Chapter Thirteen:
People stared when we walked into history together. I noticed that Francis no longer tried keeping his chair as far away from mine as he could; in fact, his chair was now uncomfortably close to mine. I found myself inching away from him as Mr. Provence started flicking off lights.
"Today we will be watching a movie about the 100 years war," he stated in his monotonous voice. I didn't really catch the rest of what he was saying – I was too busy trying to make sure the stupid frog's arm didn't wrap around my waist like he was trying so hard to do. The last light was turned off and suddenly the room went dark.
It was that moment that Francis chose to whisper in my ear, "You smell so nice." A shiver went down my spine as the old TV at the front of the room flickered on. I turned to Francis so I could push him away from me and saw myself reflected in his light blue eyes. Swallowing thickly, pushed him as hard as I could. Francis grinned and leaned in again, enveloping me in his arms.
"Don't you think you're getting too close?" I hissed at him, grabbing at his hair and tugging it. Francis winced but didn't pull back, nuzzling me lightly. My face turned a bright red as I slapped his arm…which turned out not to be the smartest thing I've ever done. Francis's skin seemed to be rock solid… like marble. As I nursed my hurt hand, Francis retracted his hold on me.
"I'm sorry," Francis said quietly, his voice full of mirth. I flipped him the bird with my unhurt hand and began to ignore him. "That wasn't smart of me, was it?" he continued as I started to start at the TV screen fixatedly. "That was quite dangerous for you, I apologize," he added in a more serious voice.
"You better be serious," I muttered back, forgetting my plan on ignoring him.
"I am," Francis promised. We fell into a silence, both of us now actually watching the movie. Time to time I did happen to glance at Francis, only to see him staring back at me, a strange look in his eyes. I'm not quite sure if I liked the look or was terrified of it.
It was a relief when the period finally ended and we were allowed to go. As the students around us lazily got up for their final period classes, Francis followed me to the parking lot to drop me off at home.
"Don't you have a fifth period class?" I asked him as we passed by Lovino's Bugatti Veyron.
"Oui – gym," Francis replied airily.
"And you skip it everyday?" I asked.
"Oui," Francis said with a smirk.
"How are you even passing that course if you don't even attend the class?" I asked incredulously as Francis unlocked his car, sliding into the passenger seat and pulling on my seatbelt, slightly annoyed at how familiar his car felt to me.
Francis shot me a winning smile. "Because the teacher is female," he replied with an airy laugh. I rolled my eyes as Francis shot out of the parking lot.
We fell into a comfortable silence as Francis fiddled with the radio with one hand, the speedometer perpetually over a hundred.
"Is it later yet?" I asked finally. Francis frowned, pausing in his song searching to stare at me. He sighed.
"I suppose so," he said reluctantly. I waited for him to answer. He continued to drive, both hands on the steering wheel and his eyes fixatedly staring out the windshield. Francis stopped the car a few minutes later; we had reached my house.
I didn't get out of the seat – Francis had yet to answer my question. Francis seemed to be contemplating something, leaning against seat and staring out the windshield at the clouds overhead.
"When we hunt," Francis began suddenly as my eyes were beginning to droop [from a mixture of exhaustion and boredom], "it's like we lose all of our human instincts. We become more primal… more monstrous. The fact that I find it hard to control myself sometimes in my normal state is scary enough…if you were ever there… I'd probably rip you apart without a second glance. And not the way I want to either," he added teasingly, eyeing my clothes lecherously. I was sorely tempted to punch him, but didn't want a repeat of earlier with my hand.
"I see," I said finally, nodding. I unbuckled the seatbelt and opened the door, the cold gust of wind hitting my face.
"Oh and Arthur?" Francis called out as I made a move to close the door. "Tomorrow's my turn."
"For what?" I asked in confusion.
"To ask you questions," he replied and with that, he drove away, a smirk growing on his face. I rolled my eyes and walked into the house. I tried to finish my homework early so I could get to sleep and rest my body properly. Unfortunately, my subconscious had other ideas. My dreams were plagued with Francis and I was tossing and turning all night, waking up regularly. It wasn't until at least three in the morning when I finally did drift into a deep sleep, not waking up until my alarm clock sounded at seven.
The next morning was just as cold as the day before. I dressed in my warmest clothes, wishing I could be somewhere warmer than cold, dreary St. Helens. I somehow managed to wake up early, catching Albert sipping from his tea while reading the local newspaper when I went downstairs for breakfast.
"I made eggs," he said with a little motion of his head, his eyes never leaving the print. I nodded and helped myself to some, sitting across from him at the small table.
"So… are you planning on going to Liverpool this Saturday?" he asked me, looking up and staring me in the eye.
"Of course," I said in a casual tone, directing my attention to the eggs on my plate.
"You can't even make it to the dance?" he asked.
"I'm not going to the dance, dad – they aren't my thing," I informed him.
"Well did you ask anyone?" he asked.
"It was girl's choice," I lied half-heartedly. Albert gave me a sympathetic look and I realized the implications of my lie. I turned a deep red and looked away. Albert patted my back encouragingly.
"Don't worry, one of these days a girl will like you for who you are," he said and my stomach knotted uncomfortably. I wondered what Albert's reaction would be when I told him I didn't even like girls in general.
Albert left for work a few minutes later, leaving me to clear up and clean the dishes before getting my things and driving off to school. It wasn't very long after hearing Albert pull away from the driving that I heard another drive up. I didn't even have to check to see who it was. I left the house with my things and locked the door, Francis casually leaning against his car as he waited for me.
"Bonjour," Francis greeted me, his voice smooth and silky. He opened the passenger door for me. I rolled my eyes.
"Hello," I replied reluctantly, pushing past him to get into the car. He closed the door gently and walked around to get to the driver's seat before getting and driving out of the driveway. I saw him glance at me curiously before glancing back at the road. We drove in silence. I hoped that perhaps Francis had forgotten his plan of interrogating me and decided not to say anything that might make him remember.
"What's your favourite colour?" Francis asked suddenly. I frowned; he had remembered after all.
"Green," I replied, looking out of the window.
"Why green?" Francis asked, wrinkling his nose.
"Because green is the colour of nature and life and creativity," I replied. I snuck a glance at him, only to see that he was staring at me curiously.
"That's an interesting answer," Francis mused.
"What's yours?" I asked.
Francis chuckled. "Nope – not saying. Today's my turn, remember?" he reminded me.
By this time, Francis was already driving into the parking lot, circling it to find a space to park in.
"What was the last song you listened to?" Francis continued. I frowned – it had been a while since I last listened to music.
I listed the first song that off the top of my head. Francis stared at me before pressing the eject button on his radio, pulling out a CD and flashing it at me.
"You mean this?" he asked and I found it strange that we listened to the same music.
His interrogation continued when we saw each other again for lunch, asking me anything that he could think of. My jaw was beginning to hurt from talking so much – I had never talked so much about something in my life. And surprisingly, Francis was interested in everything I said – from how my favourite gemstone was [topaz] to my favourite flower [rose – Francis seemed to really like that answer…] to what my favourite type of cuisine was [British, obviously].
The only type Francis stopped asking me questions was when Mr. Provence turned off the lights to continue the movie we were watching in History. Francis didn't attempt to sexually assault me this time – that didn't stop me from feeling uncomfortable, though. It was as though my body decided to be a traitor to me; I found myself imagining Francis holding me and brushing his lips against my neck. A shiver went down my spine and I snuck a glance at Francis, only to see him staring at me like before. I turned my attention back to the TV but the uncomfortable urge wouldn't leave. I was extremely relieved when Mr. Provence turned the lights back on and the bell rung, signifying the end of class.
As we walked to his car so he could drive me home, Francis's questions became harder to answer. He pried into my private life, asking me what it was like back home in London, what my mother was like, why she left, what it was like living with my father, etc. We sat in his car for hours even after Francis arrived at my house, Francis refusing to let me leave before I finished answering all his questions.
I've never talked so much before – Francis leaned back in his chair, listening to me go on about the little backyard I had back in London that me and my mother used to spend hours working on in the summer. I tried to explain the scent of our Indian neighbours' cooking that would fill the air in the afternoon and the sound of our Australian landlord's dog barking at night – picking fights with the stray cat that liked to wander our street. Before long, the sky was beginning to darken and the air became chillier as evening came upon us.
I concluded my description on what my favourite book was, my mouth feeling worn out from the constant talking. Instead of asking me another question, Francis paused, looking alert.
"Are you done with the 20 million questions?" I asked him hopefully.
"Of course not – but your father will be coming home soon," Francis replied. I blinked.
"Albert!" I exclaimed, surprised that I had forgotten about my father despite the fact I had been telling Francis all about him not too long ago. "How late is it?" I asked, looking out the door and feeling horrified I let myself stay in a car with Francis until it was practically dark.
"It is twilight," Francis murmured thoughtfully, staring out of the window as well, smiling softly. "Such a romantic time, non? Lovers reuniting after a busy day full of stress, falling into each others' arms, kissing each other hello as they tell each other about their day…" he mused to himself.
"Oh please – stop with the bloody romantic nonsense. It's just early evening," I replied, rolling my eyes.
"But don't you think it's a romantic sight when the sun sets and the stars come out?" Francis prompted.
"The most murders happen in the evening," I answered. Francis frowned.
"You are so unromantic, Arthur," he sniffed. "Don't you like twilight?"
"Time of day, yes. Movie? No," I replied and he chuckled. Francis got out of the car and crossed to my side, opening the door before I could. I opened my mouth to make a snarky comment about not needing to have my door opened like a woman when I saw the suddenly stricken look on his face.
"Oh no," he murmured, moving away so I could get out of the car.
"What's wrong?" I asked, pulling my backpack onto my shoulders. A droplet hit my nose and I looked up to see rain beginning to fall steadily onto us. A flash of light hit us as another car parked itself along the side of the road in front of the house. Its headlights were too blinding for me to tell who it was.
"Another problem," Francis murmured, closing the door quickly and walking back to his side of the car. "Albert is nearly here – he's just around the corner," he said quickly before getting in. "I'll see you tomorrow," he added as an afterthought before driving away into the night.
"Hey Arthur!" a familiar voice called out from the driver side of the car. My eyes watered from the glare of the headlights as I tried to see who it was.
"Alfred?" I questioned. Just then, Albert's police car came driving up to us, his headlights illuminating the person who had called out my name.
Alfred was opening the passenger door, saying something to the man sitting in the passenger seat. He seemed to have the same shining blue eyes that Alfred had. They had Alfred's youthful twinkle, yet seemed to have more wisdom in them that most men his age don't have. There were wrinkles along the sides of his mouth, signifying a man who smiled a lot. He wasn't smiling as Albert got out of his car and grabbed me by the arm, pulling me towards the two. It had been many years since I had last seen George Jones but he still seemed the same as before. He was staring at me intently with those piercing blue eyes. There was shock in them…as well as fear. I swallowed thickly, not sure of what to do.
Francis had said that there was another problem.
George seemed to look worried for me as Albert and I approached the car. Did George manage to recognize Francis in the dark? Did he actually believe the legends that Alfred found so funny?
It was clear to me what the answer was, just by looking into George's eyes. Yes, he did.
A/N: Dun dun dun. I totally love writing Artie and Francis with total UST in the back of their History classroom in the dark. Tis fun tiings, y'all.
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