sir, I-I was just trying to leave something for you," she gasped, hurriedly standing upright and smoothing down he skirt, unable to make eye contact as, even in the dimly lit space, Arthur could see her face burning.
"No, no I'm sorry, that was very rude of me, I shouldn't be sneaking up on you like that," Arthur insisted he was at fault, also glancing about awkwardly.
Twirling a soft lock of hair between her girlish fingers, Erika flashed a timid smile and seemed about to back away before remembering she still possessed what she had meant to leave. She held the envelope out to him, still with the same shy but warm smile.
"I didn't know when you would be back, but I got you this," she waited for him to accept the offering, glancing between the face of her elder and the white square of paper as though she was afraid he wouldn't take it.
Blank confoundment settled briefly on the face of the other as he looked at what he was being gifted. Clearly not a work document, he was puzzled but forcefully smoothed out the frown he could feel forming upon his brow, not wanting to upset his colleague.
"Thank you," he replied almost as a question, taking the envelope.
Unsure of whether he was expected to open it in front of her, Arthur was relieved when Erika chirped a sweet, "You're welcome," and scampered past him out to the main office.
Left alone in the grey tube of the hall, he looked down at what he had obtained, his name written in curly, conjoined letters with an X for a kiss beside it.
Tucking the gift under his arm as he unlocked the door one-handedly and with some difficulty, Arthur let his briefcase slip from his shoulder to the floor beside his chair and took a seat at his desk, ignoring the inhumane number of documents sat waiting for him there. He studied the square of paper a moment longer, ran a roughened finger along the top, then broke the seal of the flap to reveal its contents.
Greeted by the smiling, yellow face of a cartoonish sunflower, Arthur slid the card from inside to read the message printed across the top in rainbow coordinated lettering. 'Get Well Soon' the anthropomorphised plant wished him, its curved black line of a mouth smiling at him, disproportionate eyes staring inanimately into him.
They stared at one another, the picture almost challenging him to reciprocate the expression of joy it held but Arthur could do no such thing. Not that he didn't appreciate the gesture, in fact for the shortest second, he felt the brush of emotion clogging his throat, touched by the inherent compassion of the act.
Running his thumb over the laminated surface of the novelty card as he held it, he didn't care that it was obviously a cheap make, the fact even making the purchase even more meaningful. The girl was only an intern after all, payed minimum wage or possibly less, if the finance department had a good legal team, and knowing she had spent what little she had to spare on someone who barely said two words to her per day simply because she wanted to made Arthur fear he may burst into flames if he touched something so utterly pure.
He flipped over the front to see the message contained within, open mouthed as he tried to fathom how someone could be so ridiculously nice. Inside, her penmanship urged him a swift recovery from whatever presumed, physical illness she must have thought he was suffering from, another little coded kiss beside her name at the bottom. Reading the words and reading them again, he turned the cover over to look at the front of the card then opened it up to go over the words once more.
Amidst his castle of paperwork, he propped the card up beside his computer screen, the one splash of colour in the room, and let slip a long but light exhale. Although he still didn't smile, he sat a little taller, held his head up a little easier as he turned on his screen and prepared for the day as he supposed if kindness could be found in a place as soulless as the corporate office then the rest of the world couldn't be so bad.
While his view on life at large may have been more optimistic than usual, it didn't solve the situation Arthur currently found himself in as he tried and failed to make a dent in the pileup left for him by his past self. For hours, he slogged through the stacks of work that walled him into his desk, quite literally stood between him and his way out as he was barely tall enough to peak over the top of the paper mountain range.
Although his hand still ached, the monotony of the work had numbed him to the point he had simply been able to ignore it, yet still it had been slow going. Now, with seemingly no difference made and a sharp pain flaring in his knuckles, all he could do was lean back in his creaking chair, his bones making the same sound, and accept he had done all that he was capable of.
Slipping on his jacket, he left the office with the whimsical hope that the elves from those old folk tales he remembered being told as a child might come and lend a hand in the night. Whatever the moral of that particular story was meant to be though, he didn't remember but he was fairly certain it didn't apply to his predicament, and so expected no such miracle to happen.
Out into the darkened hallway, through the window the still clear but impermeably black confronted him. There was something so much more invasive about the sky at night when not half covered by clouds, like the universe was staring directly down upon him. The stars themselves, although masked by light pollution, scrutinizing his little life.
The Friday commute home with the dreaded weekend crowd, while congested and slightly more chaotic than he might have liked, was something Arthur really didn't mind as much as other people seemed to. It was fascinating to him. Shoved into a contained space with so many people, one hundred separate lives intertwining at this one convergent point for a few minutes, it was like a grand renaissance painting commissioned just for him. He couldn't help but feel a certain voyeuristic enjoyment.
Along the row of backseats sat a pack of girls. That's what they always seemed to travel in; packs. Like wolves. Clad in the minimum amount of clothing acceptable, faces painted and hair pinned up, chattering between themselves with the occasional, lip-biting glance to the group of boys that stood by the doors. Young and in love with their youth, they lived in the headspace of only what could be with no regrets to speak of.
Stood around him, was an image of their future. Women, middle aged, six or seven of them, their menopausal bodies crammed into outdated clothing as they teetered on heels that exposed the calloused skin of their feet, red and blistered from the impractical footwear. Clinging to the yellow bars, they cackled, a nasal squawking sound, bent over at the waist from the sheer force of their own amusement.
Quite clearly attempting to recapture their own younger days, Arthur could have pitied them had they not been succeeding. Eyes alight with juvenile enjoyment, they giggled like schoolgirls, the crow's feet that stretched across their temples showing that the years hadn't dampened their sense of vivacity.
He envied them a little, jealousy making their happiness grating to the ear and he cast his glance elsewhere, to the man beside him. Seemingly a few years older than him, if the obviously receding hairline was anything to go by, he sat, leg twitching, eyes fixed on his phone screen. Too far away for Arthur to read the words, the bouquet of pink blossoms that lay in the man's lap explained the situation. Glancing swiftly away so as not to be caught staring when the man lifted his nervous gaze only for it to drop back to his phone screen, Arthur noted he was only one street from his stop.
Silently wishing his fellow commuter the best of luck, he pressed the bell and slid his way past the bodies blocking the door to stumble out into the cold. The doors slid closed the second he was past them, sealing him out of the scene. Watching as the vespertine performance trundled away into the night, he began to trail after it then turned the corner, speeding the length of the tree lined pavement.
Dimmed, orange light shone through the material of drawn curtains both sides of him, fairy lights strung around the frames of some. Not too many people had bothered to decorate the exteriors of their houses, but Arthur had caught glimpses of festive living rooms on his way out that morning. Synthetic trees propped up by windows, oversized stockings hung from mantlepieces, tinsel adorning every available space. Francis had been right, they did look awfully miserable by comparison.
The sight of his own, drab front door was still a welcome one, however, and he was through it with a shuddering breath of relief with no hesitation, warmth seeping through his skin. Swinging the door closed behind him without looking back, Arthur let his bag slip from his shoulder to the floor with a heavy thud and called to the man he new to be home already.
Footsteps strained the floorboards above him, a little faster than a regular walking pace, as he slid off his jacket and drifted over to the kitchen.
"Wait, do not move, let me see," Francis trilled, thumping his way down the stairs.
"What?" Arthur frowned, confusedly, and looked to the archway where his partner entered.
Eager smile subtly changing to one of approval, the older man nodded as he regarded his lover's new style with an impressed quirk of the brow.
"Très bon, it is different, I like it," he admired.
"Oh, right," Arthur realised what was being referred to, subconsciously running a hand through his newly cropped locks, "it's a little shorter than I would have liked but that's sort of my own fault, so this will have to do, I suppose," he rambled, still not quite adjusted to the minor change.
Tutting, Francis furrowed his brow in disagreement, swaying closer. "Not at all, it is very fitting. You look very," he paused as he thought of the right word, simpering softly as it came to mind, "mature."
"I'm twenty-four, Francis," Arthur rebuffed the slightly patronising compliment.
"You know what I mean," the other waved a hand, unable to phrase his thoughts any other way. He reached out a hand to brush his fingers through the golden threads of hair. "It is nice to actually see your face again," he joked, able to see his lovers' features properly for the first time in months, keeping his concern over how prominent the framework of bone beneath the pallor of his skin was to himself for the time being.
"Thank you," the younger man accepted, lips tilting upward a little as the hand in his hair trailed down the back of his head and cupped the nape of his neck, a set of warmed sapphires gazing into him all the while, "I just need to get used to it."
His subtle smile returned to him tenfold by thin, velvety lips, Francis leaned in to peck his uncovered forehead and brush past him on his way into the kitchen, dealing him a cheeky slap on the backside on his way. Turning to scowl half-heartedly at the assault, Arthur found the other was preoccupied as he rummaged through his work bag in search of something, vocalising a little 'ah' as he found a camera and beckoned the younger man to come over.
"Did you happen to catch the sunset today?" he prefaced as he clicked through his stored photos to find what he was looking for.
Arthur shook his head, recalling quite miserably how he had been locked away in his tomb of an office until long after the light had completely faded.
The camera screen was shown to him and he squinted a little to better see the stunning exhibit of natural wonder being shown to him.
"Quite something, non?" the self-proclaimed connoisseur of beauty looked also in soft awe at the photo, "I simply had to capture the moment."
A sky streaked in a rainbow of pastel in deepening hues of violet and rose showed the graceful wilting of the day and the slow saturation of the clear night that Arthur had walked through not twenty minutes ago. Clouds of dove feathers tinged in soot streaked across it, defined yet impossibly soft looking and contrast against them were two black v shapes of birds in flight.
"It's beautiful," Arthur complimented, rather jealous that he was only getting to see such a sight through a screen.
"Merci, I think I might get it printed," the other contemplated, "It may look nice in the bathroom."
Nodding along, Arthur went about setting the table as there was something cooking in the oven.
"How does your hand feel?" Francis spoke up after a while, casting a concerned glance at the smaller man's bandaged hand.
"It's fine," Arthur quickly brushed off, avoiding the exasperated look he knew he was being sent.
"Let me see, please," the older man demanded as though speaking to a troublesome child, arms folded.
Relenting to the scornful tone, Arthur reluctantly undid the bandages that covered the nasty results of the previous days outburst. He held up the mutilated appendage, still unable to fully unfurl his little and ring fingers.
With a tut of empathy, Francis came closer and held it in his own palm, touch more tender than should be humanly possible.
"Are you sure it does not feel broken?" he checked yet again.
"Yes, I'm certain," Arthur verified, supressing a wince of pain as his hand was examined.
Unconvinced, Francis expelled a faint hum of consideration. "The cuts have healed, at least," he muttered.
Looking down at the scabbed over lacerations they didn't seem nearly as dramatic as they had done the day before. He had felt them open up once or twice during the day, but they weren't deep enough to worry over.
About to take his hand back, he noted a plaster on one of Francis' fingers and tilted his head to the side.
"What did you do?" he drew attention to it and Francis looked at it himself, letting his hand go.
"Just a little cut," he dismissed, "Some glass left in the bathroom."
Guilt instantly springing to life in Arthur's gut at this, it must have shown on his face as his lover reassured him.
"Do not pout, mon ange, it was just me being clumsy," he comforted.
Knowing that he was in any way connected to some sort of harm that had befallen his partner was enough for Arthur to feel he should be condemned, however, and his sense of accountability left him uneasy. Eyes flitting up briefly to meet the ever-forgiving ones that looked at him as though he could do nothing wrong, Arthur took his lover's hand and brought it to his face, planting an affectionate kiss upon it, allowing his lips to linger before releasing it.
As the delicate fingers slipped past his own Arthur felt them shake a little with the sprinkling of endeared laughter that trickled from the other.
"Mon Prince Charmant," he swooned, causing the mouth of his fretful lover to curve.
Bending at the waist to offer a mischievous bow, Arthur watched in amusement as his partner hid a smirk behind his hand and turned away, the beginnings of a blush dusting his cheeks as he said something about the potatoes burning.
A sigh the first thing to leave his mouth the next morning, Arthur reached out to fumble for his alarm and silenced it, relishing in the peace of the dreary, early quiet of the day a moment before pushing himself up. Yawning into his arm, long and hard enough to make his eyes water, he scratched the back of his head, the prickly texture of his hair odd but pleasing to touch. Reluctantly peeling his eyelids apart fully, the room remained as though they were closed, near pitch black as the sun didn't even think of making an appearance before eight in the depths of winter that Arthur currently found himself at the mercy of.
Exposing his legs to the frosty bite of the room, he swung them over the side of the mattress, remaining slumped there as he gathered himself. As the motivation needed to rise from the comfort of his bed slowly gathered, however, the voice of the man still huddled beneath the covers spoke to him.
"Amour, what are you doing?" the sleep laced words broke the silence, sounding a little sad for some reason.
Another heavy breath deflating him, Arthur could just about keep his eyes open, lack of movement causing him to drift off while sitting up.
"I have to get up," he slurred, "work."
The shifting of linen and a soft exhale came from behind, followed by the heated touch of slightly sweaty fingertips gently brushing over the small of his back.
"Must you?"
A low groan came from his throat, his body resisting his mind, reacting to the tender touch.
"I have so much to do," he almost sobbed, head hanging a little lower at the thought.
Again, the sounds of movement, the bed dipping as his lover slid closer. Francis propped his drowsy head up on his hand as he lay close, resting his palm on the prominent arch of the other's hip.
"It will still be there on Monday," Francis pointed out, "You said we could get the tree this weekend."
"Tomorrow," Arthur tried to mentally repel the enticing contact but could feel his upper body sagging, falling further from his simple aim of getting up.
"You booked your appointment at the therapist's office for tomorrow," the other reminded him in his husky morning thrum, "We are getting the tree today so that Alfred can come with us, rappelles toi?"
While Arthur liked to think himself a reasonably organised individual, in reality he was probably the most scatter-brained of the family and he was grateful for Francis' administrative abilities.
He didn't reply, crumpling in on himself where he sat in a state of dormiveglia, as his partner whispered something unintelligible against his shoulder, sealing his lulled words in with a kiss. The hand on his hip curled further around his midriff as a second kiss was placed in the crease of his neck, another pecking his cheek and a chill ran down his spine as hot breath tickled his ear. Warmth pressed against the back of him as Francis sat up to capture his desire in an embrace and pull him back to the mattress.
Finding himself back where he had foolishly tried to escape from, Arthur melted into the hold of his lover, already dreaming by the time his head hit the pillow.
"Arthur," the chest he leaned into vibrated, both rousing and pulling him further into sleeps clutches, "I would like to make some ground rules for us both to follow."
He forced a vague grunt from his nose to show he was listening, nuzzling his face into the cushions.
"From now on no more working weekends, no more late nights and any paperwork that is brought past the front door will be burned," Francis laid out the new regime, a well-meant sternness to his words.
It wasn't a question and so Arthur didn't agree, simply accepting what he was being told.
"I'm going to get fired, one of these days, you know," he reflected on the thought, not sounding too upset.
"Good," Francis shared his apathy, "It makes you miserable."
Waking rather more abruptly some hours later, Arthur started from a nightmare he couldn't recall, springing bolt upright from his other half's grasp. A thin layer of moisture dampened his neck and his shirt clung to his back as he panted, heart pounding, from whatever imagined horror had been chasing him.
Placing a hand to his chest, the firm, bony feel of it reassuring him he was in the physical world where his dreamed fears couldn't follow, he breathed deeply and felt the fast decelerating pounding in his ribcage even out.
"What…what is it?" Francis' eyes cracked open as he blearily caught on to the world around him.
Calmed from his sudden start to the day, Arthur glanced back at the sleep stained face that slowly forced its way into the land of the living.
"It's nothing, don't worry, love," he assured, a slight smile coercing his lips as he made eye contact with the misty, blue gems that squinted up at him.
His gaze flitting from his partner to the clock on the bedside table, however, his smile fell as he saw the time and he made a sound of mild anguish.
"How did I let you talk me out of going to work? I have so much to catch up on," he sighed audibly.
"Calm down, cherie," the other murmured, rolling onto his front to rest on his elbows, "there are people in your office besides you, I am sure if it is so important they will make someone else do it."
Although he was obviously right, a somewhat irritated sound came from the younger man as he rolled his shoulders, not that he particularly cared about how much worse the pileup on his desk got. Whether the size of Ben Nevis or Everest, a mountain was a mountain and he would have to climb it eventually.
While the sun had made its reluctant ascent, it was still a way off noon, and Arthur wished to capitalize on this. He laid back against the pillows staring at the ceiling a while but found that whatever had startled him awake had unsettled his mind enough that he couldn't return to that restful place and so started his day.
Leaving Francis to enjoy his hazy state of weekend dozing, he got up, showered and threw on some clothes then made himself some tea to bring back upstairs with him, leaving a coffee for his sleeping counterpart on the bedside table. The book on his own nightstand that he had failed to start seemed an inviting task and a good way to kick start his brain and so he curled himself into a loose ball and leaned against the headboard to breeze through the first chapter, pausing to take the occasional sip of tea.
It wasn't long before the scent of a rich, fresh brew caused the other man to stir. With a satisfied breath flowing from his nostrils, he stretched and took a few mouthfuls from the still warm mug then rolled to face his partner who remained absorbed in the printed medium.
He gazed placidly up at the pale face, eyes aglow as the days first light hit them directly, lighting the iris alive as though a candle were burning softly behind its surface. Flecks of chartreuse interlaced with the abyssal, sea toned strands on a background of sprawling meadow, locked in place with a limbal wreath of dark ivy.
When illuminated, the dusting of freckles over his nose was visible, a few speckled high on his cheeks too. Francis internally smiled as they reminded him of the summer, the only time they were on full show, and the lazy six weeks of doing nothing they had spent stumbling through the first stages of adolescent love all those years ago.
The man observed glanced down, knowing he was being watched, admired rather, through the rose-coloured glasses that perpetually balanced upon his lover's nose. It could be tiresome at times, how he went about things with the airy nonchalance of a romance fanatic, but Arthur never truly minded. He knew he needed someone to inject a little positivity into his life and he supposed the world did look more welcoming through the hue of pink.
Corners of his lips quirking upward as he glanced down at the infatuated face, the expression was returned and a tangled, yellow head was placed just below his chest, the fragrant scent of unwashed hair drifting past his nostrils. He continued his activity quite happily in tranquil, shared silence, head perched sweetly on him as Francis half read along with his partner, vaguely interested but more than contented to sit and listen to the relaxed heart beat that thudded softly against his ear.
"So, how are we planning on getting a tree home, then?" Arthur broke the idyllic serenity after a while to enquire, since, amongst the four of them, they didn't own any mode of transportation.
Francis already had a solution to the problem, however. "I asked Toni if we could borrow his car," he revealed, "We can pick it up on our way over."
"Oh, that's good of him," the younger man commended mildly, "When?"
"Whenever," was the ambiguous answer.
Checking the time, Arthur bent the tip of the page he was on and closed the book, placing it on the side.
"Should we go then?" he suggested, "No point in waiting."
"Someone is eager today," Francis noted his partner's unusual motivation as his human pillow slid from the bed with some added vigour.
"We can wait a while if you'd like, but it's almost midday already," Arthur mentioned, his back to the expression of lenity directed at him.
"Not at all, we should make the most of the day," the older man agreed, happy to encourage the sudden burst of inspiration that seemed to have taken over the other.
Despite their intentions it was another hour before they made their way out the front door, Arthur forewarning his brothers of their arrival while Francis got ready. Detouring briefly to pick up Antonio's car, it was another half hour before they knocked on the door of the apartment, but Arthur found that he didn't mind the lengthy way in which the day was unfolding.
An odd sort of energy, a need to be productive, coursed through him, yet it wasn't nervous or uncontrollable. Perhaps excitement, maybe what people would describe as vitality. Whatever it may have been, he was keen to harness its power.
It was Alfred who answered them, Arthur's own sense of exuberance mirrored back from the younger man's pearly grin.
"Hey, how you guys doing?" he greeted, stepping aside to let them through, "you're just in time to help me with something."
"And by that you mean you waited until we arrived to start whatever it is you want help with," Arthur deadpanned, knowing his brother's ploys.
"No," the other retorted but quickly gave up on the lie, "Well, kind of, but I couldn't do it without some help. I just need-, hey, what's wrong with your hand?" frowning, he cut himself off as his sibling's bruised hand caught his attention.
"Oh, that? I just fell," Arthur excused a little awkwardly, shrugging to feign insouciance as he slid his hands into his pockets.
Unconvinced, Alfred hitched and eyebrow. "Did you punch the ground on your way down?" he sarcastically called bullshit.
"What do you need help with?" the scrutinized man changed the subject firmly with a look to say it was not up for discussion.
The younger man looked as though he were about to question this but glanced away with a slight shake of his head.
"I need someone to hold a torch for me while I grab a suitcase out of the basement and Matt had to run to the library real quick," he requested.
"Oui, I will go," Francis volunteered himself.
"Alright, well, I left all the stuff I want to pack on my bed, you think you could start on that, Artie?" Alfred delegated.
While he felt compelled to roll his eyes at his laziness, Arthur had agreed to help him pack and so nodded.
"Thanks, man," Alfred showed his appreciation as he and Francis headed into the hallway on their way to retrieve the suitcase.
Left in the apartment by himself, Arthur went to his sibling's bedroom and this time did roll his eyes at the chaos that consumed it. A pile of clothes on the bed to rival the paperwork on his desk at work sat in a state of complete disarray, no perceivable system in which they were organised. By the looks of it, one would have though he was leaving for a year rather than a little under two weeks.
Starting from the top, he begun folding articles of clothing and setting them aside in piles for Alfred to pick and choose from as he needed. An abundance of colourful t-shirts, an embarrassing number of which were stained with drips of toothpaste, filled half the bed while the pile gradually decreased in size.
It wasn't long before the sound of the door opening with some force alerted him that the others were back from their mission. Glancing up to see Alfred dragging the oversized case through the door, he noticed he was alone and furrowed his brow lightly.
"What have you done with Francis?" he asked the whereabouts of his partner.
"Mattie said he was finishing up at the library, so he said he'd go get him," Alfred filled him in, "he's going to swing round to pick us up after."
Letting the case fall on its side, he unzipped it and started throwing in the piles that Arthur had made.
"Alfred, at least sort through it a bit rather than packing your entire wardrobe," Arthur gently disparaged.
"Can't," he rebuffed, tossing in as much as he could, "I don't have time."
"But you don't leave for another week," the elder of the two tried to reason.
"I got a lot to fit in before then. All my essays are due in before the new year and coach has us doing triple practice to get us ready," the dedicated athlete listed out his, admittedly hectic, schedule, taking a wad of mismatched socks from a draw and cramming them in, "I probably won't even have time to see you guys again before the day I go."
He glanced over just in time to catch the look of disappointment gloss over the other's face, his eyes dropping as he hesitated over the pair of shorts he folded.
"I mean, I wish I did, but I'm just so busy," he added sincerely, guilt tweaking his heartstrings.
"Of course, you are," that slipped expression was cleared before Arthur responded, "No one expects you to reorganise your life around us."
He added a forced yet understanding smile to show he wasn't offended but a hint of disheartenment still resided behind his expressive eyes as he focused back on his task.
The optimistic expression wasn't returned, though, as Alfred latched on to what was behind it. Watching as it stuck there, lingering behind the surface whilst his brother was distracted, he took a breath before asking.
"You're not upset, are you?" he ventured directly, "You're not mad at me, right?"
Apprehension evident in the uncharacteristic tightness of his lips, Arthur refuted his questions.
"No, Al," he gently affirmed.
"Sure?" Alfred persisted, his servile nature making him paranoid.
Arthur couldn't help but be somewhat melted as he saw the innocent look of worry resting unmasked on the other's face and sighed lightly before he responded.
"I don't like that you'll be gone for Christmas," he admitted, "but I understand that you don't have any control over when you have to go so, yes, I'm sure."
As though still not totally convinced, Alfred nodded slowly, shifting his concerned gaze to the half-filled suitcase. Taking stock of the contents, he suddenly remembered something and walked over to his bedside table.
"Ah, shoot, where'd I put it," he thought aloud, pulling open the single draw and closing it again when whatever he was looking for wasn't inside.
"What is it?" Arthur queried, mimicking the confused demeanour of his brother as he was ignored.
Turning his attention to the bed, Alfred began shifting clothes to find what he must have buried beneath the pile in his haste, brow loosening with relief a few moments later.
"Jeez, I scared myself for a second there," he let out a breathy laugh as he pulled out a small, silver picture frame, inside of which resided a familiar picture.
"Is that mum?" Arthur felt his forehead wrinkle, not in confusion but something akin, as Alfred tucked the picture into one of the side pockets of the suitcase.
"Course, can't leave her behind," the younger man zipped the woman's benevolent face safely inside, smiling through the glass as though she were excited to be accompanying him.
Something in his chest softening as the woman's face was closed away, Arthur wished that he too could crawl behind that frame and follow his brother across the Atlantic. He longed for his presence to be there with him in the same manner as a picture; inanimate but with eyes that still saw. He imagined himself, propped up on some mantelpiece, a static observer, unable to affect events but still there in some form.
"I worry about you," he heard himself say in a wistfully lamented tone, "I worry that you'll leave…for good."
He focused on the suitcase as though it were the thing compelling him to leave or perhaps as though speaking to the woman trapped inside it.
"I know you do," it seemed almost to pain Alfred to say as he too cast his eyes to the case, packed and sealed and ready to go. Raising a hand to scratch the back of his neck, the sound of air passing through his nose flowed heavily from him, his toned chest rising and falling. "American football, well, it's kind of only a thing in America and…it's what I want to do," he carried on, the words sounding premeditated, "but even if that's where I end up staying it's not like I'll forget about you guys."
Chewing at the inside of his lip, the older man nodded, believing him. No doubt should Alfred choose to live on the other side of the world there would be more than one picture frame on his mantle.
A faint buzzing came from the pocket of Alfred's jeans, cutting off the quiet moment quite perfectly as what needed to be said had been, and he checked the screen.
"They're pulling up downstairs," he referred to the missing members of the family who had arrived in the car park.
"Do you have everything you need?" the smaller man checked, still a small hill of clothing on the bed.
"Anything I don't have I'll just buy when I'm there," Alfred shrugged flippantly, shoving the case under the bed. "Oh, and Arthur?" his questioning intonation caught the addressee's attention and he looked over expectantly, "Shotgun."
Teeth bared in an insufferable grin that had Arthur's eyes rolling back in his skull while a scoffed laugh passed his lips, the less mature of the two bounded from the room, his heavy footsteps pounding the hallway. Shaking his head with affectionate exasperation, Arthur followed him out and reached the car park where the others waited.
He slid into the back seat of the trash can with wheels alongside a pouting American who vehemently expressed his displeasure.
"Matthew is refusing to honour the shotgun system," he indirectly accused his brother of the heinous crime, receiving an unimpressed look shot at him via the rear-view mirror.
"I was already in the car, Al, I'm not getting out to switch seats with you," the younger twin told him tiredly, "Besides, I have the directions."
"Where are we going?" the eldest of the siblings asked, the plans having been made without his input.
"Oh, sorry, hi Arthur," Matthew turned around in his seat to properly acknowledge the other with a smile, "I found this Christmas market about forty minutes away. They have trees and traditional European ornaments and stuff."
"Sounds nice," Arthur approved as they pulled away, his unusually elevated mood causing a tingling sensation to pool low in his ribcage.
Fire scorched the clouds above, a shadow cast upon them by the lowering sun that licked at their cottony edges and flared through the gaps like the lighthouse of the angels. A thin smattering of rain dampened the windscreen, just enough that Francis had to switch on the squeaking windscreen wipers that were so old they only served to leave streaks of muck across the glass.
The tinny sound of the radio played an exclusively Christmas related channel, covers of covers of cover songs one after another, 'to get them in the mood' Francis claimed. Arthur didn't mind so much, however, focusing more on the view from the window as the thick city turned to fields then dotted woodlands.
Emerging from a cluster of birch trees, the land around them opened up into farm fields and Matthew gave the order to turn down a hedge rowed lane where a sign for the market directed them the rest of the way. They parked in a half empty patch of bare earth and exited the vehicle into the now fully dark evening. More hand painted signs showed them the way down a path then through a metal farm gate and, for a moment, Arthur feared his optimism had been misplaced but quickly found himself reassured as they came to the entrance.
Above them an archway looped in holly and clusters of red berries market the gateway to a fairy-tale and before them spread a makeshift medieval looking fairground.
"Damn," Alfred marvelled at the sight, stepping forward through the arch, the rest of the family following suit.
"Oui, c'est beau," Francis chimed in to sing his praises, the group stood gazing about themselves, surely looking rather comical in their state of reverence.
"This is quite the find, Matt," Arthur credited the younger man whose eyes, already glowing with the spirit of the season, creased at the edges from the appreciation.
"Thanks," his voice came muffled through the scarf that was pulled up to his nose, "You know, I think there's even a-"
"Woah, hang on, dude, hold that thought," the louder twin cut him off, eyes wide behind their lenses as he sniffed the air then squinting in thought. "Doughnuts," he identified the scent that the gentle breeze carried through, "Over this way, come on."
Following his nose, he turned towards the intoxicating aroma and began tracking down his prey.
"Al, wait!" the twin left behind called after him as best he could but found himself ignored and so turned to his former guardians with a tiresome expression, "We'll meet you in a little while to help you guys with the tree then, I guess."
"That is fine, I would like to have a look around," Francis concurred, "I will text you."
Matthew nodded in agreement as he turned to chase after his brother and the oldest two were left as a couple.
"He has the nose of a bloodhound," the Frenchman commented amusedly as he watched the back of his blond head disappear around a corner.
"And the attention span of one," Arthur added.
A chuckle sounded from the older man and they began ambling their way down one of the rows of stalls together. Little huts, like miniscule cottages, were set out in neat lines all throughout the area walled in by bushes, home made decorations and banners trimming the rooves, fairy lights coiled around the trees and the wooden framework. Everything seemed to glitter in the faint radiance and through it the finest powdering of rain filtered down, like icing sugar, and one could almost fool themselves into thinking it were snow.
Side by side, the lover's walked close, knuckles brushing together occasionally, connected by the same ethereal mindscape. They perused as they went, slowing by stalls of interest to run a hand gently over something that looked pleasing to touch or to savour the plethora of heavenly fragrances. The zest of citrus and cloves, the throat tingling spice of cinnamon and ginger, the musty sweetness of roasted nuts and all throughout the underlying crispness of a thousand pine trees.
Whilst passing one such confectionary stand, Francis stopped in his tracks with a gasp.
"Mon deiu, en papillote!" he exclaimed, thrilled by the sight of the traditional French treats, "I have not had these since I left my parent's house."
"Get some then," Arthur spurred him on, tickled by the childish look of glee on his partner's face.
Francis nodded eagerly and caught the attention of the proprietor who, picking up on his accent, struck up a conversation in rapid fire French. Stood to the side, Arthur tried to follow but, despite being fluent in the language, found he couldn't keep up with their excitable tongues and so turned his attention elsewhere.
All along the walls of the shack beside them hand crafted tree decorations of glass and crystal glistened on shelves. Transfixed by their dainty twinkling, Arthur walked over to see in greater detail, the exquisite shapes crafted so perfectly that he couldn't fathom the skill needed. Anatomy accurate robins and doves, a mouse sat on its hind legs with a little, red Santa hat and prancing reindeer with twisting antlers, but the thing that held his interest he thought lovelier than all of these combined.
Transparent as a ghost, a rose of glass reflected the light with petals so realistic he expected them to be soft against his skin. Arthur found himself afraid to touch it but couldn't help himself, picking up the crystallized bloom in the palm of his hand, as his mother had taught him to do with real flowers. His breath condensed on touching the chilled surface like morning dew and, without thinking, he took the ornament up to the counter, paying the somewhat extortionate price that he deemed completely worth it.
As he stepped away from the stall with his purchase, Francis approached with a bag of his own.
"What did you buy?" he questioned through a mouthful of something.
"I'll show you when we get home," Arthur couldn't be bothered to undo the wrapping that protected the fragile trinket and was too scared of dropping it should he take it out, "What are you eating?"
Offering him the open bag, Francis swallowed his mouthful to speak this time. "I got some dried fruit too," he explained.
The smaller man shook his head to decline, never having liked the bitterness that came with candied fruits, and Francis drew the bag back to himself to take another, a smirk stretching across his cheeks as he took something out.
"Arthur," his voice took on a jesting intonation as he raised an eyebrow, "Will you date me?"
Confused gaze shifting from the self-amused grin that split his partner's face to the dried date in his hand, Arthur fought to keep a straight expression.
"You disgust me," he deadpanned as the other laughted at his own pun, only to join him with a snorted chuckle a second later.
Once their amusement had abated Francis popped the sweet into his mouth and the two began to walk on, Arthur entwining their fingers as their hands bumped into each other's. Glancing over at the unexpected contact, the older man slowed to a stop again, the chaste endearment not enough, and pulled the other back to kiss him deeply in the cold of the night and the heat of the moment.
Eyes left open with the suddenness of it, Arthur saw the light crease of his other half's brow, the way his eyelids pressed together a little tighter than normal, both indicators of a heartfelt passion only expressible through action, one that had to be reciprocated. His own lids slipping closed, he tilted his head to the side so as their lips locked together, moving with a synchronicity acquired through years of practice. A hand found a place to rest on his back just as his found a home tangled in the wavy locks of gold that swayed in the wintery breeze.
While ardent, the display was brief, and they parted, faces kept close, to exchange coy smiles. Their breath, visible in the cold, mingled in the short space between them like a shared wedding veil and settled moist on their pink cheeks.
"Get a room," an American accent tore through the moment and both men's eyes darted away with reticent delight.
"I apologise, cherie, I thought I saw mistletoe," Francis lied as they released one another.
"Oh, in that case," Alfred joked, leaning towards his twin with pouted lips.
"Get off me," Matthew shoved him away as the others gave subdued snickers, "Here, we got you guys some mulled wine."
The quieter teen handed his elders a steaming cup each as he sipped his own hot chocolate, Alfred steadily consuming his way through a bag of miniature pastries. Regrouped, they headed towards the back of the fair where the tree lot was, the cool, woodland smell growing stronger the closer they got.
Walking through a secondary gate, I was as though they entered an undersized forest, cropped trees standing as tall as they could reach from their rootless bases around them. Their prickled branches snagged on the trailing hem of Arthur's coat, like they clung to him so that they might be chosen, as they considered their choices. While Arthur would have been happy to take the first one small enough to fit in the car, Francis took his time contemplating the apparently difficult decision, studying each tree like it was going to be the subject of his next picture and pointing out something he didn't approve of before moving on to the next one.
"I have never had a real tree before, I want it to be perfect," Francis insisted.
"How about this one?" Alfred suggested from the other end of the tree lot, pointing to a towering pine, its branches thick and heavy.
"That won't fit in the house, Alfred, let alone the car," Arthur demurred.
"We could trim the top," the younger man persisted, "I mean, bigger is better, right?"
Shaking his head as he let out a misty sigh at his brother's distressingly American attitude, Arthur let Francis find his ideal tree while he kept his overzealous sibling under control.
After some time, the choice was made, a humble little shrub that would fit quite nicely into the corner of the living room, and the salesman wrapped it and even helped to lug it to their car with them. After making sure to thank the man profusely and leave him a tip for his efforts, the four of them, with some struggling, managed to lash the tree to the roof of the car and were back home before it was too late to decorate it that same night.
Again, taking more pains to do so than was expected, the younger and stronger two of the family were able to wrestle the sapling into the living room where they propped it up in the corner by the door. Francis brought Alfred upstairs to see if they could locate the decorations that were stashed away in the roof and Arthur and the remaining twin stayed to trim some of the unrulier branches into alignment.
"Would you get that one up there for me?" Arthur requested, unable to reach the protruding stick with his rusty sheers, pointing to it with his injured hand.
"Arthur, what happened?" Matthew's soft tone grew even more sympathetic, eyebrows tugged into an troubled frown.
Drawing his arm back to himself, the older man began making excuses again. "It's nothing, Matt, please don't worry about it," he hurried quietly, those bespectacled, purplish eyes boring into the side of his head with the full force of his brotherly concern.
He always felt a certain sickness when lying Matthew as he knew that the younger man knew he was lying and would worry about him however much he insisted it was unnecessary. The silence that ensued was one that Arthur was unable to keep his mouth shut to, though, and began to fill with words he hadn't thought through before they tumbled free of his lips.
"I, uh, did want to tell you, though," he stuttered, facing towards the tree so as not to make eye contact, "That friend of yours, the one whose number you gave me," he was incapable of calling the man by his profession, "I'm going to see him tomorrow."
Although he didn't look to see, Arthur could sense the smile that grew on his youngest brother's face.
"Really?" the other sounded surprised but in a good way, like his expectations had been exceeded.
"Yes, well, you're the one who suggested it, so I just thought I should tell you," Arthur awkwardly mumbled on, embarrassment evident.
"No, that's, that's great, Art," Matthew encouraged, beaming, "Really, I'm so happy you're willing to try it. Thank you for listening to my advice."
Still, a lump in Arthur's throat prevailed, self-conscious over being the centre of attention even if it was for something he was being praised for. Glancing to his side, it grew worse at the sight of the optimism that brightened the other's face and he pulled a strained smile in response and was relieved when he said nothing more.
The other two returned just as they finished clipping the last branches down and they set to placing the ornaments onto the tree, Matthew and Arthur dotting their favourite pieces around the place, Francis adjusting the composition to fit his own artistic vision and Alfred haphazardly flinging the brightest, most glittery decorations wherever he could in a frenzy of yuletide exuberance. A little tinsel hung along the window sill, the angel passed down from some Great aunt to top the tree and their grotto was complete.
Standing back to admire their work, Francis turned off the main light so that they could admire the string of faulty fairy lights that spiralled around the truck and the way it reflected off the baubles.
"Ah shit is that the time?" Alfred swore as he caught sight of the clock across the hall, "We got to head out."
It was later than any of them had thought it to be and the group nodded, moving towards the door.
"Thank you for all your help, boys. It is good to know we can rely on you in our old age," Francis exaggerated, the younger men chuckling.
"No problem, gramps," Alfred jested in return, zipping up his coat as he prepared to face the elements.
"And you'll call if you need help with anything else, won't you?" Arthur directed at him, mindful of the upcoming date.
"Sure I will, don't stress yourself over it, man," the easy-going boy waved of his concerns, "You guys take care."
He turned and opened the door, setting out into the night, the younger twin pausing before he followed to look back at their older sibling.
"Let me know how it goes tomorrow," he added a supportive quirk of his lips then left after the other, doing a little hopping step to catch up on the driveway.
They stood watching them go until they were around the corner out of sight then closed the door, Arthur locking it as Francis wandered back to the living room to gaze admiringly at the tree in all its shimmering glory. Coming to stand beside him in the archway, the smaller of the two did similarly, head cocked to the side.
"I'm glad you suggested getting a real one this year. It does add a certain something, doesn't it," he pondered.
A long, contented hum came from the man next to him, a hint of a satisfied smile plumping his cheeks. Stepping away from the doorframe he leant against, Francis retrieved a large, clear glass bowl from the kitchen and set it out on the coffee table, pouring his edible purchases into it for sharing, a last afterthought of a touch that added exponentially to the mood of the room.
"What did you buy, then?" he inquired after the object that Arthur had totally forgotten about.
"Oh, right," he was reminded and went to take it from the bag he had left on the sofa.
Carefully, he peeled back the tissue paper that protected his new prized possession and held it out for his other half to see.
"Exquis," he breathed, as in awe of the trinket as Arthur had been, "it is stunning."
He took it from his partner's hands to hold it up against the light and rotate it slowly how a jeweller would a diamond.
"I don't know why but it caught my attention," Arthur considered aloud as the other placed it on the mantel.
"You do have quite the eye for beautiful things," Francis teasingly referred to himself, laughing as his vanity garnered an eye roll.
Switching off the tree lights before they went up to bed, lest the house catch on fire, the pair found themselves worn out by a day of fulfilling activity and mirrored their morning as Arthur went back to his book, half whispering the words under his breath as the other lay rested against his warm shoulder until both caved in to their well earned exhaustion.
Attempting to continue where he had left off the next day as he sat in the waiting room after arriving early for his appointment, Arthur found it impossible to concentrate. As he stifled his twitching leg for the tenth time, he took a calming breath and fixated on the page rather than the clock his eyes seemed drawn to. Ten minutes until he would be called into that office and he felt every second of it.
Again, finding his attention had drifted despite his best efforts, he gave up on distracting himself and indulged in the anxiety. It was as though there were eels in his stomach, writhing around and slithering all over each other, and he had far too much energy to sit still. He felt certain there was someone watching him, that whoever he was about to go and tell his darkest secrets to was sat in a room watching him through a camera, working out his weaknesses, seeing how best to manipulate him. Why he would want to do this, Arthur didn't know, but that's what his feverishly whirring brain told him.
The space he currently found himself in didn't do much to ease his tension, reminding him too much of work. Same carpet, same curtains, same water cooler next to the same potted plant. It smelled new and looked it too, the furniture still plush with that scratchy quality and the coffee table had yet to acquire scuff marks.
Several doors led off from the waiting room, each with a shining, brass plaque that denoted the name of the rooms occupant and Arthur recognised the name he had come to see. The sense of frantic apprehension worsened as he realised he had no idea how to even start to think about how it was pronounced as it contained letters that weren't in the English language. Guessing the correct way to say it would definitely go badly so he would just have to avoid saying his name at all. That was sure to be wonderfully awkward.
Leg bouncing in place, he was glad he was the only one in the room. Every now and then he'd hear a muffled sneeze or shifting paper from one of the rooms, but all the doors remained firmly closed. He looked at the clock again and saw he had only two minutes left to wait. Perhaps he was meant to go and knock and thought about doing so but found himself rooted to his seat.
Regretting his decision to come more every second, he was tempted to leave, he still had a minute and a half in which to do so. Eyes darting to the door, he contemplated making a run for it, his legs tensing in anticipation, but forcibly relaxed them. He couldn't lie and tell Matthew that he had been when he asked, and he would be disappointed to hear he hadn't gone. And it was for his own good, he told himself. It was meant to help so he would try.
Then again, the day before he had felt fine. Motivated and sociable and he didn't think about throwing himself out of a window even once. Maybe whatever shadow had fallen over his life had lifted of its own accord and he didn't need the medication or the therapy or anything.
Pain sparked through his hand and he realised he was clenching his fists. Slowly uncurling his fingers, his bruise ached, still the shade of midnight blue that indicated it was less than a week old, and he rested his hand on his thigh.
He sighed harshly at the reminder of his decision. Of course, he needed this, he hated himself and he'd run out of other options.
"Mr. Kirkland?"
Head snapping up at the sound of his name, Arthur stared at the opened door with eyes that were probably too wide to look normal.
"Yes?" he replied.
The man in the doorway smiled, lilac eyes squinting at the corners with the genuineness of it.
"It's good to meet you," he stepped back and held out an arm to coax his patient through, "Please, come in and we can get started."
I don't care if it takes me another year to finish this story, I'm finishing it. I should be able to get back into a regular pattern of uploading but I'm not promising anything.
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