Anyway, I decided to drop the italics for French part in this chapter since :P

The ride on the tube was relatively peaceful. As he and Francis rode the tube, Arthur realised that it had been awhile since he had been to the museum.

It had been the first place he went to when he arrived at London. He scoffed. London seemed so much grander back then, a metropolis of opportunities. Funny that, compared to the jungle of concrete and greys that he sees now.

Shortly afterwards, they arrived at the museum, a large banner of the display proudly hanging at the entrance. The display itself was dimly lit, apart for colourful spotlights that lit up the different displays and museum labels to give an illusion of a jazz concert. There were not a lot of people there, and the people there were reading and looking at the displays, so it was relatively quiet lest for quiet jazz music from throughout the ages that played over the speakers.

It was a lot quiet here than Arthur had thought. The most sound here were the music, and even that was toned down. He also thought that there would be a lot more instruments and albums on display, but on the contrary, he could see other mix of items as well. Music sheets, interactive screen displays, etcetera.

There were a load of information regarding to technical aspects of jazz in the display as well, like how accidentals can affect the music drastically.

The two wandered around a bit more, until he and Francis met up again at an interactive screen display about how jazz music could change one's state of mind.

As Arthur put on the headphones, a quote on the screen caught his attention:

Jazz is something you have to feel, something you have to live.

- Ray Brown

He thought to the time Francis said that music was an international language, and remembered how vibrant his saxophone playing was. Truth be told, he missed how expressive Francis' music could be quite a bit. He missed his music a lot in general.

He mentally jotted that quote down. It could probably become a pretty good theme in his book. Even if the instruments weren't the same, the same essential theme of music was still present.

The interactive display showed various clips of MRI scans when the patients gets exposed to the music. Aside from jazz, there were also other music genres to compare it to, like folk, classical, and pop.

They watched on together as the vibrant colours of the scans morphed and according to the music as the text explained the science.

He rubbed his nose as he watched the classical music scan. "Well, I've heard that, that listening to classical increases brain activity by 20 to 25% and whatnot," he commented, trying to start a new topic. He looked over to Francis, who he could see nod to the music, but seem a little distracted. Said person nodded, and yawned.

"It's 20%, actually," he replied.

"Ah, yeah, that." They watched on as the interactive did its thing where it displayed the technical aspects featuring scales and arpeggios and sharps and such, which all contributed to how the music sounded. He whistled as he marvelled at the complexity.

"Do you have to remember all that?" Francis shrugged.

"Pretty much. Perks of music theory, I suppose." Arthur grimaced and nodded.

"Geez."

"We definitely don't study MRI scans, that's probably something for psychology. Music theory's much more boring than that. " Arthur smiled and nodded at his comment. The interactive was simplified enough for anyone to understand it, but he could still sense the subject's complexity that laid beneath. It was similar to how differently phrased sentences can evoke different emotions, but at least it could more precise in it that it whad words, while music seemed to be more like a stab in the dark.

Either that, or it was like learning another language. He thought about his book. While the main character was indeed a musician, he didn't feel like researching too deeply into music theory.

"My, that's unfortunate," he joked. "Is it hard to write music or…?"

"Ah!" Francis looked to the side and smiled sheepishly. "Well, I've… I've never exactly tried, though." He inhaled a hiss, and scratched the back of his head. "I've never liked writing music, anyway. Playing it's better."

Arthur nodded. "Same for me, I suppose, in, in a way. Writing's sort of like constant trial and error until you find that sweet eureka moment." He exhaled as he crossed his arms. "Though writing's sort of more of an applied craft, I suppose? Erhm, playing music? It's… it's…" he looked at the floor while he tried to find the right words. "Sort of more like narrating, I guess."

"Arthur?"

"Hm?"

"It's fine," Francis reassured with a smile and nod. The pressure seemed to slip off from his shoulders. "No need to explain everything, I get it!" Arthur sighed a breath of relief.

To be honest, it felt nice to be reassured. To feel alright just the way he was, even if he jumbled up words sometimes when he spoke. He thanked him, and focused back on the display, absorbing the information presented.

He glanced over to Francis who stood, nodding his head to the music, his eyes with a distant musing. There was a distant glaze in his sight, though, like he was thinking of something. Arthur noticed how he smiled in a way that told him that he was bored. Arthur took off his headphones, and looked around the display. The only reason he suggested coming here was because this was a jazz display. Suddenly, he felt cheap. He just barely suggested going here in an attempt to interest him, when in reality, Francis probably knew all this before.

"Shit, I'm sorry, is this boring to you?"

"Hm?" He raised his eyebrows when he realised what Arthur had meant. "Ah!" His smile disappeared, and he grimaced as he exhaled. "I… went here yesterday, actually."

"Yesterday! Jesus, you could've just told me, at least!"

"You seemed a little eager. I didn't want to disappoint you, so I agreed."

"Really? Huh." He tucked his hands into his pockets and looked to the side. That was pretty considerate of Francis, though he was still a little mad over the went here yesterday thing. "I… didn't want to bore you too much, either, the conversation, I mean." He inhaled a hiss. "I saw a poster and… yeah. Thought that you might like it." He bit his lower lip. Hearing his speech falter, he took a deep breath in to calm down his nerves, which didn't work too well. The tension was already growing thicker for some reason, even when he wasn't even trying to make it tense.

Arthur glanced over to Francis, who didn't seem too iffed by Arthur's response.

"Ah! That's actually pretty considerate of you, I suppose." Francis shifted to the side and stood, cross armed, tapping his other forearm. "You know, how about let's not make too big of commitments, since it seems to stress us too much. How's that?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure, sounds good!"

Arthur sighed a breath of relief when he saw him relaxed. To be honest, he was glad that it wasn't too big of a deal, and that it didn't end in a total disaster.

"In the meantime, let's just enjoy the rest of our time here."

"Sure." He glanced mischievously towards him. "Next time get concert tickets, though."

Arthur rolled his eyes and pulled up a bit of a smile. "Sure. But don't be surprised if the seats aren't the best," he joked.

"Oh, and by the way, one of my roommates has a musical that will premiere in a couple of weeks, do you want to come see?"

"Erhm… depends. What's it about?" Francis looked to the side, and thought.

"Hm, I'm not too sure how to describe it without spoiling too much. It's somewhat like… phantom of the opera meets pirates of the Caribbean?"

"Phantom of the opera meets pirates of the Caribbean? What, is it called phantom of the Caribbean?" Francis snickered.

"Good one. It's called Doubloon. Though it's more of something like pirates of the opera based on what you're saying."

They shifted to the next stand, and read up information of John Coltrane. Arthur glanced over to Francis. Said person was skimming over the museum labels, and clearly thinking, from the distant look on his face. It was a good kind of distant, as in a musing about a thing sort of distant, and the fact that a small smile was forming supported that. He breathed out a sigh of relief. Francis didn't seem too mad after the short conversation. Arthur reminded himself that he was probably being a bit irrational, and that he shouldn't concentrate too much on him, so he looked away.

Without the headphones on, he could hear that Francis was quietly humming to the music (he actually had quite a good voice, sort of a velvety voice similar to those singers from the 50s).

"You know, I used to listen to this all day," Francis started.

"What?"

"When I was a kid, I found some old jazz records in the attic." He smiled at the distant memory. "And this was the first one."

Arthur nodded. "Huh." So this was the music that had Francis get into music. He could see why. With its elegant, calm melody, it was fitting. He noticed how there was a piano in the background as well, and wondered if Francis got into piano as well.

"Hey, so can you play the piano?" He asked.

"Hm? Ah," Francis looked to the side as he stroked his chin. "Well… I could play some parts of Für Elsie off the top of my head, I suppose."

"Ah, nice, I suppose." He looked at his fingers before tucking them into back his pockets. It was hard to play it in time, especially when both of his hands were involved. "I could barely play heart and soul. Honestly, I have no idea how pianists are able to play so well." Francis nodded, and they focused back to the display. "My way of getting into writing was not that mystical, though," he joked.

"Hm?"

"I saw some really shitty movies as a kid. Thought that they were really bad, and yeah, I rewrote them the way I wanted it to go."

Francis raised an eyebrow, and snickered.

"Mon dieu. Even as a child, you were cynical." Arthur shrugged with a sheepish grin.

"Old habits die hard, I suppose."

They were only meant to tour the jazz display, but at the end of the day, they toured the museum for the rest of the afternoon, admiring the fossils, the artworks, the artefacts.

For someone as quiet as Arthur, Francis had never thought that he would be able to say so much. As soon as he went to the main displays, he seemed to lit up and talk about trivia. Obscure, but still somewhat interesting.

"You know, Greek hadn't changed much over the last couple of centuries, so I think that Greek people can still read texts by the Ancient Greeks or something like that."

"Bad teeth was sort of seen as attractive back then, hilariously enough, cause it was sort of like this symbol of wealth."

"You know how the Ancient Egyptians believed that cats were sacred and stuff? There was this Roman soldier who accidentally killed one, and he was executed… I-I'm sorry, am I, am I being too rambly?"

"No no. Go on!"

Furthermore, he was actually… happy. As in, smiling, whether he realised that or not. And it was nice to see. Sure, he wasn't the biggest fan of historical trivia, but it was nice to see Arthur finally completely relaxed and actually comfortable rather than tense all the time. It was finally relieving to see Arthur enjoy himself for once.

Even after leaving the museum, Arthur was still going on about facts about Tutankhamun. He didn't mind. It was nice to see Arthur actually happy for once, and he didn't want to interrupt that enthusiasm. (In fact, when was the last time he had actually seen Arthur this enthusiastic?)

"Anyway, yeah." Arthur let out a sigh of content as he looked back. "The British Museum. First place I went to when I came here."

Francis nodded, touched by Arthur's passion for the place.

A harsh whisper grabbed hold of him. He came to London to get away from Paris. After his mother and Lisa died, he just… came here and… he didn't even remember. It had a lot of crying involved. He didn't want to remember. A feeling of dread crept up on him.

"Francis, you OK there?"

"I'm just thinking about things."

"Do you want to talk? Or…" He shook his head, and Arthur nodded in understanding.

"I'll try sort it out, don't worry."

Of course, he just cried after he came to London. He just cried. He just got away from Paris like the coward he was just to cry over family he didn't even-

He took a deep breath in. It was alright. He was just shocked at the time. Sure, he made a mistake of not going to their funeral, but beside that, he was shocked. He moved out of Paris from fear.

As he and Francis made their way to the station, he couldn't help but notice how silent and still Francis was. His brows were furrowed as if in deep thought, his eyes had a glazed look, and he was pretty still. He didn't even flinch when the snow fell onto his bare head.

"Hey." Francis blinked, snapped out of his trance.

"Hm?"

"You're gonna freeze your head if you keep on leaving it exposed like that." He brushed some snow off of Francis' hair and lifted up his hood.

"Thank you."

"You sure you don't want to talk about it?" Francis glanced to the side, then shook his head.

"Alright. Talk to Dr. Turner about it, alright? Or, or either Antonio or Gilbert, or just write it down somewhere."

Francis raised an eyebrow. "Alright, then."

The ride back home was a little friendlier. Calmer. To be honest, Francis was glad that Arthur tried to help with his situation, even when he wasn't fully sure what was bothering him. Reminding him to talk about it… It was nice to have someone try to help him regardless.

On the way back, they conversed a bit more, and it was… nice. After they greeted farewell, and Arthur reminded Francis to talk about his worries, he closed the door and fell back with a contented sigh. The trip to the museum actually went better than he thought. He realised that he had forgotten to address to Francis about the wedding, but shrugged. Oh well. Today went well enough that this barely bothered him.

He hoped that Francis was able to talk to someone about what he was going through. Hopefully.

Following Arthur's advice, he was going to talk to Antonio about it, but changed his mind when he saw an incoming Skype notification from his laptop.

As expected, it was his father, and they discussed to each other about their week like usual.

Francis thought back to how Arthur suggested talking to someone about his worries, and now was a good time. It was more than just his worries. This was about the death of his mother and fiancée. Heartstrings within his chest tugged painfully. He was surprised that even after three years, the pain still felt raw.

"Francis?" He heard, and he breathed in.

"Dad. Do you… you…" Tears we're starting to prick at his eyelids. Not wanting to cry in front of his dad, he grabbed a nearby piece of paper and a pen.

"Francis, what's wrong?"

After he finished writing the note, he looked away and held it up:

Do you miss mum sometimes?

The sound of empty air was his only response. For a second, he was afraid that he was going to hang up. He heard the shifting of a chair against wooden floorboards, as if his father was adjusting his seating.

"Sometimes," was his only response before he faced silence.

He bit his lower lip, still afraid to make proper eye contact. "Dad… I'm, I'm sorry that I left right after Mum and Lisa died."

He went back to his constantly musing face, the face of a lawyer at work. Francis grimaced at the many frown lines that appeared on his face, and suddenly, his dad, the backbone of his family, seemed to age 10 years. He exhaled.

"The past is in the past. You needed space. I understand."

True, his father was not the best to consolidate to, but he had a good point. Straight after the car crash, he just wanted to get away from Paris. From France in general. Not knowing a language other than English and French, he went to London.

"But it wasn't right."

"It happened. We all needed our own ways to cope." Frank glanced to the side and sighed. "But whatever happens, you're still my son. Don't forget that, alright?" Francis nodded.

"Alright. Maybe… you could come back to Paris for a bit. Properly say goodbye and all that."

A weight seemed to drop off from his chest as he looked up.

"I'll… think about that."

Pause.

"You're smiling," he noted.

"What?"

"It's just that you've actually been happier than usual," he replied. "I'm glad." His expressions remained neutral, but there was a glimmer of content in his eyes, and a ghost of his smile on the corner of his mouth, but it said a million things. I'm glad that you're starting to move on. I'm happy that you finally don't seem tired.

"Really?" He didn't notice that, though it was true that he had been more content over the last couple of days. "Yeah, I've been starting therapy. And I'm… glad that we've talked." He twirled his thumbs around. "You know, my week has been alright. Went to a jazz exhibit today with my friend Arthur today, so that's a highlight."

"Arthur? Your old penpal?"

"No no, that's Angus."

They talked for a bit more until they decided to call it a day and disconnected. Francis was surprised at the pang of pain in his chest. Even after three years, the wound still felt fresh. Maybe it was because he had never let it heal.

The wound wasn't completely healed, nor was the pang in his chest permanently gone, but the conversation felt like a long overdue surgery stitch in place, and the pang in his chest had started to dilute.

The savoury smell of pisto filled the air as Toni brought in the dish, and Francis felt his mouth water. The two began a conversation, and then Gilbert walked in.

Gilbert watched as Toni and Francis conversed, and heard 'Arthur' slip out quite a bit. He waited until they finished, and attempted to start another conversation with: "Geez, you've been spending a lot of time with Arthur now, haven't you?" He started, attempting to join in the conversation. Francis looked towards him, and shrugged, before continuing to talk with Toni.

Ouch. Talk about a cold shoulder. Francis had been spending time with this guy named Arthur. And ever since then, it had always been Arthur this, Arthur that.

Ever since he had started seeing this Arthur guy, they had actually started seeing each other less and less, even though he had barely known Arthur for like, what? A month?

A year ago, they were perfectly fine as friends. Hell, they had been friends since they were kids. Now he won't even talk to him about his worries. What happened? They had known Francis better and longer than Arthur had. Shouldn't it be the other way around?

When he and Toni washed the dishes, he expressed his concerns to him. He was expecting Toni to nod and agree like he always did, but this time, he was a little more quiet.

Toni sighed as he dried a dish. "I dunno, Gilbert, he seemed to be happier since he met Arthur-"

"Ugh, good god. Arthur this, Arthur that, seriously, what kind of merit does this guy have?"

"Merit?" He placed the dish onto the stack.

Gilbert shrugged. "I dunno, it seemed a little fishy that Francis would be fine, and then talk about all this mental health stuff the next."

Antonio had to cling onto the washcloth instead of the dish to resist the urge to crack it. Had Gilbert really been this blind?

"Are you blind? Francis wasn't fine. He used to take long walks in the night until 2am, he'd barely eat a morsel of food, he-" Gilbert scoffed.

"Toni, everybody go through those moods sometimes. It's fine," Gilbert shrugged as he rinsed the dish with soapy water. "Everybody goes through those moods. They usually last like a month, tops, and usually they just solve themselves. Don't get yourself too worked up over something as basic as that, alright?"

Fine? Basic? He had to draw in deep breaths through his nose to calm down. How could he? How could he say something like that?

But one thing that stopped him from saying any more was the everybody. Out of all of them, Gilbert was the one with the thickest skin. To him, what Francis was experiencing was probably normal.

He felt a smooth, wet surface touch his skin, and saw the plate being nudged towards his arm.

Toni sighed, disappointed that he had nothing to add, and went on to dry another dish.

oH MY GOD IM SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG but on the plus side it's three times longer than usual :D

Part of the reason it took so long was because I couldn't figure out exactly how to characterise Gil. I was sort of indifferent to him, and so he was gonna be a lot more douchey, but then he became a fave, so I was like: ",,,,,, well,,,,," Hopefully this should be the right amount of it

Anyway, sorry guys, it'll probably be around three more weeks before another chapter comes up, since I'll be away during that time. I'll try to write more drafts, so hopefully you all don't have to wait as long after that!

Thanks probablysomebody for beta reading this fic!