12: How Gentlemen Dream and Heal

Staying with Francis was surprisingly pleasant, or at least as pleasant as could be expected when he was craving a fix so much. Arthur regretted depleting his stash the day before, mostly because he felt like upping how much he took was giving him early withdrawal symptoms. It normally took a little longer for him to get cravings this bad. Then again, for someone so interested in knowledge, he never looked into what the drugs were actually doing to his system.

He woke up from a restless sleep and was agitated. He snapped at Francis, apologized, snapped again, and then felt outright depressed about being a dick. He tried to shower to get his head on straight. The warm water helped. He knew what this was. If he could get past it, he'd be fine. What he really hoped was for someone tonight to have some sort of tips.

As he got out of the shower, he avoided meeting his reflection, focusing only on changing. He borrowed a plain soft t-shirt from Francis. He tried to borrow pants, but he wasn't nearly as lean as Francis in the waist area. Instead, he had been wearing some of Francis's too-long pajama pants, while Francis washed his jeans. He felt goofy in the pastel t-shirt and his now clean, black ripped up pants, but this is just who he is now.

When he entered the living room, Francis was lounging on the couch. "Shower make you feel any better?"

Arthur nodded and went to sit on the chair, creating a reverse of the first time Arthur slept on the couch. "A little. Sorry about being snappy."

"It's okay."

"Doesn't feel okay. You've only ever been helpful."

Francis rearranged himself so that he was leaning against the arm of the couch facing Arthur while still laying down. "And I know that you never mean to hurt with your words and actually are being a softie."

Arthur snorted and turned away, settling into the chair perpendicularly with his legs hanging over the arm farthest from Francis.

The two fell into a comfortable silence, Arthur staring at the ceiling and Francis watching Arthur with soft eyes.

Francis proposed, "Want to listen to something?" He stood up before waiting for a response, but paused by the record player tucked into the corner of the room as if he wouldn't play anything if Arthur said no.

Arthur shrugged. "Sure."

Francis fiddled loudly while setting everything up, never caring to contain himself in a way to act quietly. Arthur smiled at his antics, still looking at the ceiling, thinking. A slowly building instrumental melody filled the room.

Arthur furrowed his brow and lifted his head to look at Francis who was walking back to the couch.

"Is this Choplin?"

Francis plopped down. "Yep. Points for recognizing the artist."

Arthur stared at Francis upsidedown assessing.

"What?" Francis asked.

"Just didn't know you like classical music," Arthur said slowly. He turned back to look at the ceiling again so that Francis couldn't see his face.

"Love it actually. I play it when I cook sometimes. Makes it easier to pretend I'm a real chef."

Arthur bit his lip and turned over completely with a groan. He was still draped awkwardly over the chair, but now his arms were crossed over the arm on the chair and his chin was resting on them.

"You could be, you know?"

"I could."

"And you want to be? Like that's your big dream?"

Francis's eyes twinkled. "I don't know if I'd call it my big dream."

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

Francis shrugged his shoulder not leaning on the couch. "There's more to life than careers."

Arthur let out a whistle. "Haven't heard that one before."

"Really?" Francis didn't even try to hide his shock.

"Is that you trying to say that it's weird?"

"Nothing's weird, but…"

"You don't have to censor yourself for my sake. You should know that at this point."

"It's sad."

Arthur blinked and nodded grimly.

Francis sat up so that he was sitting criss cross. "I'm not talking about you. I'm talking about the circumstance. Like, no one around you ever dreamed of something other than work - not family, not accomplishing some other intangible goal - that's a harsh outlook on life to be surrounded by."

"What's your dream?"

"What?" Francis looked taken aback.

"You said your big dream wasn't being a chef. Best start surrounding myself with better stuff now. Besides, I want to know."

Francis flushed. "It's, uh -"

Arthur cut him off. "Don't say it's silly. Come on. We're best friends. You share, and I'll think of something to share.

Francis fiddled with his ponytail. "Love."

Arthur pursed his lips. Then, moved to a sitting position, his neck getting sore from looking at Francis from that angle despite it being a great angle - the light hit his hair really nicely from a low viewpoint.

"What about love?"

"I have a lot of ideas about what I'd consider the dream on that front, practically a checklist at this point," Francis deflected

Arthur hummed. "Sounds exactly like you."

A pause.

Arthur asked, "Are you going to share any? If it's a long list, I'm sure you can find some to share."

"It's really not that interesting. I'm very average. Just looking for falling in love, getting married, maybe kids, a chef job where I can be creative in a kitchen but still have family time."

"Married with kids?"

"The world could change. I could adopt. Besides, it's the big dream. You have to dream big. I have tons of little dreams too."

"Strange being friends with an optimist."

Francis tilted his head. "Strange can be a compliment."

"It is. I meant, the optimism. It's real nice."

Francis nodded looking a mix between solemn and pleased.

Arthur summarized, "So tiny dreams. That'd be being a chef and falling in love."

"Reciprocated love," Francis corrected.

Arthur's brow rose. "Of course," he agreed. The correction only made him feel like he knew less about Francis than he thought, and the fact irked him. His stomach clenched.

Francis leaned into the arm of the couch. "What about you? What's been one of your dreams?"

"I don't know if I've ever had a good big dream."

"Surely you've had some small ones."

Arthur thought hard. His throat constricted as he reflected on himself, and he had to wait until he had control before he could come up with something he deemed sensible enough to say.

"I think… I think I'd want to write. I don't know what I would like to write, but it would be nice to be creative with words every day."

Francis nodded. Arthur took that as enough encouragement to say more. "Lots of writers get to work from home offices and stuff, which would allow me to be home. I could, you know, be around whatever family I end up with more than, more than what it's like in my house now."

"But I guess that skips a lot," Arthur rubbed at the back of his neck.

"What do you mean? Seems like a pleasant dream to have."

"If I think about it too much, that future family is faceless or just disappears. I never," Arthur swallowed thickly, "I never really let myself imagine relationships and falling in love before. It's why I really really like how optimistic you are about it. You said you dreamt of marriage and family like it's not a big deal, but it is. It's a huge deal for people like us, and after everything my parents have always told me about this 'lifestyle' I just - it's hard to not feel selfish, like I'm risking hurting myself and others for an intangible storybook idea."

Francis's face grew cold. "I don't think you can trust them to know anything about this at all."

Arthur let out a wet sigh. "But I've trusted them and listened to them about everything else."

"Arthur…"

"I feel like I'm always telling you that you don't get it, so I won't say it again, but, Francis, they've taught me everything about the world, and that's who I am. If they're wrong," Arthur didn't finish shaking his head instead.

Francis leaned forward. His hands gripped the end of the couch as if that was the one thing stopping him from going over to Arthur. "But how many of those things made you happy? How many were just you struggling to make yourself fit?"

Arthur stared at Francis emotionless.

After a tense moment, Francis leaned back slowly. "Just because they are wrong on this front, doesn't mean you can't still be the man they influenced you to become. People can be wrong about some things and right about others. Only you understand who you are."

Arthur's lips quirked; he cracked a watery joke, "I thought you always said you knew me better than everyone else."

Francis huffed a short laugh. "I guess I don't consider you everyone else."

Arthur nodded slowly considering his words. The two sat listening to the record until Francis had to get up to change it out, making the decision that they should continue listening. Once he sat down, Arthur stated, "I want to know more about you."

"Oh?"

"You know everything there is to know about me. It's kind of unfair."

"I consider myself very transparent," Francis teased.

"I suppose." Arthur knew Francis was right. You could know almost everything there was to know about Francis's personality and inner self just by spending an hour with him, and Arthur spent many many hours with him.

"Who gave you the Pride and Prejudice poster?"

Francis's face projected amusement. "Someone from bookclub."

"It's your favorite book."

"It is."

"Not Jane Eyre." Arthur had always liked the idea that Francis had given him his favorite book.

"Ah, it was for a short time. I mostly thought you would like that best."

"So, the person who gave you the drawing, a, uh, lover?"

Francis barked a laugh. "God no."

Arthur blushed and scowled to try to hide his embarrassment. "Worth asking."

Francis slowly gained control of his laughter. "No, no, it's a viable question, but, no, not a lover. The bookclub did a secret santa thing, so it was a good friend, someone more of a sibling than anyone I'd want to pursue something like that with."

"Oh, well that's good."

"Good?"

"You know what I mean."

Francis tilted his head but Arthur continued talking before he could say a response.

"Why is it your favorite book?"

"Well, lots of reasons. I like the romance."

"Kind of stuffy, isn't it?"

"Psh, you need to reread it. Elizabeth broke boundaries. Besides, I like Mr. Darcy."

"Kind of a douche though, right?"

Francis smirked. "Or shy and bad at talking."

Arthur thought about it to himself. He couldn't remember enough details of the book to refute anything Francis was saying.

Francis interrupted Arthur's thoughts. "Why do you like The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe best?"

"That's a hard question to answer. Plus, it's tied with Jane Eyre for my favorite now."

Francis beamed. "A good choice." A more serious look flickered over his face. "I always wanted to ask about the note in the cover, the one from Walt."

"It's just a thing he wrote for my birthday. He always liked to try to give this vague advice to me when I was younger. I think it made him feel wise. Honestly, I bet it still does."

"Have you talked to him recently?"

Arthur looked at his hands. "Not since he left. I was trying to figure out a letter to tell him everything, but now," Arthur waved one hand about as if that could fully articulate everything better than he could.

Francis let out a low whistle.

"Exactly. My parents probably got to him at this point."

"Always worth trying. I bet it'd be good to call."

"Maybe. I'm still in the boat of avoiding family."

"Until after the meeting tonight."

Arthur shot him a glance. "Yeah."

After that they fell into silence, letting the classical music flow over them, enjoying each other's company in the otherwise silent house.

That evening Arthur found himself staring at his reflection. What does one wear to a support group full of homosexuals with addiction problems and whatever other issues were relevant? He was still wearing one of Francis's pastel shirts which fit snugly against his form but also seemed to hang too long. He ran a hand through his hair considering fixing it like he would when he went out, but instead ended up patting it down. He only knew how to be around people like this at bars and discos, but he supposed there was a different etiquette here. The best he could do was hope that gays accepted the general gentleman etiquette his dad taught him and didn't mind an off kilter fashion sense.

He shouldn't even be stressing. When Francis was cooking them dinner, he had sat on the counter watching and vocally stressed about the upcoming meeting. Francis eloquently told him he was full of shit and that being himself was the best bet - whatever that meant.

Francis always made universal statements that felt like they belonged on some cheesy school poster that didn't actually motivate students; rather, made the teachers feel better. Yet, when Francis repeated idioms, Arthur actually believed him.

A knock on the bathroom door brought Arthur back to himself.

Francis's voice muffled through, "Ready to head out? It's a bit of a walk from here."

With a deep breath, Arthur opened the door and left for the meeting.

The early evening was cool, and as it was a weekday after rush hour, relatively quiet. Francis tried to keep them on residential roads where most people were inside having dinner instead of the busier commercial streets that could have some after work shoppers.

They walked mostly in silence, but despite the nerves Arthur felt, it was comfortable. It was as if they were meant to walk side by side on a sidewalk just enjoying the close presence of the other. At times, Arthur had to stop himself from reaching out to grab Francis's hand. For a few blocks, he walked with his hands behind his back just to resist the temptation to brush the back of his hand against his friend's. The one thing he's been right about this entire time was how spending time like this with Francis being open and alone would make it harder for him to hold back, harder for him to deny his feelings. He was wrong in thinking that he wouldn't like it. Although he still felt like there was a forcefield stopping him and that Francis was an untamable force, he was content to bask in these feelings and embrace the moment.

Francis slowed his pace as they reached the last block. "You ready?"

"No idea. I don't even know who will be there."

"I think it's a diverse group. Anyone who needs support for whatever. Torris will be there."

"And Felix?"

"I don't think so."

"Thank God. I can only handle so much energy right now, and he's going to have my head for avoiding him next time he sees me."

Francis laughed, "You have that right." After half a block of silence, Francis stopped. "Do you need me to wait around for after?"

Arthur pocketed his hands. "I think I can find my way back on my own. Might be good to have some time to think for a bit."

"Okay, yeah, sounds good." Francis shifted.

"Just don't go to bed and, then, leave me locked out. Alright, Frog?"

"I am not a Frog. I am a man," Francis corrected, then smiled. "I'll do that." He gripped Arthur's shoulder. "You'll be fine."

Arthur let out a breath. "Thanks."

Francis nodded, said goodbye, and turned to leave. Arthur stood watching his friend's back for a moment, taking the time to stare without shame. Once Francis went half a block, Arthur turned and entered the bookshop.

A/N: Hope ya'll like emotional conversations because oh boy does that seem to be all I'm writing recently. Good news is that I'm almost done with at least the draft for the remaining chapters, so the end is near.

I'm also slowly archiving all this on AO3, and will post future stuff there consecutively with here for the time being (maybe only there eventually, since this site isn't the most writer friendly and as far as I can tell people use both)

Also how is everyone doing with COVID19? I'm trying to pump out fics more since we are all slowly being stuck at home. Hope everyone is okay.

Double also I'm on tumblr as allavengedromance and twitter as bethfrombackrow if you want to follow or chat there (full discretion: I just finished the Magnus Archives and am being kind of spammy)