A/N: My formatting keeps disappear, and this is my third time trying to save this note. Just a heads up that the poem is not supposed to be one block of text, but four separate stanzas. This site just hates me guts.

11: Abandoning Gentlemanly Ideas for the Not-So-Greater Good

Waking up was a surprise. Somehow deep in the night, the adrenaline wore off, and he passed out. Letting out a breath, Arthur rolled onto his back. He spent most of the night trying to plan his next steps. The moment he walked out of his room, he was going to get it, but he was safe as long as he stayed inside.

He toyed with the idea of just never leaving; barricading the door and escaping through his window until he couldn't anymore, but that was just a dream. The majority of the night was spent trying to figure out what to say. For someone who always was great with words, he sure didn't know what to do with them now. As much as he wanted to believe he was creative enough to dig himself out, this hole was way too deep. No excuses could give him enough of a boost to crawl out. He dug his grave, and it was time to live in it.

What sucked the most was that he knew this moment would come. One day his lives would collide. One day his family would have to face what he has been facing the majority of his life - his gender preferences. Would they even believe that he tried everything to stay on the straight and narrow, literally, and that it just wasn't working for him?

After much late night self reflection, Arthur concluded this moment was why he had been doing everything he had. Being gay had nothing to do with the cocaine, the various other drugs, the promiscuity at bars and clubs, or with the occasional things he did with Ivan for some free product. They were just things that made him feel better in the moment - a crutch for when he had nothing else to lean on; for when he didn't want to work for anything else to lean on. If he couldn't be what his family wanted, might as well be everything they hated just for small moments of euphoria. Fuck the aftereffects.

Those thoughts were what led Arthur to his solution to the problem if what he was about to do could be called a solution. He rubbed at his face. Once he got the mental strength to get out of bed, he would become what they feared, and they could just deal with what they made him to be.

Arthur turned over to face the window trying to stop himself from thinking. After the long night, he didn't feel much in his chest anymore. His emotions left with his adrenaline making him numb. As he lay, he watched the sun slowly climb in the sky. Straining his ears, he could have sworn he heard his family approach his door sometimes lingering in the hall, maybe to listen to hear if he was awake. When the sun was fully up casting the room in daylight, he swore the door creaked open just for a few seconds.

Only when he couldn't take it anymore did he get out of bed. He stood by his closed door staring. On the other side was a new life. What he wouldn't do just to have somebody next to him in that moment. Francis's face flickered in his mind briefly. Frustration filled him. What he wouldn't do for any kind of drug to help him get through this.

He turned to look around his room, searching for an excuse to put it off. An idea struck. He could use a shower, a very long shower. He snatched some clean clothes and slowly opened his door, turning the knob fully before pulling it back. Using the lightest steps possible he made his way to the bathroom.

"Arthur?" Scott's voice drifted from his room. Arthur quickened his pace and shut the bathroom door before Scott could say anything else. He leaned into the sink trying to slow his breathing. This was harder than he thought. Minutes passed as he began to shower. Somehow he found himself sitting on the floor letting cold water wash over him.

He let the water rolling down his face obscure his vision, drip from his lips in large globs making his deep breathing sound gurgled at times. The day was mostly over. All he needed was to survive the day, and then he could forget about it all. At that thought, it was like his body snapped out of a trance. The water on his face was annoying. The floor was uncomfortable. The cold water made him shiver.

He dried off slowly watching himself in the mirror. The reflection was both comforting and upsetting. Internally, his sense of self was shifted, but outwardly he looked the same. The same Arthur that greeted him every morning stared back at him now. Yes, he didn't look as happy as he could. Then again, he's looked at a tear stained version of him, at an angry red-faced version, and so much worse. His eyes didn't look so different from the way they always did.

He wanted to smack himself. He wanted to make the other him look as distraught as he felt. He wanted to tear into his skin just so that he could see something. He wanted the horror of his family's judgements to hurt more than it was, more than it had been hurting for months back before it was tangible.

Tugging on his shirt, he nodded to himself. Just make it through the day. He looked at his chest. His parents didn't even know he owned and sometimes wore this torn up t-shirt.

The house was bright and relatively quiet despite the fact Arthur felt like he was walking through a horror movie waiting for the jump scare. Not running into family immediately shouldn't have been so surprising considering it was a weekday in the summer.

He spent the day on edge, dodging his family however he could, waiting for the next blow. At one point he sat on the floor of his closet, half to hide from a potential ambush and half for privacy. He needed to get rid of his stash before his family went digging, didn't he? He just wished he would have considered the possibility of a nosebleed when using like this. It helped though. Each little high bought him a little closer to the night. He closed his eyes and imagined that it was getting him through.

At the call of his name, he sat up. It was time for dinner.

When he made it downstairs, his three family members were already sitting. Scott didn't look at him but his parents gave his accessing glances as they ate in silence. Arthur glanced into the kitchen noting how the notebook they took was still sitting on the counter like it had been all day. As if his gaze activated something, his dad began talking.

"We've been reading your stuff, Arthur, and have a lot to ask about."

Arthur glared at Scott who had the gall to look guilty. "I don't know what there is to talk about."

Mr. Kirkland sighed. "Arthur. I think you know."

"Not really," Arthur spat, "It's just some shitty amateur writing, who cares?"

"Arthur," Mrs. Kirkland gasped at his outburst.

Arthur clenched his jaw.

Mr. Kirkland threatened, "Do you need me to read pages from this… journal?"

"Who the hell ever called it a journal?"

"Don't try to deflect."

"It's poetry; creative writing."

"It's definitely a little too creative, and we need to deal with it. Now."

Arthur stood. His arms were shaking. He wanted to yell. He wanted to run. "Oh yeah. And you think you can deal with me? I'm not Walt."

Scott paused. Mrs. Kirkland let out a "oh honey." Mr. Kirkland's eyes narrowed. "No, you are not, and you better sit down. Now."

Arthur stepped back and shook his head. "I don't know what you are going to do."

"Anything that needs to be done."

The words felt muffled. His head was underwater. The only clear sound was his thudding heart. "I'll - I'll leave now then."

He bolted. The calls from his family echoed up the stairs behind him, but he ignored them letting his feet carry him. His bedroom door slammed behind him. On instinct, he grabbed his wallet before opening the window and stumbling onto the roof. The constant nights of drunkenly climbing the roof allowed him the muscle memory to stay upright and jump into the back garden safely.

Once he hit the grass, he ran, knowing that he only had a few minutes at most before his family went into his room and saw the window left wide open. He was numb in the worst way. He felt so much, that it was as if he felt nothing at all. Panic and shame thudded under his skin so badly he considered cutting it open just to see if he could release the demons inside that weighed him down.

No.

There was another way.

It was early, but by now he knew exactly where to find him.

Ivan was standing against the side of a popular disco smoking. He looked relaxed and casual, but on closer inspection you could see his eyes were alert and constantly observing the people walking past. It was a spot Arthur was accustomed to at this point. Ivan was always here when he didn't have anyone to meet. The business of people heading into the disco was probably steady. Plus, there was easy access to an almost always empty alleyway that Arthur was accustomed to at this point when needing to exchange services for product when his funds were low.

Ivan's scanning eyes met Arthur's panicked ones.

"Hello, Arthur. What can I do for you this evening? The usual?"

"I don't know. I just don't know," Arthur shifted to stop himself from full out pacing. Ivan tilted his head to observe the other. Arthur took a calming breath and ran his hands back and forth over his head. "I - I don't want to feel fucking anything. That's what I need."

Ivan dropped his cigarette and moved to stand close to Arthur. "That I can do for you." He grabbed Arthur's hand and put it against himself pressing Arthur's palm to his crotch. "And I know just how you can afford it."

Arthur gasped, "I have cash." He pulled his hand away from a surprised Ivan and dug out his wallet. When he decided to go all in earlier, he actually did and completely emptied out his mom's purse. He pulled out a wad of bills. "Will this do? It's what it normally costs, but if this is different I don't…" He trailed off frustrated. He could barely concentrate. The conversation with his family, the looks on their faces, kept haunting him.

Ivan snatched the cash and flipped through the bills. "This will work."

They made the exchange. Arthur ignored any suggestive comments from Ivan about coming back and jogged away. He wanted to be alone. He didn't want to run into anyone. He didn't want to be forced to watch the happy faces of people out with friends enjoying themselves.

He slowed when he reached a concert venue he had still yet to go into and turned down a familiar alley. His breath slowed as he let the sounds of people dissipate and the noise of a soundcheck bleeding through the brick stabilize him.

Sitting on the ground, he prepared a needle and tied off his arm. The motions overtook him the same way people could drive home from work mindlessly. He thought about himself. He thought about his family. It would have been better if he wasn't alive, if he hadn't been born. Things would be easier for everyone that way. His family was always meant to be a family of four, and he had no purpose existing.

He pulled out the needle with a breath, and closed his eyes pretending he could already feel whatever high he would get taking hold.

One thought circled in his head: fuck his family.

Arthur felt a presence near him. He opened his eyes even though it was probably a reaction from the drugs.

"Arthur," a hazy voice gaped. Arthur turned his head to meet the wide eyes of a stiff Francis.

"Fucking shit," Arthur muttered. The moment he opened his mouth Francis was already at his side, stuttering through something to say. He slowed to silence as his fingers traced the hand Arthur was using to hold the small syringe. Francis' face grew dark.

"What did you take?" he demanded.

Arthur lulled his head. "Fuck if I know."

Francis's jaw twitched. "You don't know?"

Arthur shook his head no. He shifted so he was sitting up more. Shame that being caught by Francis was ruining his high, although it wasn't the same elevated high he normally got. Wow, he really didn't know what was in this one.

Francis traced a hand over Arthur's face pushing his bangs back and trying to get the other to turn towards him without forcing it.

"You're not supposed to see me like this."

Tilting his head, Francis asked, "Then who is?"

"No one."

"You can't make me believe that you deserve to be alone." Frances went from squatting to sitting next to Arthur, not showing any discomfort for having to sit on the muggy ground.

Arthur's throat closed. He swallowed back tears.

Francis continued running fingers through Arthur's hair focusing on the nape. "What happened, mon lapin?"

Arthur let out a shaky breath and shivered. "So much."

Francis just nodded having at least some guesses. He stood slowly. "We can talk about it later. Why don't you come with me and get sobered up?" Francis grabbed Arthur's wrists and pulled him into a swayed standing position.

Arthur shook his head. "I don't deserve…"

"Don't deserve the shit you have to go through, I know."

Arthur bit his lip trying to hold back the feelings he hoped he could artificially deny.

"It's going to be okay, Arthur." Francis positioned himself so he had one arm around Arthur to guide him as they walked.

"You don't know that."

"Who knows you better than me?"

Arthur shrugged, not feeling up to talking, his head muddled from everything and whatever he put into his system.

"And right now you probably can't trust your own brain, so trust the person who knows you best. It's going to be okay."

Arthur nodded twice just to show that he heard.

They walked in silence. Despite not being far, needing Francis's help to stay at a steady pace slowed them down a lot. It was okay, because the cool air seemed to help, and it was nice to be moving instead of sitting stagnant somewhere. A familiar home loomed overhead.

"We're at your house," Arthur observed.

"I had a feeling you wouldn't want to go home tonight."

Arthur nodded and opened his mouth a few times. Francis spoke as he shifted to grab his keys. "My parents aren't home. Don't worry."

"Okay," Arthur whispered.

Francis had Arthur follow him into the kitchen. Arthur started to rub at his head. Francis didn't stop moving, grabbing a large glass and filling it up at the sink.

"You're probably dehydrated."

"What?"

Francis nodded at Arthur. "You have a headache?"

"Yeah," Arthur admitted, lowering his hand.

Francis huffed in acknowledgement. Holding a full glass of water, he led Arthur up the stairs. Arthur's slow pace was partially due to how he felt and partially due to him observing the house. The walls were stuffed full of pictures, some landscapes, some art, and lots of Francis. He paused halfway up the stairs, his eyes meeting a grinning younger Francis who was wearing some large feminine hat. Judging by the setting, he had grabbed it from his mom's closet and took the picture then and there. Francis paused and turned around to see what was holding Arthur up.

"Are you feeling okay," Francis asked cautiously.

Arthur tapped the photo. "I like this one."

Francis sighed but his mouth quirked up. "Come on. You can look at embarrassing pictures later."

Arthur shook his head. He had no idea why he felt so passionate about this. "It's not though! It's nice. We don't have this kind of stuff." Francis bit his lip and narrowed his eyes briefly.

"You're having trouble focusing. Let's sit down." He grabbed Arthur's arm again and led him into his room which felt just as clustered as the stairs. This time Arthur couldn't get himself to focus on anything other than the fact that the room was full. Francis prodded him until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Arthur plopped down and grabbed the glass of water Francis was thrusting at him. He didn't drink but watched it ripple, as Francis watched him from a chair he pulled close to the bed.

"They know," Arthur murmured. His eyes twitched.

"How'd they take it?"

"I didn't stick around much, but not good."

"Did you tell them?"

"I was suspicious because I didn't seem interested in Emma."

Francis blinked and leaned back.

"Then, Scott brought up my notebooks," Arthur spat.

"Your… notebooks?"

Arthur shot Francis a look. "You've read them. You know."

Francis's eyes widened. "Shit."

"Exactly. I left when they started talking about helping me. Who knows if I'm even welcome back home."

"They could have been talking about something else."

"And what the fuck could that be?"

Francis nodded in the direction of Arthur's arm.

Arthur rubbed a hand down his face hard, letting his calloused palm scrape against him almost painfully. "You weren't supposed to know about that."

"You took a cocaine break at dinner."

"That's an assumption."

"I'm not an idiot."

"That you are not."

"What are you going to do now?"

Arthur chuckled humorously. "There's nothing left for me to do. I'll just keep this up until I can't anymore."

Francis opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur interrupted swirling his water glass. "I can't belong anywhere. I am nobody. I have no values. I have no family. I have no money. I can suck dick for a hit and… and…" His voice cracked. "and be what everyone thinks I am."

At Francis's silence, Arthur glanced up. His eyes widened. Francis was crying, actual tears running down his face.

Arthur panicked. "I didn't mean - Francis don't cry."

"You're full of shit," Francis spat.

Arthur flinched.

"You think this is all you're good for, but you're fucking wrong. You think you have nothing? You're the most talented person I know. Who the fuck cares if some people don't appreciate what you write? Tons already recognize how great it is. You think you don't have family? You have Walt. Have you even tried to reach out to him since he moved away? You're afraid you don't have friends here? What about Torris and Felix? They care. Actually, they are really worried. They've seen you around. They know you're avoiding them. They saw you around Ivan a few times. They're fucking worried and don't know what to do about it."

Francis stared.

In a shaky voice he continued, "And what about me?"

Arthur closed his eyes. "I can't contaminate you."

"Contaminate?" Francis yelped and stood.

Arthur shifted. "I fucked up too much. You're too perfect. I could ruin you." Arthur hunched waiting for Francis to say he already had. Instead arms wrapped around him. Arthur's eyes widened as Francis hugged him.

Francis spat, "You're full of so much shit for someone so smart."

At that, Arthur let himself cry. He let the dam holding everything back open and bawled into someone's arms. For the first time in a long time, he let himself be comforted. He let Francis rub his back, shush him, tell him to let go, and wipe away his tears.

They stayed like that for a long time. They stayed when Arthur's tear ducts ran dry. They stayed as Arthur calmed down, as he drank his water. They stayed.

"You're too perfect, Francis," Arthur whispered.

Francis's mouth quirked. "You've mentioned it, but it's always nice to hear."

Arthur huffed. "It's - I'm happy, happy that you are looking out for me and stuff, but I have no idea how to be better." He put his hands on his neck and pulled himself forward looking down. "I don't even know where to start."

Francis leaned into Arthur. "Do you know what I was doing tonight? What I have been up to recently?"

Arthur shook his head no.

"I've been planning with Torris and Felix." As an afterthought, Francis added, "Vlad a little bit too, but mostly Torris and Felix."

"Planning what?"

"How to help."

"I don't think preparation is what I need."

"No, but support and people who might understand could be."

Arthur bit his lip. As much as he wanted to deny help, this is exactly what he's been secretly wanting.

Francis continued, "Remember the bookstore we went to a long time ago?"

Arthur nodded.

"They have these groups - "

"I don't think a book club is what I need."

"You would love the book club I go to, but it's not that. A lot of people in the community struggle with the same stuff you are. They also don't really have anywhere else they can go, so they meet up and talk about it. Torris is really into it and helps organize everything."

Arthur hummed.

"Remember Raivis?"

"Yeah."

"He goes."

"Victims of Ivan club?"

"Among other things."

"Ah," Arthur vocalized incredulously. It seemed a little petty but also too good to be true.

"Torris isn't an idiot. I think he figured out what was wrong with you before I did."

"And what's wrong with me?"

"The struggle between who you want to be and who you are." Arthur's insides froze.

"And I thought I wasn't transparent."

"I just know you too well."

"That you do." Arthur yawned.

Francis's lips quirked. "Maybe we should talk more tomorrow."

"Yeah, I need to sleep this shit off."

Francis got up to leave, but Arthur grabbed his arm. "Thanks."

"Anytime."

"No. For more than this. For working with everyone to find me a way out."

"Maybe you should consider it a way in?"

Arthur shook his head. "I think escaping my box is a way out, and… thanks for giving me a push. Just… it's going to be hard for me, so push me. I'm going to need it."

"Mon lapin, I don't need to be told twice to harass you."

Arthur smiled. "I guess not."

"Goodnight, Arthur."

"'Night, Francis."

Disoriented. Arthur was disoriented. His throat was dry from crying the night before. His head ached. Sitting up, he chugged a glass of water that was next to the bed. The unfamiliarity of the room caused him to need a few minutes to catch his bearings. A lot had happened. A lot was going to continue to happen for a while, but at least he had help making some of the decisions.

Arthur took the moment alone to actually observe Francis's room. Last night was the first night he had ever been inside. Before, he tried to avoid being alone with Francis somewhere like this. He was worried about what urges he'd give into when surrounded by this kind of comfort. Now, he questions how much about Francis he was missing out on.

The room was cluttered, not in a messy way. It was just full. The walls were stuffed with posters, drawings, photographs, all kinds of art. Books were stacked on the desk and the floor. There was some clutter near the closet - clothes and the like. A lot about it reminded Arthur of Walt if Walt was more of a romantic and into the things Arthur was into.

He stood and, after fixing the bed to the best of his ability, began to walk along the wall taking in everything. He spotted pictures of Francis and Felix. There was a shot of a large group of people in what looked like the bookstore. He assumed that was the bookclub Francis once invited him to. He paused on a large drawing depicting a scene from Pride and Prejudice when the door opened.

"Oh! You're awake," observed Francis obviously surprised.

Arthur gestured to the drawing. "Did you make this?"

Francis leaned against the wall and looked at it. "It was a gift."

Arthur nodded and moved on to the other things on the wall. "A good gift for you."

"You don't need to look at everything you know?" Francis proposed.

Arthur didn't turn around but raised an eyebrow.

"Seriously." Francis must be hiding something to ask twice.

Arthur lingered on a paper. It was ripped out from a notebook. Tape covered it completely creating a homemade laminate. Arthur traced it. "What's this?"

Arthur could feel Francis bolt behind him. "Nothing!"

Tilting his head curiously, Arthur leaned forward to read. He murmured the lines of familiar handwriting to himself:

Thoughts on the Existence of Magic

When I was younger, I believed in magic -

The talking beasts and secret worlds of oral history.

If we told these stories forever, they must have been real at least once.

When experience aged my mind, I believed in practical magic -

The tales of other worlds and brave rescues laid out in written word.

If the books were hoarded and consumed, one could travel there if only for a while.

When I heard him speak, I believed he lacked experience -

The relaxed way he dreamed openly and seemed to exhume the essence of fantasy.

If his otherworldly nature and gleaming eyes could be around forever…

His presence feels like the answer to a quest given by an unseen Lion.

When I met him, experience washed away curing my curse.

If he exists, maybe magic could be real after all.

Arthur took a step back, surprised and turned to look at Francis who was not meeting his eyes. A pink dust coated Francis's cheek as he looked at the top corner of the room.

"Francis…"

"Huh?" He still wouldn't look.

"Why did you keep this?"

Francis then looked at him. Arthur's face shifted back and forth between amusement and confusion. He had never seen Francis embarrassed before but didn't understand why the poem he ripped out and gave to Francis so long ago was protected and pinned to the wall.

"You gave it to me," Francis stated as if that could be answer enough.

"I, uh, I did. It's just," Arthur glanced at the poem which was in a prime wall spot then back to Francis, "I thought you would use it as a bookmark and then lose it or throw it away."

Francis crossed his arms defensively. "It's a good poem. I like it."

"I… It's…" Arthur blinked rapidly trying to figure out what he was feeling. "It was written by a stranger."

Francis cocked his head. "You aren't a stranger."

"I remember when I gave this to you at the first dinner. We just met."

Francis rubbed at his chin. "No. We met before. You just forgot."

"Yeah but years ago."

"I remembered that." Francis shrugged. "I mentioned at the dinner too. I said something about how it was good to see you again." In a quieter voice Francis added, "I remembered you very well."

"You remembered some dumb kid you barely knew when you were younger?"

Francis shifted. "Let's go with that."

Arthur looked at the poem again. It had been treated with such care.

"We should eat breakfast. I started some tea."

Arthur nodded glancing between Francis and the poem one last time before following him out of the room. There was too much to do to spend time discussing something like saving a page from Arthur's notebook.

Once they sat in the kitchen, each holding a cup of tea Francis asked, "What are you planning to do now?"

"I think I want to do that group thing." Arthur leaned into his hand. "As tempting as it is, I can't keep doing what I've been. Even I know I'm reaching a dangerous breaking point, so might as well attempt to be... whatever." He couldn't get himself to say better and his upbringing wouldn't let him consider anything he was looking into being as normal.

"I called Torris already. There's a meeting tomorrow."

"Cool."

Francis hesitated. "My parents come home in a few days, this weekend."

Arthur furrowed his brow. Francis clarified, "What do you plan to do about going home?"

Arthur crushed his eyes shut for a moment and slowly opened them trying to maintain some semblance of calm. "I can't avoid them forever, can I?"

"You'll need to go home, Arthur."

"I," Arthur let out a sigh, "I prefer not going home cold turkey."

Francis leaned forward, eyes assessing. "How bad is it exactly?"

"It's not! I swear. It was more of a casual thing before this week." Arthur rubbed at his face. It was mostly true, but he was having cravings before this week. God, he hoped he wouldn't actually get symptoms.

Francis shook his head at a loss.

"Okay. I got it. Okay?"

Francis raised an eyebrow at Arthur's attempt to both psych himself up and calm himself down.

Arthur outlined his plan. "I think I should stay one more night and go to the meeting thing. Maybe that will make me feel better, uh, mentally. Plus, I'll have a better idea how I am physically and be more prepared. If I feel up to it, I can go home the next day."

"And if you don't?"

"I'll figure it out."

Francis gave him a concerned look.

Arthur took a long sip of tea and put the cup down. "One day at a time."

"Okay." Francis tipped his cup towards Arthur in a mock salute. "One day at a time."

A/N: Finally got past the poem hump. I had a lot I wanted for it, and after getting an anon on tumblr I just said fucked it and grabbed the best fitting one from what I had and am just pushing forward.

I'm still super obsessed with this chapter and everything involving Francis. I have no idea how universal using tape as a was to keep paper protected, but it was a thing in my life growing up.

More updates coming actually soon this time! Hope ya'll enjoyed the double update