It wasn't as Arthur had expected, then again, he wasn't all that sure what he had been expecting. The room was warm, homely in most respects, of course designed that way to bring an air of familiarity into an alien situation. Walls of soft beige coordinated with the muted earth tones of the furniture, all brand new like the reception area. Bookcases lined the back wall, most of the shelves half filled with books and files with little trinkets decorating the empty spaces. Whether they were personal affects of the man the room belonged to or just an attempt to make it seem less like an office, he wasn't sure.
Glancing towards the other end of the room, where the dreary, grey light came through a single floor length window half covered by blinds, he was struck by the heavy, wooden desk there, rather unbefitting with the rest of the rooms relaxed aesthetic in its relative grandeur. He wouldn't have minded one like that in his own office if he was honest, as well as the leather chair that was tucked into it, giving the set a disturbingly Freudian vibe. So long as his practices weren't the same as his taste in design, he had nothing to worry about, Arthur thought to himself.
The sound of the latch clicking into place, sealing both men into the misplaced living room, drew him from his daydreaming and he looked back as he was spoken to.
"Please, sit wherever you like, I'll be right over," the other continued to smile in that purposefully non-threatening manner as he gestured at the choice of two sofas set up facing one another in the centre of the room.
However welcoming the man tried to be, Arthur found his throat tied in a knot of anxiety still and only nodded as he made his way over to the furthest of the sofas. He sat stiffly, the barely used cushion still firm enough that he bounced up a little, but then shuffled back in his seat and waited.
The other joined him a few seconds later with a notepad and pen which he rested in his lap as he sat directly across from his patient, a coffee table and a wall of emotional repression separating them.
"I have to say, it is good to finally meet you, Matthew would mention you all the time," he struck up conversation, starting with mutual interest to create an opening he could delve into further, Arthur noticed immediately. "All very complementary, I assure you," he followed up with a flattering joke.
So busy trying to read the interactions that he hadn't thought of a response, Arthur was caught speechless as the other left his sentence hanging. Eyes unblinking as he parted his lips, hoping something that made sense might tumble out, the silence hung a few beats longer before it was alleviated by further reassurance from across the low table.
"I want to remind you, though, that whatever you say stays between us," his gaze rested persistently upon his subject but lightly so.
"Y-yes, of course, thank you," Arthur managed to kick his brain into gear and fulfil his side of the exchange, offering a tight smile, "It's a pleasure to meet you too, um…"
He hoped that panic wasn't evident on his face as he found he had stumbled into a social snare trap. Unable to remember or pronounce the surname of the man he sat with he could feel heat prickling at the base of his neck, spreading up to his ears.
"Oh, I apologise," the other gave a breathy laugh of embarrassment, "I've been speaking like we know each other when we have never met. Please, call me Tino."
Relieved yet flustered by his brief slip up, Arthur crookedly returned Tino's expression as best he could.
"It's a pleasure," he gratified with a nod, unable to ease the nerves that strung taught across his chest like a corset.
Pleasantries out of the way, the sensation didn't loosen as Arthur knew what was to come would only get more uncomfortable, horrendously so. He remained rigid in his seat as the smaller man shifted his weight, crossing his legs over and resting his notepad on a corduroy clad thigh tilted at an angle so that Arthur wouldn't be able to see the analysis of himself. An effeminate hand jotted something down in the top right corner as two disquieted, jade balls directed themselves towards the sound of metal pen tip on paper before he begun his investigation.
"So," he began, pausing as he raised his eyeline once more, folding his hands neatly, "I couldn't help but notice your hand. What did you do to it?"
The abruptness of his question rendered Arthur mute as his mouth opened with no planned sentence to follow. Subconsciously covering his still prominent injury with his other hand as he drew them both back to himself, he glanced to the side where the afternoon sun stretched long across the sandy carpet.
He knew he shouldn't lie and pre-emptively felt bad for doing so but surely anyone could understand that he wasn't comfortable exposing his innards the first time meeting the man. Closing his mouth, he chewed the inside of his cheek, contemplating how to word his thoughts without being too distruthful, hoping that Tino may jump in to rescue him from the conversational void.
The stillness remained, however, something about the room muffling out the sounds of the outside world. Not the thrum of traffic nor a swishing of bare branches detracted from the expectation that rested solely on Arthur, the entire universe seemingly waiting with bated breath for his voice.
"It was an accident," he saw the sentence leave his lips through an out of body experience.
A set of pale eyebrows quirked slightly, not quite sceptical but hinting at it. "An accident?" Tino repeated.
The fabric of his shirt stuck to his neck as Arthur fought against the blockade of his own perceived better knowledge.
Those violet eyes across from him watched, able to weed out the truth from the lies before they were even told. He knew Arthur would lie, or so Arthur thought as he cornered himself into an unspoken, one-person war of pre-emptive countermeasures.
"I punched something," he admitted, feeling rather like a child confessing to troublesome behaviour.
Unfazed, the other's head cocked to the side slightly. "What did you punch?" he asked.
"A mirror," Arthur wavered, his words trailing off, his face burning.
Again, the question that followed was a logical one.
"Why did you do that?"
All moisture sapped from his mouth, presumably evaporated by the unbearable heat of his cheeks, Arthur reiterated, his voice breaking.
"It was an accident…"
Another prolonged hush, over which the pounding of blood in his ears almost deafened him, growing louder with each beat as it dragged.
Eventually, Tino gave a subdued nod, clicking his pen and writing something down, the usually cringworthy scraping sound a blessing. Craning his neck slightly to try and see what was being transcribed about him, Arthur couldn't quite read the lopsided lettering which was soon covered by the folded hands of their author and he glanced up to see he was being studied again.
"How about we take a step back," Tino suggested, able to sense the stress of the last interrogation, "You mentioned on the phone that you were recently diagnosed with depression?"
Eye twitching at the way he phrased it, Arthur swallowed and gave a jerky nod.
"Yes," he affirmed.
"Perhaps we could talk a bit about that," the smaller man steered the discussion to its main purpose.
Apprehensive but with little agency in the situation, the other went along with it, bobbing his head again.
"Do you have any idea what may have brought this on?" Tino continued, "Anything that has been going on recently?"
"Nothing specific," Arthur was half honest as, although he could list a number of current events that had taken a strain he didn't know if any one thing was really to blame, if anything at all.
"Okay," the professional's tone was well practiced, trained in the art of patience, "So, you perhaps feel that life in general has become harder to manage?"
Afraid of having words put in his mouth despite their accuracy, Arthur rolled his lips in thought, pinching the dry skin between his front teeth.
"Not exactly," he hesitated, casting his eyes downward as he spoke, "I suppose…maybe work?"
The other shifted again, pen hovering over his notepad as he sensed he may be getting somewhere. He said nothing however and as Arthur raised his gaze, accidentally catching eyes with him, he urged him on with a subtly raised brow.
"It's, um…" he carried on, supressing the need to fidget, "Well, I've fallen behind, and I can't quite seem to catch up."
"Would you say you feel stressed?" Tino deduced the fairly obvious conclusion as he scribbled away.
"In a word," Arthur quietly conceded.
Humming to the tune of his pen as he recorded his observations, the lighter blond questioned, "What do you do, exactly."
"I just work in an office. The one on Mill Street," Arthur gave his tried and tested answer. He found it to be the perfect reply as, not only was it blunt enough to hint at his own boredom at the subject but unremarkable enough that others wouldn't wish to discuss it further.
"Doing what, may I ask?" his script was thrown off as his method failed.
"Uh," he fumbled, for a moment forgetting what he did, "I'm one of my floor's co-ordinators. I mostly, um, make spreadsheets though."
"Do you enjoy it?" Tino halted his pen briefly to enquire.
No, was the quickest and most accurate answer but Arthur instead stretched out a lacklustre, "It's better than nothing."
They went on in this way for a while; question, answer, evaluation, move on. While Tino wasn't forceful in his approach, something Arthur was thankful for, the quickfire pace of their discussion was exhaustive, especially since the overly suspicious patient was paranoid of some plot to trip him up the entire time.
Their allotted thirty-five minutes together didn't allow for too much deviation or depth in conversation, and the session drew to a close swiftly. Having focused so hard on the situation at hand Arthur had switched into a sort of fugue state, similar to the way he often would whilst sat at his desk and was only broken from it by the closing snap of a pen.
"My advice would be to prioritise and do what you feel you can manage. There's no point agonizing over something you don't like when there is nothing to gain from it, after all," Tino finished, flipping over the cover of his notebook to signify he had acquired enough data, "Do you have a second session booked?"
Arthur really hadn't thought in advance about any of it, unsure of whether he would even want to come again and shook his head in response.
"Then, if I may suggest something, it would be good if you could come in some time mid next week and then again at the weekend. I know it sounds like a lot, but I find it works well to start off with regular, short sessions so that you get used to the way this works and then we can move on to weekly, hour long sessions," the professional advised.
"Okay," Arthur consented despite remaining dubious, telling himself he could always cancel the appointment should he talk himself out of it before it came.
"Perfect," the other stood with a broad smile, "You can arrange it at the desk, I look forward to seeing you again."
"Yes, thank you," Arthur stood up half dazed, blinking hard when he became light headed, fuzzy, blue splotches dancing before his vision.
Tino walked to the door with him, offering one last firmly positive smile as he left the room then closed the door behind him. He had to wait a while out in the foyer for someone to come and help him but once the young man was behind the desk Arthur was able to, somewhat uncertainly, book for that coming Wednesday afternoon.
Hunching his shoulders as he exited into the unmerciful dark of the early winter evening, Arthur turned his back to the last stretch of daylight that bleached the sky and walked in that direction. He knew a route home that was faster than the bus ride he had taken on his way there and so he resolved to stroll home, thinking the air might help to clear his overworked mind.
The roads were empty, curtains in front rooms drawn with a warm glow behind them and fairy lights strung along window sills, flickering. Veering left he opted to follow the slightly more populated but still sparse promenade, the short row of shops along it having pulled down their shutters an hour ago, and sped up in his pace, the cold beginning to get to him.
Although he knew the high street area it wasn't a place he had been to recently, mostly because the task of shopping bored him to tears and, since Francis quite enjoyed the chore, it was something Arthur would leave to his other half. It was a place he remembered from those hazy days of childhood as it was his mother's favourite place for Sunday excursions and it hadn't seemed to have changed a modicum since.
The dingy, old haberdashery with its water stained sign, the Y still resting at hazardous angle, was the first in the procession and had always been his least favourite thanks to its owner. A man, most likely no older than sixty at the time, but so wrinkled that Arthur was sure he had no bones and was just a pile of loose skin. As a child that knew no better, he couldn't help but stare, that is until those beady eyes caught him from behind their spindly spectacles and he would scurry to hide in the sleeve of his mother's coat.
After that was the fabric store next door, the display exactly the same as it had been all those years ago. Most of his memories of it consisted of the smells and textures. He recalled walking down the rows with his hand outstretched to trail along the rolls of fabric, the feeling of them against his fingertips going from rough to soft to smooth to bristly. He would stroke the fake fur as though it were a real animal, lay his upper body over it, his cheek pressed deep into it, and run his palms up and down so that the hairs tickled between his fingers.
Their last stop would always be the café where the woman behind the counter would dote on him, exclaiming how smart he looked in his Sunday best. And when he would gaze hopefully into the glass case full of the most indulgent looking cakes his mother would tut and, with feigned reluctance, say "well, since you were so good for me today". A slice of something tooth-rottingly sweet and a pot of tea for them to share as they sat by the window to watch the people go by and draw pictures in their condensed breath on the glass.
It was dark inside the tiny, one roomed establishment but Arthur could see the layout, their regular, two-person table pushed up against the window, a little vase of flowers that had seen better days atop the lacey tablecloth. While not quite sad, it seemed a ghostly place when uninhabited, like the door may open without help, a transparent woman standing behind the counter ready to take his order.
While the last shop among the restricted selection wasn't one the pair would frequent, it was one that they had been to a handful of times. A music store, the place Arthur had purchased his first guitar and where his mother would occasionally look for new sheet music for the church choir. It stuck out amongst the others, looking far too modern in comparison to the rest of the quaint businesses so that it drew the eye in the wrong sort of way. He didn't think it to be unforgivably hideous, unlike his mother, but Arthur had to admit it was rather a smudge on the overall pleasant aesthetic of the street, the neon sign and black concrete walls seeming obnoxious beside the pastel fronted windows.
Glancing up at the storefront as he passed, though, he found the sign vanished, a hole in the wall where it had been ripped out and wires hanging loose in what was certainly not a safety approved manner. Curiosity slowed him, and he waited a moment, contemplating whether he cared enough to investigate, before inching closer.
Cupping his hands against the window, he peered through, nose to the cool glass, and was taken aback to see the place gutted. Nothing but the dust in the air left behind, the former shop was left in its barest state, floorboards ripped out to reveal the framework below like a wooden skeleton, the walls shown to be sun bleached against the darker patches that had once been covered by tacky posters. It was strange to see since the rest of the road seemed locked in time, but he was sure the locals were happy the eyesore was finally gone.
He stepped away, taking a last look up then stuffed his hands back into his pockets and forged onward. As he walked, he felt the need to concentrate on the act of walking, as though should his focus be allowed to waver he would trip over his own feet or stop dead in his tracks, his legs at a loss of what they should do. It was a strange compulsion that refused to cease as he went the rest of the way, almost walking into several different lampposts before he reached the safety of his driveway.
Inside and no longer alone, his unwelcomed self-absorption loosened, and he hadn't been so grateful for his partner's unintrusive company in a while. He eased out a noiseless sigh as he relaxed into the warmth of his home, slipping off his coat and shoes at the threshold.
"Cherie?" came a call from the living room to which Arthur replied with his presence as he went to linger in the doorway.
Francis sat reclining on the sofa and perked up when his beloved came into view, looking at him expectantly.
"Well?" he prompted when Arthur said nothing more than a hello.
"Well what?" the other responded, still in a state of mental fog.
Raising both brows eagerly, Francis made himself clear. "How did it go?"
"Oh, right, it was fine," Arthur put simply, shrugging a shoulder.
Pausing as though he expected more to come, the older man's forehead wrinkled.
"Is that all? Just fine?" he expressed his disappointment, apparently having been anticipating something more entertaining.
"I don't really know what you want me to say," the man in the doorway listlessly mumbled, "It was alright. We didn't speak about anything that interesting."
"What did you speak about?" Francis persisted, "You do not have to tell me if you do not want to, but I am only interested."
By the way he was being looked at, Arthur could tell his significant other was fretting over him. He knew Francis liked the idea of him seeing a professional, that he was proud of him for doing so, and he didn't want to let him down, but he really felt he had nothing important to say about the experience.
"I mostly just told him about work," Arthur relayed, scratching at the back of his head, "What I do in the day and how it is at the moment. General things."
Nodding along, his full attention dedicated to his partner, Francis' tone was cautiously optimistic as he asked, "Do you think you will go back?"
"I booked again for Wednesday after work," the other confirmed to his delight.
Unable to stop himself from beaming, Francis stood and came over for a kiss.
"That makes me very happy," he emphasised, clasping the other's hands.
"Thanks," Arthur uttered, casting his glance aside awkwardly, quite uncomfortable.
The taller man's eyes still settled upon him with complete, adoring reverence, however, in a way that made Arthur's chest cramp as he realised how much this meant to him.
Finally relinquishing his besotted gaze, Francis raised their joined hands to his face in order to peck them sweetly but stopped to look at the newly dried blood on them.
Tutting, he drew attention to the state with a frown. "Lapin, why have you done that," he clucked disapprovingly, examining the scabs that had been picked at.
Arthur's own brow furrowed at the sight and he glanced down at his other hand to find blood beneath his jagged nails.
"I didn't realise," he confessed, taking his hand back.
The pressure of his first session must have gotten to him at some point as some of the scabs over his knuckles had been taken off completely thanks to a subconscious tick that Arthur didn't like to own up to having.
"They will leave scars if you keep doing that," Francis warned despite the fact he knew full well, "Must I put you in mittens to stop you?"
Cracking a slight smirk at the joke, Arthur went to the kitchen to wash away the dried layer, most of it flaking off easily. He scrubbed at the underside of his nails with a scouring pad but failed to dislodge the crescent shaped stain of copper, still fruitlessly picking and biting at them as he went through to sit beside his significant other. An arm was draped over his shoulder and he leant back to rest comfortably against Francis' hot chest.
Although not exactly crazy about his first try at therapy, Arthur had to admit it had left its mark. Physically he was in a room in his house with his partner but otherwise he felt he hadn't made it home. That he was wandering the streets still, distracted or trying to find something that wasn't there, a disturbed kind of feeling that wasn't necessarily bad but that he didn't quite enjoy. It felt as though he had opened up a chest of his most private and guarded possessions to find them ajar.
"Did you like him?" Francis picked up the conversation once more.
"He seemed nice," Arthur mildly praised.
"Matthew mentioned him to me, he seems to think very highly of him," the other commented.
"He's good at his job. Why, what do you think?" the younger man sensed that he was trying to get at something and turned to glace back at him.
"Well, you do not think maybe…" Francis trailed off, a coyly arched eyebrow and suggestive look filling in the rest.
Rolling his eyes, Arthur promptly rejected the idea. "I doubt it. He has to be a few years older than us," he gave his evidence, but Francis found it invalid.
"So? Age is but a number," he refuted.
Nose crinkling at the old saying, the other twisted in his seat. "Stop speculating, Francis. Even if he was seeing someone it wouldn't be any of our business."
A hypocritical statement as Arthur knew he could be just as prying as his partner. Out of concern for his brothers' wellbeing, of course. Against his back, he felt the larger man shrug and a hand threaded itself through his hair, playing with the short strands and combing them apart again.
"I just do not like to think he is lonely," Francis spoke the endearing sentiment in a hushed tone.
Lips twitching upward softly at the concern, a faint breath of a laugh left Arthur's nostrils as he reassured, "Of course he isn't. Not everyone finds their ideal match at sixteen, you know."
There was no reply, the room going quiet for a while, and a light flush broke out across the smaller man's cheeks as he realised what he had said. He could sense the smile on his lover's face as he was hugged closer to the other's body.
Waking to his alarm a full hour later than he was accustomed to, by Francis' insistence, the entire morning from that point on felt off. He kept to his usual routine but was a step behind the whole way through, like a lone violinist that had started a beat after the rest of the orchestra. Faces he usually would have been ahead of in the commuter's procession bobbed past the window as he stood at the kitchen counter, sipping from his mug. The extra hour's sleep was something he was thankful for but the forced leisure of it all put him on edge and so a few minutes later he tipped the rest of his tea down the sink and walked out into the ever more begrudging morning sun.
He was surprised to find it unusually tepid outside with a dampness in the air that turned everything a shade greyer. Thick clouds remained static in their positions and darkened in a smooth gradient to the point that the sky in the distance looked as though sunrise had missed a patch. Walking in opposition to the downward drifting mist, Arthur found himself alone, caught in a time slot between the first wave of city workers and the panicked rush of late comers.
The bus was equally as desolate and, despite the heavy clanking of the mechanisms, peaceful, in a way. Rather than capitalising on this solitude by taking out the book from his briefcase, or getting a head start on the papers he was meant to be working on at home, however, he did as he would have done anyway and stared blankly out the window at the view he knew too well.
Disembarking with a couple of people he recognised, he strode into the office block with blinders on, navigating the maze through muscle memory and sitting himself at his desk without so much as eye contact with his fellow employees. It wasn't as though he ever stopped to chat, nor was he especially approachable even, but that day in particular he hoped he was left alone. When left to his own devices he could almost pretend he wasn't at work at all.
The outdated PC clunked into action with the press of a button and flooded the room with retina burning light. Shifting some of the files that obscured his desktop with his elbow, Arthur lent upon it, chin in hand, and began sifting through e-mails. The fact that he found the spam ads more interesting than what most of his colleagues had to say truly showed his less than complementary opinion of the people he worked with.
Time passed no faster than he expected it to, the world of the office moving at half speed, as he apathetically attempted to carve a path through the papers around him. With such a volume to get through, though, it was impossible to know where to start and his brain shut down immediately at the sight of it, leaving him to shuffle aimlessly through the heaps, unable to do anything with the information presented to him.
A few hours of this and he was completely zoned out, coming back to his conscious self to find he had been staring at a piece of paper with nothing but the last months date and the word 'urgent' on it for the past fifteen minutes. Blinking his vision back into focus, Arthur lowered the paper and glanced around himself as though he didn't remember how he had gotten there. In a more existential sense, he didn't really.
He let go of what he was holding, letting the sheet slide from his grasp to the desktop and rubbed at his face with the heels of his palms. Hunger didn't bother him, nor did thirst, but boredom made him restless and a change of scenery was necessary for the sake of his waning sanity. Rising from his seat, he left the papers where they lay scattered and exited to the hall, nearly colliding with a hurried colleague as he stepped out. He rummaged around in his pocket on his journey down the corridor, finding he quite conveniently had the exact change for a cup of tea, and took the lift down to the cafeteria.
The poorly laid out hall seemed busier than usual, substantially so, with a line of people waiting to be served nearly reaching the doorway. Arthur, however, had brought the previous nights leftovers per order of his other half, which he planned to eat alone in his office or scrape into the bin once he got home, and so went on regardless. Serving himself at the hot drinks machine he took the flimsy, paper cup over to the only spare table he could see, one at the far end of the room tucked away in the corner by a window.
While not exactly a stimulating view, at least he could see outside. There was something about that building that made it easy to forget that life existed outside of those four walls. Not that there was a whole lot of it to observe beyond them as far below on the street outside, it seemed the human race had ceased to exist. Some pigeons speckled the paving slabs, strutting about and pecking at the ground and one another, and vehicles sped along the roads but other than that no sign of life showed.
Leaning over the table to rest on his forearms, he dunked the teabag that still floated in his cup absentmindedly as he watched the darkened clouds he had seen in the distance on his way to work now rolling overhead. No rain slipped from their black folds and they left only a shadow as a reminder of their presence. It seemed enough of a threat to drive the town's population inside, though. They sailed slowly, in no particular rush, and lingered directly above. Billowing high over the roof, like the smoke from a factory chimney, an expulsion of filth pumped out into the atmosphere.
"I'm sorry, Sir, do you mind if I sit with you?"
It was Erika he was brought to attention by, as seemed to be something of a regular occurrence, and he turned his head to face the girl who stood awaiting his answer.
"Of course not," Arthur assured her, his tone audibly tired, more subdued than usual.
She smiled her thanks and daintily seated herself in the other free chair across from him and Arthur went back to gazing detachedly through the window. Although he didn't want to be rude, he really had nothing to say and felt that a forced conversation would be more awkward than silence.
As he looked through the glass pane, however, he couldn't help but half watch her via her reflection as she nibbled at a sandwich she pulled from her pink lunchbox. He noted she wore a plain white blouse and pencil skirt, far more mature than her usual frilly, floral dresses and cardigan combination. The same could be said for her hair, which was pulled away from her face and clamped in place tidily. Unfortunately, the affect was somewhat ruined by the red lipstick that smeared across her thin lips, spilling over the heart shaped arch of her cupids bow so that she appeared rather like a child that had gotten into her mother's makeup bag.
"You look nice today," he remarked without thinking about how the comment might be perceived.
Thankfully the compliment was taken as such and the young woman showed she didn't suspect him of any misconduct with a bashful smile.
"Oh, thank you Sir," she breathed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "I thought I should try to look professional for the visitors."
His attention caught by this, Arthur glanced over. "Visitors?" he recapitulated.
"Did you not know?" Erika cocked her head a little, her huge, round eyes, made to look even larger by the crudely applied mascara, looking into him, "There are meetings for the European directors being held here this week."
Her voice held a spark of excitement, she clearly hoped she would be noticed or commended for her work in some sense and Arthur didn't have the heart to tell her that she was practically invisible to anyone who earned more than six figures a year.
"That's why it is so busy," she added.
"So it is," Arthur murmured in return, gaze flicking in the opposite direction to survey the bustling hall.
As she had described, the room was overflowing with people of obvious power. Executives clad in suits that cost more than Arthur earned in a month sat in groups speaking various languages but all with the same confident brashness to their words. He envied them in some ways. Well, only one way if he was being honest; for their success. While he may not have been the typical business man, there had been a time when he had almost been swept up in the mind set and seeing his squandered potential in the form of others his own age and far beyond him in rank should have caused him to feel regret at chances not taken.
Yet, it didn't. He supposed that meant he had made the right choice, but it didn't seem right he should feel that way. He was ambitious, after all, felt he could and should do better than what he managed. There was a time he would have given anything to be sat alongside the people around him, working a sixty-hour week for the sake of prestige, for the respect of others born into their titles. He could remember being intoxicated by the idea, something so attainable as success by a wealthy man's standards was an achievable goal. In a moment of what he now considered madness, more than four years ago when he had found the stability of an office job so seductive, he had been ready to trade everything to reach that goal. Family, love and friends just didn't have the same sparkle as a Rolex and the shining possibility of it all had blinded him momentarily.
Luckily for him, before he made any commitments he couldn't take back the relentless blows life dealt him had knocked some sense back into him and whatever cloud fogged his judgement had cleared. In fact, he was slightly horrified whenever he looked back upon the choices he could have made, not that he did so often.
Looking back at Erika he caught her dabbing at her lips with her little finger while scrutinizing her reflection in the window. Even when dressed like every middle-aged woman in the office, she still looked no older than a teenager and the way she uncomfortably tugged at the loose chest area of her shirt made her look even more like an adolescent trying to grow up too fast. As someone who had been forced to act older than his age against his will, Arthur hoped she wasn't doing that to herself.
Casting his glace to the roads below once more before he left, in time to see a dappled pigeon swoop by, he took the warmed cup as he stood.
"Enjoy the rest of your day," he bid his co-worker who looked over at him, her coloured lips turned up at the corners, and wished him the same in return.
Swerving around several, inconsiderate people that blocked the doorway, Arthur strolled down the hall in the direction of his office at a more leisurely pace than usual. He was in no hurry to be back there, the only reason he had left the cafeteria was his inability to hold a conversation, plus he had never been a fan of crowds. Briefly he considered taking the lift all the way down to spend a few moments in the open solitude of the street but felt his nerves couldn't take the temptation should any smokers be loitering around the entrance, as they usually did in the early afternoon.
Therefore, he opened the door to his dismal hole, the disorder that lay across everything like a layer of thick dust repellent for its hopelessness. It was ridiculous to him, really, when contrast with the thoughts that had returned to him several minutes earlier. A man once so determined now unable to keep his desk clean. He could have laughed until he cried or vice versa.
Dragging his feet over the threshold, he stopped beside the desk and set down his cup. He reached out languid a hand and flicked the top pages of a pillar of documents, the light touch causing the entire stack to topple onto the floor. Emotionless, he looked down at it. A sigh, or something even less invested than a sigh, blew from him, shoulders slacking tiredly as he gathered himself to stack them up again.
He bent at the knees, squatting to pick up the first page and scanned it quickly to see whether it was something he may as well deal with or if it could go back to being ignored on a shelf somewhere. The date at the top read two weeks prior and he filed it into the latter category. Keeping the first page in hand he went to pick up another, that date telling him it should have been completed a month ago, the third sheet informing him similarly, and the next and the next.
A wad of crumpled paper tucked under his arm, Arthur fell back from his haunches to be sat on the carpet. Leaning against the desk, his head dropped back, and his eyes closed in mild frustration. Yet again he found himself overwhelmed. All that stopped him from burning the place to the ground was a lack of a lighter and energy to do so. And his regard for human life, he mentally added as he realised how dark his thoughts were swiftly becoming.
Nonetheless, he'd have run from the wretched block if his body didn't feel as thin and lifeless as the paper that surrounded him. Extending a hand out to the nearest sheet, his fingertips grazed the smooth texture but pulled it no closer. Sinking quickly into a demoralized state, he could think of nothing, do nothing, feel nothing more than the desk against his protruding bones and the wiry carpet against his palms.
With a sliver of mental control he briefly caught hold of, he lamented not using his time the day before as he should have done. Thought about how the situation could have been avoided if he had spoken about what he was meant to with Tino rather than telling pointless lies and avoiding his problems like he always did. Then perhaps he wouldn't have been where he was now. Perhaps he would be. There was no point in torturing himself with the what if's when he could already make himself miserable out of nothing at all.
He just needed to prioritise, Tino's advice mocked him. His inability to do so appeared to him as both his own fault and a curse placed upon him. Some sort of unwilling self-sabotage. The words echoed in his mind, 'prioritise, prioritise', but how was he supposed to prioritise things that were all equally as trivial.
His passive anger at it all had been expressed through his fingers as he remained otherwise motionless as they had curled around the papers he held, clenching as though he attempted to strangle them. Unfurling the rogue appendages, he glanced down at the inversed shape of his fist moulded into the wrung neck. He didn't like the violence he was capable of. It was never premeditated, but he found himself usually the instigator anyhow.
Crumpling the rest of the sheets into a ball with one hand, he clasped the whole of his hand around it, condensing it as much as he could then dropped it into the bin under his desk. Arm falling heavily back to the floor, he looked out to the mess splayed further away, a path of little white squares.
Although the woebegone hold around him had not been released, he managed to stand and moved to pick them up, gathering them in his arms. He didn't check the dates but knew they were from an outdated pile and so, somewhat impulsively, dropped them into the waste paper basket without a second thought.
Something in him lightened at the action. His forehead creased, and he looked to the cleared space on his desk, a patch he no longer needed to worry about, and the feeling seemed to spur him on. 'Prioritise', his head told him, the word encouraging this time. The next pile over, a small one, had been a bother to him, so that's where he moved to. Flipping through it, he discarded the documents that had become redundant, chucking them immediately into the bin, and signed off on the ones still with a day or two left before their deadlines.
This system worked well, so well in fact that he hardly realised the day was passing him by as he worked, the negativity being shaken from him little by little. Inadequacy was channelled into the motivation to do better and, from the sense of gratification he gained, was repeated. His underlying tensions added to the burst of productivity, an extra surge and a good way to use his nervous energy.
By the time the clock showed five at least half of the shining desk surface was visible, and the waste basket was piled high with screwed up paper. Taking his jacket from the back of his chair, Arthur allowed himself a subdued nod of pride and locked up for the night. His journey home was the direct opposite to that of the way in as he slumped back a little in his seat, watching the houses pass by his window, pleasantly worn out and, strangely, not dreading the day to come.
The week proceeded in such a fashion as he clung to the marvellous advice of his councillor. While completing no new work he threw out the old, tons of it per day, in an ongoing, frenzied spasm. At Wednesdays' meeting he spoke of his efforts, which seemed to please said councillor who bobbed his head in approval while he made notes. Not much was discussed, no new topics brought up, they simply carried on from where they had left off and Arthur updated him on the mundanities of his life.
Each day the energy became more intense, more crazed, more so that it began to control him. No longer was he harnessing its power, but it had taken his body and forced itself inside. It inhabited him and refused to leave, filling him with more than he could burn off. Despite keeping him awake through the night, he still felt as though something in him blazed. Out of the extremes of the spectrum he had experienced, he could easily say this was not the one he preferred.
It must have come across in some way as, sat at the dinner table, thoroughly wracked by it all, Francis commented on his bizarre state.
"Arthur, what has gotten into you?" he interrupted his own sentence to ask with a scowl.
Having been too preoccupied with what consumed him to be listening, Arthur's gaze flicked up from his untouched food.
"Hm?" he blinked, just about catching on to the sound of his own name.
Furrowed brow creasing further, Francis' voice took on a familiarly soft inflection. "You are practically vibrating, you have been like this all week," he drew attention to his partner's leg which bounced in place under the table.
Forcefully ceasing the unconscious action, Arthur cast his eyes back down at his plate, tucking his legs under his chair.
"I just…feel off, is all," he exhaled quietly.
Receiving no further elaboration, Francis was able to read the detached demeanour of his other half.
"Is this about this weekend?" he inferred, assuming the nearing date was causing inner tensions to rise.
Arthur hadn't cared to think about what the root of his current behaviour might be, too focused on simply trying to deal with the symptoms of it to find the cause. It wasn't too much of a leap in logic, however, and he had no other explanation.
"Maybe," he muttered as he realised, he hadn't thought once in the past week about what was to happen that very weekend.
Watching his partner half-heartedly stab at a piece of carrot Francis seemed about to say something but pursed his lips and reached over the table to softly lay a hand over the other's cool fingers in a display of quiet support. Arthur, now plagued by that one specific thought, glanced up, offering a perfunctory quirk of the lips to show the affection was acknowledged. Unconvinced by the insipid expression, Francis gave the hand in his a gentle squeeze and continued eating.
"I spoke with Alfred today, to arrange everything," he brought up, "He said he tried to call you, but you did not answer."
Checking his phone for the first time that day, Arthur saw there was indeed a missed call from his brother.
"Oh, he did," he murmured more to himself than the man across from him.
"No matter, we organised everything between us," Francis went on, "We will hire a cab to pick us up first and then go and collect the boys. Thank goodness he is going on a Sunday because he only realised yesterday that he leaves at five in the morning."
Half listening to what was being told to him, Arthur nodded along vaguely. The feeling that had arrived so abruptly was gone just as fast, drained from his body, the heavy weight of dread taking its place. His chest began to ache, right at the bottom so as it felt like his lungs were flooding. It remained there all night, intensifying as he lay down in bed, refusing to let him sleep, and was stubbornly unmoved when morning came.
The lack of a programmed screaming reminded him that the weekend that had seemed so far in the future was upon him and despite his scheduled appointment being only an hour away, he procrastinated every action. He remained under the heat of the shower long after he was clean, the pounding water scorching his back, yet he remained numb. Once in his towel he sat at the foot of the bed, staring emotionlessly into the wardrobe until the beads of water rolling down his spine had dried leaving his skin taught and chilled.
A creaking in the hallway brought him halfway back to the present and he threw on various articles of clothing, paying little attention to whether they were compatible, with complaintive limbs that seemed to work against him. Quickly pressing a kiss to his partner's lips as he left the house, he lingered on the other side of the door before idling his way down the road in the bland December sun. The air was thin but dry and still, barely a degree colder outside than it was in and the streets were, as they always seemed to be those days, curiously barren.
Footsteps echoing through the pale midday, Arthur took his time, reluctant to be there but eager to have it over with. He recalled doing the same at school when on his way to his least favourite lessons, aiming to arrive a few minutes late as it made the rest of the lesson feel shorter. It wasn't something he would allow himself to do often, he was still a dedicated student after all, but missing out on the first ten minutes of food technology wasn't going to hurt anyone else. In fact, Ms Evans always looked quite disappointed when he actually turned up.
The empty hallways with their stained, linoleum floors and displays falling off the walls had always felt so much wider when he wasn't being knocked out of the way by larger students and he enjoyed the peace. Occasionally he might even find himself delaying his arrival to a lesson he enjoyed simply to savour the brief tranquillity of it. Lost in his thoughts, Arthur hadn't realised that his legs had carried him to the entrance of the office and was startled by his own reflection in the frosted glass of the front door.
After only two visits previously, the foyer of the small building had already become a familiar place, perhaps due to how average it was. He tugged at the neck of his jumper, the coarse material abrasive to the skin, as he went through to sit on the waiting area sofa but stopped when the door to the right of him opened and the man he had come to see caught him mid action.
"Arthur, good afternoon, come in," Tino greeted warmly, "I haven't kept you waiting, have I?"
"No, I just arrived," Arthur responded, his voice still husky from lack of use.
"Good, good," the other smiled and held the door for him.
Sliding past the smaller man with a nod of thanks, Arthur took his usual seat, wedging himself against the arm rest.
"How have you been since I saw you last?" Tino asked as he sorted through a couple of draws, the items inside them rolling about.
"Good, thanks," Arthur replied, glancing over, "Yourself?"
"Very well, thank you," the other's lilting cadence was quite agreeable to the ear and always made him sound as though he had just been pleasantly surprised.
A few more seconds of quietly rifling through his desk and Tino found what he was looking for. He pulled out pair of glasses that Arthur had never seen him wear before and came over to take a seat opposite his client, crossing his legs.
"Alright, it looks like last time we had just started talking about daily routines," he recapped, flipping through his notebook, "Would you like to carry on?"
Arthur cast his mind back but found he couldn't remember the discussion he was referring to; the previous week having passed in a blur leaving behind only snippets of memory.
"Yes, sure," he assented all the same.
"Okay, I have written here that you were talking about the new routine you had started and how that was going well for you," Tino read off from his notes, periwinkle eyes flitting up from his pad every now and then to check on the affirming nods he was being given.
Whether he knew that Arthur had already stopped listening or not, Arthur couldn't tell but he carried on talking and looking up and so the other continued to bob his head slowly in pretend understanding. The sound that came from the moving lips he watched didn't reach him but whenever they'd stop, waiting for his reply, Arthur would make some noise of ambiguous meaning, maybe nod or shake his head, and go back to listening to the white noise inside his skull once the attention was off him.
There was no clock in the room, but he mentally counted down the minutes until the session was over. His time keeping skills weren't exactly amazing, however, and every time he was sure that the other was wrapping up for the day, he began a new topic. How had this new routine affected his sleeping habits? Did he feel more productive? Did he feel less stressed? He wouldn't have known how to answer even if he had been listening.
The window at the back of the office was semi covered by blinds but between the slats Arthur spotted movement out on the lawn in front of the building. Squinting a little to see better, a more complete image came into view, a singular magpie hopping about the green backdrop. He watched it a while, how it skipped over the unevenly mown blades of grass, sleek, black tailfeathers twitching as it lowered its head to peck at the solid earth. The soil wasn't frozen, so the bird probably wasn't starving but he felt sympathy for it nonetheless and remembered how he had forgotten to put out that bird feeder he had bought during the summer.
"Arthur?"
Slowly he turned his head back to look at the man that sat patiently waiting for him to re-join him in the tangible world.
"Yes?" Arthur answered as though they hadn't been having a conversation the entire time.
Brows hitching up a little in the middle, the other's tone softened even further than its usual, gentle quality, "Are you alright? You seem distracted."
"Sorry, I'm just a bit tired," he apologised.
"You have not been sleeping well?" Tino latched onto the hint, something that Arthur had noticed him do before.
"Well, just last night, really," Arthur diminished, still feeling the need to guard himself in response to the other's intuitive questioning.
Turning the page of his notepad, Tino leaned on an elbow against the armrest, the end of his pen rested against his chin.
"Do you know why that might be?" he queried.
Arthur had left a chink in his armour that Tino was more than happy to go for. He could see why Matthew had been so eager to praise him, he was very good at his job. Disturbingly so.
"I…had a lot on my mind," Arthur mediated his words, his subconscious telling him to defend against the well-meant drilling while the rest of him felt he should make the effort of honesty.
"Could you tell me what exactly?"
He should have predicted the next sentence yet still found he struggled for an answer.
"Well, I, um, my brother…" he was incapable of coming up with a cover story but found expressing the real reason to be just as troublesome. Tino waited, however, expecting an answer one way or another. "It's Alfred," he eventually stated, "he's going away tomorrow."
Tomorrow, he thought to himself, the word sticking.
"Oh? Where to?" the other inquired.
"Ohio," Arthur began to pick a little at the edge of one of the fading scabs on his hand but caught himself doing so and stopped, his eyes dropping.
"And you are concerned," Tino said, quite purposefully not as a question this time.
"Yes, but anyone would be, wouldn't they?" Arthur rationalised, lifting his gaze to briefly meet the other man's then drifting away as he continued, "and he won't be gone for long. Less than two weeks."
His sentence came apart towards the end, sounding unconvincing even to himself, although he was unsure as to who he was trying to convince and what of.
"But you still worry," the smaller man pointed out, "What is it that worries you, would you say?"
Mouth opening, Arthur refused to look back at him, the nape of his neck warming rapidly. Whatever closure he may have felt not long ago appeared to be only a front, something felt in the moment that hadn't lasted and shame scorched his cheeks at his fixation on the same, worn out issue. It was like a body buried in a grave too shallow, uncovered every time the lightest shower washed away the earth that covered it.
"Arthur?" Tino called him back for a second time, "Is everything alright?"
Gaze lingering on the widow his eyes were glassily directed at, Arthur cleared his throat and turned his face.
"Yes, fine," he faked.
There was silence as he sensed the man across from him watching. He couldn't bring himself to look over, though, to speak up about what bothered him so much like he knew Tino was waiting for him to do.
"I like your desk," he came out with instead.
It sounded stupid, he was well aware of that, and it was obvious that he was changing the subject, but he was too desperate to care.
"Thank you, my partner made it for me," Tino complied.
"They're very talented," Arthur complimented, the heat of his neck curling around his ears too.
The other paused a moment, uncrossing and re-crossing his legs as he prepared to bring their exchange back around to the point his patient had swerved it from but first checked his watch. Lips forming an expression of mild displeasure, an unfitting look on his sweet-natured features, he relented.
"I'll tell him you said so," his unflappable composure returned, "This is something we will start with next time."
Arthur held in his sigh of relief as a simultaneous pang of foreboding wracked him at the certainty of the plan. He nodded though, and stood, happily taking his que to leave.
"I will see you during the week?" Tino rose also and walked with his client to the door.
"Yes, most likely," Arthur agreed, slowing his pace so as he didn't seem so keen to get away.
"Alright, I hope I haven't taken up too much of your weekend," the smaller man stopped by the doorframe and Arthur shot back a tight-lipped expression with a jaunty nod by way of parting.
He spoke with the woman behind the desk, different from the one he had seen the last time or the time before and escaped the building. The stiff climate outside was a contrast to his boiling skin and he ran a hand over the back of his neck to find it sticky. Pulling at the collar of his jumper to allow his skin to breath he frowned as he noticed it was on back to front.
With nothing to hang around for, he made it home before the afternoon truly set in and collapsed heavily onto the sofa. He was alone in the house, as he had known he would be, Francis having told him that morning he was to go out and hunt for more paint samples with Eliza. An excursion that he was grateful to be left out of.
Crumpling down further against the cushions, his eyes ceased to see as he let a thousand-yard stare take over. His fraught mind in total contrast to his body, which lay limply idle, there was nothing to distract him, nothing to occupy him, and so he gave in to the mood, remaining stationary, head full of incoherent worry, until Francis returned home.
Aware he should know better than to ask, the older man looked in at him from the hallway, a sympathetic inflection in his voice.
"Are you okay?" he entreated, receiving a blank faced nod in return. "Did you want to talk about anything?" he tried again but was given the same, lifeless denial.
He had expected nothing else, a typically Arthur way of dealing with things and one he had yet to crack the code to. Rather than attempting to force his way in, however, Francis thought it best not to add any unnecessary stress to the picture of tension he saw.
"Tell me if you change your mind," he offered gently.
Once more, Arthur nodded and kept his mouth shut, as he did the rest of the day.
A frazzled mess by the time he slipped into bed, Arthur almost felt bad that Tino was wasting his time on him. Francis set an alarm for half past two in the morning, jestingly grumbling about his beauty sleep then pecked the other on the lips to which Arthur barely reacted.
Laying on his side, held close to the body next to him, he made no effort to try to get to sleep, staring wide eyed at the wall that blurred in and out of focus in his fatigued vision. The few hours they had before they needed to get up again passed in the same kind of way they did when he was at work. Chunks of time seemed to go missing while minutes refused to budge. A jittering of nerves in the pit of his stomach would spark every so often then fizzle out again. Any bid to talk himself down from the frenetic heights he had worked himself up to was beyond his capability and as the alarm startled his partner awake, he felt the slightest sweep of respite as his wait came to an end.
Still in a state of unconsciousness, Francis reached out to end the noise and took a few minutes to come to terms with waking.
"Amour?" he croaked to check if Arthur was awake.
He hummed to show that he was and the sheets around him moved as Francis got up stiffly from the mattress. The sound of spurting water came from the bathroom and he listened to it fully, a welcomed protest to the silence of the past, lonesome hours. Breathing in deeply through his nose, the scent of damp warmth filled his lungs. Briefly closing his eyes which stung from overuse, he sat up slowly, nausea in his throat, and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
For a moment he feared he might vomit but the unpleasant sensation was temporary and once passed he stood with clicking knees. Something halfway between a sigh and a yawn trickled from him and his eyelids drooped, suddenly wanting nothing more than to sleep, his temperamental body doing everything it could to frustrate him. All he felt, though, was a sickening heavy-heartedness.
Swaying on unstable legs, spine straining to keep the meagre amount of flesh around it supported, Arthur drifted towards the bathroom, feet scraping over the carpet. The door was only pushed to, not fully closed as any need for privacy between the two of them had faded long ago, and he nudged it slightly with his shoulder as he entered. It squeaked a little, not loud enough to alert his other half who didn't notice his presence until he pulled open the glass door to the shower.
"Arthur? What are you doing?" Francis turned around, confused to see his partner stepping into the cubicle with him, still clothed and red eyed.
An obstruction forming low in his throat, Arthur wordlessly closed the door behind him, head bowed, and buried his face in the other's wet neck. The shoulders he sought comfort in rose and fell in a solicitous breath.
"It is alright, amour. It will be fine," Francis consoled, laying a kiss atop his soaked hair and wrapping both arms around him.
Eyes burning, Arthur couldn't tell whether there were tears or not but the lump that near suffocated him grew less as they stood together in quietly understanding company.
"Come now," Francis whispered after a while, "We cannot be late after I have spent the whole week telling him to be ready."
Nodding weakly against his partner, the smaller man pulled away and stripped himself of his waterlogged clothing, leaving it on the floor of the shower. Before he could turn to leave, however, his face was caught by a tender hand.
"It will be alright. Je promets," the older man vowed, glancing between his lover's bloodshot eyes.
"I know," Arthur's attempt to add a convincing smile turned out more like a mild facial spasm, the corners of his lips twitching but not going anywhere.
A look not much more persuasive was shown back to him and he was allowed to leave and drip his way back to the bedroom. He threw on the clothes from the day before, towel dried his hair so that it stuck up at different angles and sat back on the bed, chewing at his lip, waiting. Francis joined him before too long, getting dressed, calling a cab and texting everyone that needed texting, being generally of use while Arthur continued to zone out in the background.
Their plan running smoothly, the car arrived, and the couple went shivering into the starry morning. The sky was clear, and Arthur settled back in his seat, face close to the window so he could appreciate the rarely seen dots against the darkness. By the time they were outside his brothers' residence the glass was fogged over and he swiped it clean with his coat sleeve as they slowed to a stop beside the two boys.
Both were shuddering violently having been waiting there a while, but an excited smile split the face of the elder of them, enthusiasm not hindered at all, it seemed. Throwing the few bags Alfred had packed into the boot, they came around to slide in beside the older two men.
"Ooh boy, what took you guys," Alfred sat opposite Arthur on one of the fold-down seats rubbing his hands together, still grinning.
"Apologies, cherie, but there is no need to worry, we have plenty of time," Francis spoke tiredly but a gently amused expression adorned his face, "How are you feeling? Nervous?"
He commented on the younger man's exuberant demeanour as he sat fidgeting.
"All excitement, man," he beamed.
"And you, Mattieu?" Francis directed at the younger twin who jerked out of his half dozing state at being addressed.
"Hm?" he blinked through steamed up lenses and rubbed his face, "Sorry, it's too early."
A small simper curled Arthur's lip at his brother's hibernatory habits.
"It's alright Matt, go back to sleep. We won't be there for a while," he empathised with the complaint, never having understood how people like Francis and Alfred didn't seem to mind early starts.
The other nodded, eyelids already descending, and pulled his hood over his face as he leaned back against the headrest.
"I don't get how you can be so tired, dude, I'm wired the fuck up," Alfred enthused, "I couldn't even get to sleep."
"Good for you," his twin groused back.
Ignoring the sarcasm, he turned to his former guardians. His usually bright manner seemed about to burst at the seams as his whole being radiated joy.
"Thanks for coming with me though, guys. I appreciate it," he showed his gratitude.
Unable to remain sullen in the face of such feverish elation, the elder Kirkland managed to return a sliver of his expression.
"Of course," he hummed, then fell back into silence.
No one seemed to mind so much that he stayed largely mute through the rest of the hours journey, an easy conversation continuing between the other two conscious passengers, yet he did feel guilty that he couldn't show excitement for his brother when he clearly wanted him to. It was selfish of him.
Airports were strange places, Arthur always found, and they made people act strangely by extension. No one thought it odd behaviour to arrive three hours early or eat dinner at five in the morning or sleep on the floor. Everyone was too concerned with what they were doing to notice the people around them, he supposed and noted the strung-out expressions of those that passed them by as they entered.
"We got just over an hour to kill," Alfred announced, catching sight of a clock beside a list of departures.
"Is anyone hungry?" Francis asked, a redundant question when speaking to the human disposal unit that was Alfred, "I will buy."
They followed the little picture signs that showed them the way to an unfamiliar chain eatery where they sat and ordered or neglected to order in Arthur's case. As he had in the car, he listened to the upbeat chattering of his family while his attention was elsewhere, looking out at the lives of others. Couples meeting with passionate embraces or parting with tear streaked faces, business people zipping past on conveyer belts whilst on their phones, a family with a little girl who bounded along with a sparkly pink suitcase.
"You'll be back on the twenty-eighth, right," he interjected at a lull in the conversation. He knew this to be the case yet for some reason needed to be told again, looking for consolation in the certainty.
"Mm-hm, but you don't have to come meet me, I can get back fine on my own," Alfred assured them, biting into a strip of bacon.
"Do not say that, we will be there when you get home," Francis wouldn't take his offer for an answer.
Rolling his eyes at his family's protectiveness despite his appreciation for it, the younger man shrugged.
"Sure, if you really want to," he yielded, "and you better not take the tree down before I get back. I'm not expecting you to wait for me or anything, but I want to have a proper Christmas day with you all."
"Oui, cheri, we will save it all until you get back," Francis chuckled lightly at his childlike love for the season.
By the time they had finished there was another half hour to spare so the four of them ambled aimlessly around the various duty-free shops on offer and waited as Alfred bought an excessive number of snacks for the plane. Steadily making their way to the terminal number on the ticket, the pattern of jet engines rumbling then fading away again repeated and they passed by several windows through which they watched them take off. Each time, Arthur felt his heart constrict a little.
Before too long, an announcement pertaining to the fated flight blared over the tonoi and the group simultaneously stopped where they were. A few beats in which nothing was said, each of them needing a moment to process feelings they may not have expected to arise, then Alfred turned around to face them.
"I've got to get through security and everything first, so I guess this is it," he still grinned madly but there was a hesitance to his tone.
"Mon gentil petit garçon, we will miss you more than you can imagine," the oldest among them instantly flung himself at the boy, hugging him tight and wailing melodramatically as he showered kisses over his cheeks, "You must call us every day and tell us everything and promise me to be good."
Simply laughing at the display that most people his age would have found humiliating, Alfred squeezed his surrogate brother back.
"Yes, I promise, Francis. I'll be good as gold," he repeatedly pledged until the onslaught of affection had ceased and he moved on to his next goodbye.
"Just don't do anything stupid," Matthew disparagingly joked, brow quirked as his twin stepped forward.
"Oh Mattie," the older of them exhaled as he pulled his only younger relative into a bear hug, "When have I ever listened to you."
Dealing him several hardy pats on the back before he let go, he garnered quite the eye roll from the younger man who muttered something about his stupidity under his breath with a humoured smile.
Frozen in place as he had been since the announcement had sounded, Arthur could sense three sets of eyes on him, waiting for him to say something, their anticipation making it worse. He knew he couldn't remain staring at the floor forever, but after the weeks of dread, of ignoring what was to come, he found he couldn't quite accept the reality of the moment arriving.
"I…hope it's a good trip," he heard himself saying and looked up to meet those eyes the colour of spring flowers and that held the hopeful air of the season too, "And I want you to have fun and to be sensible, of course."
His voice cracked as he finished the sentiment and he cleared his throat to try and cover it, heart thudding in his chest.
For once, it appeared he wasn't the one lost for words as Alfred failed to respond. His eyebrows came together in concern and his lips pursed as he was confronted by the parting he too had been worried over.
"Thanks, you know I will be but…just, please, don't worry about me, Art," he beseeched, his eyes so painfully earnest that Arthur could feel himself mirroring the expression, "You don't need to, I'll be just fine."
"I know," Arthur was surprised by how believable he sounded and even more so by how easily the two words came out, "I'll still miss you, though."
A lopsided smile creeping across his face, the younger sibling let slip a breath through his nose, the sound of a gentle, grateful laugh, and embraced his brother.
"I'll miss you too," his reply was uncharacteristically soft.
Although he had to stretch onto his toes to be able to put his arms around the much taller man, Arthur could have sworn that he was still but a child. With his eyes closed he was sure he was ten years in the past, his brother barely up to his shoulder, clinging to him for comfort after watching one too many scary movies, afraid of the monster under the bed. Back when he was the protector and when others still needed protecting, when he felt useful to his family.
Worried he was lingering; however, Arthur went to part them yet found that Alfred's grasp wouldn't allow it as he held on a few more seconds before he released him. Stepping back, the two of them exchanged looks of mutual concern and reassurance which soon eased into subdued smiles.
"Well, try to get on without me then, I guess," Alfred jested to his family, swinging his bags onto his back, "I love you guys."
"Nous t'aimons aussi, Alfred. Call us as soon as you land and tell us if you need help with anything and enjoy yourself," Francis shouted after him as he backed away down the corridor, continuing until he turned the corner with a beam and a wave.
His own smile faltering as his sibling disappeared from sight, the eldest of the brothers watched where he had vanished as a dull ache of abandonment made itself known.
"Do you guys want to go?" Matthew piped up, glancing over with dark ringed eyes, "Unless you want to stay and watch his plane take off."
Francis also looked to his partner for the decision, who tore his gaze from the place he projected his current despondency onto and nodded.
"No point hanging around," he tried and failed to make his tone sound unbothered.
Walking against the flow of passengers that made their way towards the terminals, the reduced group was noticeably quieter. A lifelessness took a hold of the atmosphere and Arthur couldn't defend against it. Left drained after hours of constant anxiety, he was complacent with the emptiness left behind, even glad for it in a way. It reminded him that the thing he had been so hysterical over had come and gone and he had survived. It hadn't been the end of the world. A warped form of positivity but positivity regardless.
The sky still a black slab, as it would be for several hours to come, the blinking lights of planes coming in to land were clearly visible against it as they left the airport. Repeatedly casting his eyes skyward, thinking he might coincidentally see the craft that carried his sibling away, while they waited in line for a cab, Arthur felt an arm twine around his waist and looked over to see his other half doing the same.
With nothing to say, the ride home carried a dejected air, Matthew falling asleep again while the older couple sat in private contemplation, their hands joined.
"I'll see you tomorrow, maybe. Or the day after," Matthew yawned as they pulled up outside his residence some time later.
"Whenever you can," Arthur gently encouraged, not wanting to seem desperate but unconsciously fretful over being further separated from his loved ones.
"Sure," he concurred, sliding over to the door, "I'll see you both later."
He swung the door closed behind him and they waited outside until he had made it into the foyer of his building. The driver turned to ask for their second address and Francis leaned forward in his seat to reply.
"Ah yes, would you please take us to the Smith street shopping plaza, or as close as you can get, merci."
Arthur knitted his brow as his partner gave the address of somewhere an hour away and he looked over in confusion to see him suppressing a rather smug expression.
"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded point blank, immediately sensing something was going on.
"There is no need to look so terrified, mon ange, I have a surprise for you," Francis fought to keep the excitement out of his voice but broke into a wide smile when he caught the other's eye.
"Well, can you tell me what it is please?" the man left in the dark imposed.
Tsking, Francis' tone was fiendish as he insisted, "If I tell you it will not be a surprise."
Arms folded, Arthur mustered up his most indignant look and directed it full force at his lover. "Today really isn't the day for this, Francis," he bit.
"On the contrary, I believe it is the perfect day," the devilish man stood firm, "Please, do you not trust me?"
"No," Arthur would have none of his teasing, looking uneasily out of the window as a knowing laugh fell past the other's lips.
Merry Christmas, here is my gift to you. My worst chapter yet. I really, really hate this one.
I know Tino might be kind of an odd choice for the role but personally I feel that its fitting. He comes across to me as very caring but also highly emotionally intelligent. And also I think he's cute.