The airport was much the same picture of languid frenzy as it had been on their last visit, as though trapped in a perpetual loop where frantic faces sped in circles, never to reach their destination. Despite it being late afternoon, it held the atmosphere of the morning before sunrise, solidifying Arthur's theory that it was a place locked in time. Not that this bothered him, however, as the anticipation that lapped at his insides in waves kept him from thinking about anything else.
Making their way to the right terminal, Arthur lived in the moment that was to come rather than the present. He played over in his head how he expected it to be, predicted the rush of seeing his brother, tried to experience it in advance. Made rather useless by his inability to focus, and thanks to the lack of instructions from Alfred, it was no wonder that the group spent some time lost, almost not making it to the correct location just in time.
The announcement being made over the loudspeaker was drowned out by the blood that raced past his ears as his heart had become lodged in the back of his throat. Afraid that it might beat right out of his mouth if he tried to speak, he stood without a word, as did the other two. All three remained in a suspense filled silence, eyes locked expectantly on the doorway through which they waited for the fourth of their family to emerge. As the minutes dragged on, Francis grew antsy and began to worry the himself and the others about what could be keeping him. He was only listened to by the one of the group though, as Arthur remained fixated on the doorway, hearing nothing of his partner's complaints.
A slow trickle of bodies began to pour through the doorway, the moment each one saw their loved ones marked by a smile and an accelerated pace. Scanning the thickening crowd, the face that they waited for still did not emerge, his honey blond head absent from the bobbing mass which had started to dwindle.
Brow creasing, Arthur craned his neck for a better view, thinking he had perhaps missed his brother, but as the last stragglers came from the doorway it was clear that Alfred hadn't been among them. Glancing to the side to see similar expressions written across the other's features, he pinched the inside of his lip between his front teeth as the excitement amongst them turned to anxiety.
"What are you guys waiting for?" Alfred's voice lilted with amusement as it came from behind, startling all three of them.
Reflexively spinning as his heart leapt, Arthur was faced with the blinding grin of the man he had agonized over for the past weeks. Relief overwhelmed him, coursing through his veins to the tips of his fingers, warm and soft, immediately flushing out the stress that had built up over his time away.
"Oh, mon dieu, toi horrible garçon! Do not scare us like that!" Francis reacted with the expected melodramatics, placing a hand to his chest as he scolded before a smile quickly dissolved his fright and he reached to hug the taller man.
Bending down slightly to accept the gesture, Alfred chuckled as he squeezed back. "I told you I was at the west gate, what are you doing all the way over here?" he asked as they released one another.
"This is the west gate," Matthew informed him, gesturing to a sign that affirmed his point directly above their heads.
"Huh," the older twin looked up, placing his hands on his hips, "Must have meant east then."
Matthew shook his head as he was shown the same affection, unable to hold a frown as his hair was ruffled, playfully shoving his brother away in retaliation.
Turning from his younger sibling to his older one, Alfred smiled, raising an eyebrow as he held his hands to the sides.
"See? Made it back in one piece," he joked, not at all surprised by the intense sense of relief that exuded the other.
Eyes almost obnoxiously blue watching him with exuberance that Arthur had nearly forgotten the impact of, all the older man could do was exhale through his smile and reciprocate the tight embrace he was pulled into.
"Miss me?" Alfred could already tell his answer from the way the other's hands clutched the fabric of his jacket.
"Yes," Arthur replied with all sincerity.
He felt a gentle puff of air tickle the hairs on the back of his neck as Alfred expelled a breath. Holding onto him a few seconds more then parting, lips subtly upturned in an expression of deep contentment, Alfred held a similar look that told him he was genuinely glad to be home.
"Come, you must be exhausted," Francis prompted them to make for the exit.
They turned to follow him, Arthur helping Alfred with his bags which were considerably heavier than when he had left, filled with various oddities he had wasted his money on.
"Nah, I'm alright. Passed out the second we took off," Alfred refuted his concerns, like he hadn't noticed the dark shadows below his framed eyes.
Continuing to fuss over him nonetheless, Francis led the group out to wait for a taxi, exclaiming how quiet the house had been without him and how he was sure he must have grown a few inches in his absence. It was the two of them that made up much of the conversation with the less expressive pair interjecting occasionally.
As they sat in the car on the way home, the younger man's animation had them all hanging onto every word despite his scattered style of storytelling.
"And my roommate, this guy Davie," he cut himself off at every other word as he tried to stifle the laughter that bubbled inside at the memory of it, "I swear he's the funniest guy I ever met. Like, there was this one night we went out to the field when it was closed and this security guard came out of nowhere and Davie, he," he was unable to finish the thought for the amusement it brought him and he dissolved into hysterics that the other's couldn't help but join in with, though they never heard how the story ended.
"You think you'll keep in touch with these people?" Arthur posed through his rambling.
"For sure, man, they're all great," the other nodded adamantly, "I was talking to them the whole time I was at Paul and Linda's."
"How was it there?" Matthew joined in at the mention of them as Alfred hadn't brought them up until that point.
"Alright, I guess," Alfred shrugged, lips quirked with apathy, "Pretty boring when it was just me and I didn't know anybody there. But I did get to drive Paul's truck."
More exploits and fiascos were regaled over the course of the journey, causing heads to shake in humoured disapproval that was only half meant. For a trip of only ten days it was a wonder he had found time for so much and still made it back.
Barely pausing for breath the entirety of the way to the elder couple's home, Alfred changed the subject as they came through the front door.
"Where is she? I've been excited to meet my new niece," he referred to the family member they had gained while he was away.
"She's probably in the living room," Arthur directed him to go and make Queenie's acquaintance and watched the younger man go inside, worrying after him, "Be gentle, though, she's shy around strangers."
"Yeah, I'll be careful," the other waved a hand and approached the animal that perched up on the window ledge.
She backed away when she saw him, bending her body out of reach as he went straight in to pet her. It was rather like watching an overgrown puppy try to make friends with a cat as Alfred poked his face hopefully and obliviously into her personal space then watched, disappointed, as she sprung from her spot and darted to the kitchen.
"I told you," Arthur commented from the doorway as the cat ran past him.
"I was gentle, I just wanted to love her," Alfred pouted, looking sadly to where she had disappeared.
Smiling softly at the boisterous young man, the elder sibling followed his furry companion to where the rest of his family resided.
"Arthur," he was addressed by Francis' terse tone and directed by said man to look at the counter where Queenie had just leapt up, "She will not listen to me."
He followed his partner's unspoken order and removed her, holding her in his arms where she seemed happy to be.
"It's not really like you can train a cat, Francis. I think you'll just have to make your peace with it," he replied.
"I once read that cats are smart enough to understand commands but choose not to follow them," Matthew, who was sat sideways on one of the kitchen chairs, noted.
"You hear that?" Francis addressed his furry adversary, "I know you do it on purpose."
The tiny rebel only blinked back at him, smugly resting in the protection of her master's arms. Giving her an affectionate scratch behind the ear nonetheless, Francis glanced over his shoulder and addressed the group in general, though the question was aimed more at Alfred.
"Who is hungry?"
"Always," Alfred expressed as was expected.
"We saved you what you wanted, help yourself," Francis told him what he had been hoping to hear and hardly had time to move out of the way before Alfred was rummaging through the fridge.
"My God, Al, did they not feed you over there?" Arthur observed with some disapproval of his gluttonous behaviour.
Scraping various items out of dishes and onto his plate, Alfred emerged from the fridge, a string bean hanging from his mouth like a cigarette. "Sure they did, but I've been on a plane for the last eight hours," he justified.
"What was the food like over there?" Francis' superiority when it came to cuisine gave him a rather morbid interest in the American diet, as though he was watching some horrible accident on the side of the road.
Alfred jerked his head back to swallow down the vegetable that hung from his lips and gestured a shoulder. "Pretty good but not as good as yours obviously," he complimented with emphasis, "They did have this pie, though. No clue what was in it, but it was damn good."
"Mon tendre, if you want pie, I will make you pie," the older man doted, happy to have someone who would take his indulgence.
He had always been more lenient of the couple on their two young wards and had grown more so since they had moved out, as though trying to tempt them back. As much as Arthur scolded him for it, he understood completely. In truth, he was glad his partner felt that way, partly because it disguised just how attached he was to his brothers himself.
"Stop spoiling him," Arthur tutted, rolling his eyes, "You've already cooked enough for an army."
"But he has come back practically a skeleton," the other exaggerated.
"Pretty sure I've actually put on weight, so, uh, no more pie for me, thanks," Alfred admitted a little self-consciously, eating ravenously despite this.
"You complain about your figure when you look like that," Francis scoffed.
Exhaling softly in amusement, Alfred leant his firm frame beside his elder sibling against the counter as he ate. With the cat held captive, he moved to make a second attempt at friendship, far more tentatively this time. He held out a strip of meat for her as a sign of good will, waited for her to sniff at it thoroughly, then reached over her head to stroke her neck.
Momentarily disturbed by the foreign hand, she twisted to investigate but soon deemed it not a threat and allowed him to touch her as long as there was food on offer. When this one benefit was lost, however, she leapt to the floor and strolled from the room back to where she had been sat by the window, eyeing the cars that passed by.
His arms freed, Arthur turned and saw to the rose that had found a home above the sink where the light shone through nicely in the mornings and evenings. Turning the tap, he held it below the stream so that the soil was evenly dampened then replaced it. Though he hadn't had the chance to look up the specific care it required, it seemed to be doing nicely just being watered daily and occasionally moved so that it could make the most of the fleeting sun that December offered.
"I'm glad you like it," Alfred nodded towards the plant, "Reminded me of the ones mom used to grow."
"I think you mean the one's you used to kill," Matthew reminded him, his chin rested on the back of his chair.
"Not on purpose, I only wanted to help," the older twin defended, some genuine guilt registering on his face at the thought of all the innocent roses murdered by his well-meaning but misguided interference, "And I kept this one alive alright, didn't I?"
"It seems to be doing just fine," Arthur turned the plant to scour for any imperfections but found nothing worse than a few dried leaf tips.
It's creamy petals, still waiting to unfurl and show themselves in their fullest beauty, were blemishless and did indeed match, almost exactly, the roses that had been the centrepiece of their mother's garden. Her pride and joy, other than her sons, she had spent countless hours cultivating, weeding, arranging the space around her beloved rose bushes, treating them like the royalty they often represented. Never in his life had Arthur seen flowers more perfect than the ones she had produced, so full and fragrant as though she had poured her very essence into them, gifting them her own youth.
She had loved them as most people would only love things that breathed and moved. Arthur had never seen someone care for inanimate things as much as she had, nor had he since. He could still hear her voice talking to them as though conversing with an old friend as she made her way around with her watering can, collecting their fallen petals. For the longest time he hadn't understood why she had performed any of these strange rituals and had eventually asked her. Being no older than five or six at the time he had believed her when she had told him it wasn't the plants she spoke to but the fairies that lived inside.
Their homes were made of woven twigs and nestled deep within the bush, she had whispered to him as she pointed between the thick leaves, looking as though she truly believed her own tales. Instantly falling for her stories, he had staked out that bush every day that summer, sitting on the back porch with a set of binoculars from morning till evening in the hopes of catching a glimpse. Until she had told him it was no use, that is, as they only came out at night when the world was sleeping.
In the dusk of the warmest months they would throw balls where the tiny women wore gowns of flower petals and jewellery made of sparkling dew drops strung together on spider's silk. They would race dragonflies, row across the pond on the lily pads like they were gondolas and dance between the prickles with ease. If he lay completely still and very quiet in his bed at night, he may even be able to hear them playing their grass blade flutes, she had convinced him. But to his disappointment he'd never heard a thing.
He'd caught on eventually, though it did take him longer than he would have liked to admit. One winter day when the bushes were shedding their foliaged coats he had looked in through the wigwam of twigs and found no trace of other worldly beings inside. His immense disappointment stayed with him for some time, but his imagination hadn't been dampened by the revelation and he'd played along when his brothers had asked the same thing, baiting them into midnight search parties once their mother had gone to bed.
Lost in his musings, Arthur found he had been left behind in the conversation when his other half addressed him.
"Oui, cheri?"
Blinking back into awareness, he agreed out of habit and Francis continued whatever he had been saying. Arthur watched him, his thin, pink lips moving in a way that betrayed his emotions so clearly, similar to Alfred's manner. In fact, the two were close personality wise in many ways, both fun loving, personable and outgoing. Yet character was not the only area in which a likeness showed.
It was strange, Arthur considered, the fact that at a glance it would appear that Francis was the one related to the two younger men rather than himself. They shared the same, or in Matthew's case more comparable, eye colour; blue as opposed to Arthur's striking green, and all four of them were blonds so it wasn't difficult to mistake Francis for their relative. The same situation had been true in the case of their mother as her pale eyes, the shade of a blind man's clouded gaze, had the same surface level similarity.
Of course, when looking a little deeper these resemblances were shown to be exactly that, purely superficial. The slim nose, arched cupids bow, and rounded jaw had all been passed exclusively to her only biological son, not that he could see this himself. He was glad, though, that people made this error as they were as much her sons as he was their brother and if they couldn't share her blood, they should have something to show they were a family, even if it was just coincidental.
Arthur found himself locked in a state of reverie the remainder of that evening, listening to his brother's excitable voice and enjoying the sense of completeness that he had brought back with him. He remained mostly silent, the sort of comfortable silence of a person that has nothing to add but is happy just to be involved, and allowed Alfred to rattle on, a benign smile resting on his lips the whole time.
Before the younger pair looked to make their exit, there was still the matter of the final gift beneath the tree, sat waiting patiently for its intended recipient. As he had done to Matthew, Arthur fretted over his choice, but Alfred's beaming face was enough to dispel those worries as he uncovered the small stack of vintage comic books and, with their delayed Christmas complete, the boys didn't stay much longer.
As the elder couple waved them off at the door, looking on as they struggled down the street with the bulky bags they dragged, Arthur was satisfied in seeing them go. Knowing that Alfred was only ten minutes away, walking distance from his own home, he closed the door on the darkness and felt his whole being settle in a way it hadn't for the past ten days, as though a vase which teetered on the edge of a mantelpiece had been pushed back from the precipice. Whether it was to plummet the next time he left was still to be seen but for the current moment he eased into the security.
A quiet sigh slipped from his nose as he felt the lock click into place and the whole situation was sealed away. He had thought about it enough to drive himself to insanity and so, firmly telling himself the whole thing was over, he resisted the urge to overanalyse. His family complete and within reach, he slept sounder than he had in some time between the arms of his lover and the ball of fluff which had taken to spreading herself in the centre of the bed.
However pleasant the previous night's sleep was, though, the feeling of getting up for work never improved. Shivering across the landing to shower, he stayed under the stream long enough to make himself late but didn't force himself to hurry, any sense of urgency now meaningless after so many other days started the same way. Another shudder ran through him as he left the house onto the rain-soaked streets and stayed with him as he made his way into the office. The ever-present heat of the building seemed to be strangely absent that day, leaving the moisture that had collected on his clothes to evaporate slowly.
As grey a day as any, a stifling kind of blandness permeated the very air of the room. Pure boredom was at the forefront of his mind as Arthur worked and daydreamed and looked forward to being home again. The work trickled in at a steady stream and he sent it off just the same, but there seemed to be no shortage of it. A small pile of documents had appeared on his desk since yesterday and every time he reached over to make a start on them, he was prevented by another email with another request from another person he would have to speak to.
Speak to via the computer screen, of course, as in the four years he had spent at the company he had never actually come face to face with half of the people he was meant to work with. He would most likely end up taking the pile home with him, he realised with a sinking sensation. Francis wouldn't be happy but if he wanted to keep on top of things, he couldn't just brush stuff to the side, and he wanted to avoid coming in on the weekend.
His lunch break approached, and it came as a mild surprise to him that he was actually hungry. Hungry enough that he left his cubicle and ventured as far as the canteen to buy something, despite how subpar his options looked. For once, hunger outweighed indifference and he ate by the windows as thick drops of water pelted the glass. He remained there for a while after he was finished, half hoping that Erika may pop up next to him, half enjoying the solitude.
He had grown very fond of the meek girl's company of late; her youthful face was so refreshing when compared to the others in the office. Their brows so heavy with lines that the skin almost folded down over their vacant eyes, their pale lips pressed together so tightly it appeared like they were sewn in place, unmoving, unsmiling, they were all too dour to bare.
Not like he thought himself much better looking than them, however. In fact, he blended in with the general aesthetic as though he were part of the furniture. He had to wonder, though, whether he had ever been like her. If there had ever been a time he had inspired someone, jaded by apathy, or sparked hope with his youth, but he very much doubted it.
But she was nowhere to be seen, and Arthur was left to himself, watching the world below and above as his gaze wandered, prolonging the moment he would have to return to his office. The claustrophobia of the tiny box was made apparent when he stepped outside of it to clear his head and made him hate the space all the more. He felt like a lab rat, like the entire office block was put together as some kind of social experiment, testing to see how long it was before people snapped under the conditions. A study of modern man.
Glancing at his phone, he saw he had been away from his desk a good forty-five minutes and supposed it was time he returned. He wandered back, pushing open the door and remaining on the threshold looking in at the four walled representation of the corporate ideal. Plain grey walls, shelves lined with orderly files, a clear desk, an empty bin, a chair with an old grey coat hung on the back. He was appalled the room was his, could barely imagine any human residing inside of it. What soulless man could bare the crushing anonymity of such a place.
From the outside looking in, he refused to believe that he could and that he had. Then again, he supposed it wasn't him that had, not the real him. Whoever the real Arthur was had died even before his mother, on the day he found out he was to lose her, and since then he had been running as his own stand in. A blank slate to take his place until he had the ability and the opportunity to rebuild himself. He only realised as much when the moment was upon him.
Going inside only to retrieve his coat and bag, he wasted no time in closing the door behind himself and made his way to the lifts. He stepped in and waited patiently until he reached the floor he needed; one he had been to fairly recently. Past the seating area occupied by a number of cheap, blue chairs and the single person sat on one of them, his nervous expression quite the opposite of what showed on Arthur's face.
He strode by, legs carrying him with confidence, to one of the doors down the short hallway and knocked on the wood without hesitation. A brief silence then Ludwig called from inside.
"Come in?"
His frosty gaze rose from the paperwork he was focused on to meet Arthur's and showed him to be mildly taken aback.
"Oh, Arthur, what can I do for you?" he enquired.
"Just a question. Hope I'm not interrupting," Arthur began, lingering in the doorway.
"I'm not busy, what can I do for you? Please, have a seat," Ludwig offered him politely, but Arthur declined. He didn't want to be there any longer than he had to be.
"That's not necessary, thank you, I was just wondering if you were allowed to disclose who would be receiving a bonus this year?" he wasn't sure why his words were coming out so oddly formal, an unconscious habit he slipped into whenever he was made to speak business. It really didn't suit him.
Eyebrows furrowing slightly, the younger man laid down his pen. "Well, I cannot tell you who specifically, but the list has not altered much from last year," he divulged.
Arthur nodded, staying quiet a few seconds before saying with utmost composure and some degree of nonchalance, "You can give mine to Erika. I quit."
He caught only a glimpse of his superior's bewildered expression as he left the room, the door closing behind him, sealing his decision. Back through the corridor, he wasted no time in making his exit, speeding past the man that still sat waiting and taking the lift down. Out on the ground floor, across the polished marble floor, past the secretary lined front desk, through the automated front doors and it was behind him. His gloomy office, his festering department, that dreadful building; it was all behind him. He was done with it.
Exhilaration buzzed through him, setting his heart alight as he continued down the street. The further he got from the loathsome place, the more it felt he might grow so light he would float away on the breeze. Beaming his way to the bus stop, he took shelter under the cover, and smiled while he waited for the bus, watching the rain as it swirled freely through the air. Tiny beads of water so fine they made no ripples when they landed in the puddles that collected in the dips of the pavement nipped at his cheeks until a bus pulled up and he got on.
He sat upstairs close to the front so that he could keep watching it, how it fell from the sky as though shaken from a sieve above the clouds, how it was thrown up and swept aside by the wind as though it weighted less than the air itself. The window he pressed his face against steamed over with his hot breath and he swiped away the condensation with his sleeve, looking back at the pair of eyes that were reflected. So caught up in his spirited mood, it took him a while to realise they weren't his own.
He started with a jolt of realisation and the hazel gaze which had been observing him via his transparent counterpart did likewise, both glancing quickly away. Looking elsewhere a few moments before both turned their gazes back simultaneously, again they acknowledged one another with an awkward diversion, afraid to linger on the brief connection of eye contact.
Keeping his sight set on his lap, he could sense that his lone companion did the same, both petrified of social behaviour outside of the appropriate setting. In his elevated mood, however, social protocol was insignificant, and his lips turned upward as he wiped the moisture from the glass again to seek the reflected face.
The woman sat several rows behind him and across the isle, her face turned away to look out of her own window in which he could only partly distinguish her features. A delicately carved nose was all that stood out aside from her two gem-like eyes, the collected drops of water which grew heavy and trickled down the glass appearing as tears on her translucent cheeks.
The suggested sadness of the image, despite whether it was real or a projection of his own imagination, prompted Arthur's need to perpetuate the happiness he had found. His stop was approaching, and he stood to make his way down the stairs, pausing before he descended. The woman noticed, sensing she was the reason he hesitated, and took her gaze from the window to lay it upon him curiously.
"I just quit my job," he announced to her, smiling blankly.
"Oh," she breathed uncertainly, her dark brows pulling upwards, "Good for you?"
Arthur would never have described his own smile as infectious. Whenever he could sight of it, it would show itself to be warped, malicious and unmeant but apparently it didn't seem this way to her as she returned it, echoing his laugh back to him as he descended from view.
The sound of it rung through him like a bell and he carried it with him on his way down the street but as he walked the sweet tinkling grew sullen, turning to a knell. Impulsive decisions always seemed like good ideas when one was too high on adrenaline to think straight and were of course realised not to be such when it was too late. The joy of liberty turned hollow, freedom itself grew dense, stifling, became its own antithesis. That's what he got for not thinking before acting, he shouldn't allow himself to be so rash, nothing good ever came from it.
How selfish he was, he hadn't even thought to consult Francis, hadn't thought of anyone but himself. He had screwed over poor Ludwig; with no notice he was sure to be thrown off schedule, which would put the rest of his co-workers through hell and though he'd never cared for them he didn't wish them anything bad. And Erika, he dreaded to think what was coming her way. The lower floors always felt the stress of those above them tenfold and got the blame when things went wrong. With the butterfly affect he had just set in motion he dreaded to think how many lives he had ruined for the foreseeable future.
His victory turning to ashes, he reached the front door with no idea as to how he was going to break the news to Francis or of how he'd react to it and not a clue as to what he was planning to do next. Staring at the door handle, he ground his bottom lip between his teeth, willing something to come to his mind. Thoughts too scattered, however, and drenched in the frantic energy which had burst free like water from a hydrant, he was left sloshing aimlessly through the puddles it had left behind, wet and exposed.
Perhaps it wasn't too late, he tried to convince himself as he let himself in, perhaps he could claim it was all some elaborate joke. The more sensible part of his brain scoffed at him for thinking that Ludwig had it in him to see such a trick with even an ounce of humour. Maybe if he just asked him to ignore it, said he changed his mind and plead to be allowed back, surely he would have some compassion towards Arthur given they had known one another more than a decade. But Arthur couldn't manipulate someone like that, not without losing all self-respect.
"Is that you, mon lapin?" Francis' voice came from the kitchen where he was set up with his latest project, working from home.
Taking a breath and setting it free, Arthur went in to deliver the news, seeing no point in dragging out the suspense.
"You are home early," the older man remarked as he twisted in his seat, "I was just going to text you."
Coming further into the room with heavy steps and troubled eyes, Arthur pecked him on the lips then asked, "What about?"
"About the most exquisite gossip I have just learned," Francis could hardly contain his elation.
Arthur, against his better knowledge, took the distraction to procrastinate his own, much less riveting, revelation a few more minutes.
"What's happened?" his head quirked as he was drawn in by the utterly scandalized expression on the other's face.
"It is about our dear friends, Eliza and Gilbert," Francis bit his lip as he shuffled in his chair, far too excited about whatever he was going to say.
Sitting in the dining chair beside him, Arthur could make a pretty close guess as to what that might be.
"God, what have they done now?" he muttered with a tinge of exasperated amusement.
His other half looked him in the eye, his gaze illuminated with the same brightness in his voice as he began.
"Well, I called Gilbert first to ask if he would come here for New Years, but he would not pick up, so next I called Eliza and she said she would not be available," he paused for dramatic emphasis.
"And?" Arthur urged him as he knew Francis was waiting for him to do.
"I asked her why not," he continued, smirking, "And she said she is in the country with Gil for the next week!"
The last sentence came out in such a rush that Arthur barely had time to absorb the words.
"What, together?" he processed what he'd been told.
"Of course, together! The two of them! Alone in a hotel room somewhere in the countryside," Francis laid out as clearly as his partner's lips hitched up at the corners.
"They're a mess," he stifled a laugh at the pair's antics. They never disappointed.
"C'est ridicule," Francis laughed with him, shaking his head, "but she sounded happy. Passion is usually messy, non?"
Arthur hummed his agreement as he glanced away, still smiling as he thought about the turn of events. Surely Liz wouldn't be able to deny it any longer once they came back, if they came back.
"Perhaps we should go somewhere," Francis suggested, his gaze set softly on his lover who looked back at him, "It has been some time since we have been in that sort of mess."
"We could," Arthur seconded the proposal as no more than a consideration, feeling the pressure to bring the conversation back around to the issue he was meant to be addressing.
Francis paused, thinking whether he should take the opportunity as he tentatively put forward an idea.
"It has been some time since I was last with my parents, maybe we could go to them?" he raised one fair brow as he broached the controversial subject.
Cursing internally as he found himself now stuck between two things he really didn't want to talk about, Arthur paused.
"I don't know, Francis," he all but groaned, not wanting to upset him further with the no he was to reply with before telling him how badly he'd screwed up.
"You do not have to decide right now but could you think about it, please?" the trace of hopeful questioning in Francis' voice made the younger man feel too bad to look and he lowered his eyes to his hands. "I will not pressure you, cheri, but I would like it, that is all."
"No, it's not that," Arthur mumbled, picking at the edges of his bitten nails, "I have to tell you something."
Something was very evidently wrong, and Francis picked up on his tone immediately. Stiffening slightly, he leaned in, gaze levelled and brimming with mounting concern, waiting for an explanation.
Eyes still downcast, a sound of strain came from the back of the younger man's throat and, gnawing at the inside of his cheek, he looked over.
"I quit my job," he confessed with audible reluctance.
Both brows on the other's face shot up. "When? Today?" he said the first questions that came to his mind, reacting only with surprise.
The other nodded, his eyeline falling once more.
"Shit. I've fucked up, haven't I?" he cursed, running a hand over his face and through his hair as the absent glint in his stare showed him to be consumed by his own fears, "I'm going to call Ludwig, ask him if he can just forget about it and go in on Monday like normal."
"Non, you are not, Arthur. Why are you panicking?" Francis frowned, placing a hand on his partner's thigh.
"I can't just quit, Francis, I can't not have a job," Arthur told him, reflecting his expression, stress lacing his words.
"You will find something else," Francis' casual attitude was a complete contradiction.
"Are you not even angry with me?" Arthur noted the lack of any real reaction from his other half who hadn't batted an eye at the news and only shrugged at the question.
"Some warning would have been nice, but I cannot be the one to tell you to leave your job and then be angry when you do," he pointed out.
Reaching for his phone, intending to call Ludwig, Arthur regretted his hasty decision making more by the second, like he was stuck on a raft which he had untethered from the dock with no means of getting back to shore again. The longer he spent not fixing his mistake, the further out to sea he drifted.
"But you didn't mean it, did you," he snapped back harsher than he had meant it.
"Do not tell me what I meant, of course I meant it," Francis objected, "That place was killing you. I could hardly bare to watch."
As inclined to exaggeration as the older man was there was sincerity in his voice that couldn't be misheard and caused Arthur's hand to hesitate over the phone screen. Looking between the cracked surface and the face of the man beside him, he could feel himself veering.
"It is up to you, amour. I only want to see you happy."
Returning was a death sentence, he knew as much, with a fast track ticket to his own personal hell, but it was certain and familiar, unlike the purgatory he found himself in at that moment. If he went back, he'd never leave, he could feel it in his guts, but it wrestled with his fear of the unknown. He was not a risk taker and never had been, not when there had always been so much at stake. But there wasn't anymore.
He worried over all the people his choice was affecting, but they weren't people that couldn't handle it, it wasn't affecting anyone he cared for, he hadn't made it on anyone else's behalf. That split decision he had made, he had made for himself, as himself. His first call of order as the new version of himself, to leave his past iteration in its grave, to wander the corporate halls as a spectre. It felt good.
Rolling his lips together, his thought glazed eyes directed at the table surface, he slipped his phone back into his pocket.
"You're far too nice to me," he chastised gratefully.
A soft chuckle came from the side as Francis smiled. "I would not say that so fast," he warned, "I think I am going to speak to my parents about seeing them in the new year. Both of us seeing them."
Supposing the dreaded visit had been a long time coming and that he owed him that at least, Arthur made only a mildly discontented sound and put up no argument.
"I'll start looking for something tomorrow," he promised.
"What sort of thing?" Francis asked the question to which he had no answer.
"I…don't really know," he acknowledged his complete lack of a plan or forethought and, though it did worry him, he found it bothered him less than it probably should.
"There is no urgency," Francis dismissed nonchalantly, "You can take some time to think about it before you apply anywhere. I am sure I can handle being the breadwinner for a while."
Arthur cracked a smile at his joking tone, replying in turn as he began to become accustomed to the levity he could feel in his chest. "And should I have the house spotless with dinner on the table for you when you get home?" he played into the image teasingly.
"I fear there would not be a home to come back to," Francis commented, wincing as pictures of the house burnt to the ground flashed through his mind.
"Wanker," the other scoffed amusedly as he placed his elbow on the table to rest his cheek in his hand, looking up through his lashes.
In the dim light of the kitchen, the shadows were soft, darkness only hinted at by the lightest touch of grey. The murky hands of the encroaching twilight reached gently, caressing the forms they fell upon rather than striking them harshly and by their tender touch, the face of the smaller man appeared smoother, fuller. His hollowed cheeks had ceased to be steep canyons, his cheek bones no longer sharp cliff edges, the whole plain of his face having been rounded and levelled into demurely sloping meadows.
Seeing it by the hazy white of the suns dwindling rays, Francis reached across the table top, simpering gently, to stroke his lover's arm with his finger.
"You will just have to sit at home and be pretty for me," he murmured, watching the expression on the angled face change, gleaming eyes diverting bashfully as a sound of feigned disdain came from parted, upturned lips.
Arthur shook his head at the affection, rising from his chair to leave Francis to finish his work and felt said man's hand brushing his own as he left. He switched on the light in the living room and planted himself beside Queenie on the sofa, reclining and staring off through the window. It rained still but looked to be letting up, the sound of it too faint to permeate the double glazing so that the droplets fell silently and the only noise in the room was the low purring of his companion.
She rolled onto her side as he stroked her, making a funny chirruping noise and stretching. The downy fur of her underbelly was bright as summer clouds and just as soft, covering the body under it, but even so Arthur could tell she had put on weight since she had lived with them. It was strange to think that she, like all living things, had a past and experiences which he would never know. She had been with a woman before going to the shelter, as they had been told, but that was all they knew. The rest was a mystery.
Had the woman been kind to her? Judging by her ability to connect with those that were nice to her, Arthur guessed so. Had she been outside before, or had she been holed away her entire life? Did she know the feeling of grass and wet concrete against her paws? From the way she looked so longingly out at the world past the window, he thought she must do. Even her age was debatable. The vet had guessed at around seven or eight, but she was so small and apparently had been so much of a hassle to deal with that they hadn't been able to tell for certain.
Only she had the answers to such questions, and it wasn't as though she could communicate her answer even if she had wanted to. Her green eyes undoubtedly held a past, an interesting one, and as Arthur looked down into her bi-coloured face, all he could do was wonder. It was a useful distraction from the anxiety that stirred inside of him still. Contained for the time being but present all the same. The a la mode horror of unemployment could easily have taken over if he let it. He hadn't spent more than a week between jobs since he was twenty, though he supposed he was hardly between jobs as he had nothing to go into. That made things even worse.
Despite his best laid plans never really working out, he always clung to them for a false sense of security, as though clinging to the scaffolding of a house that had fallen apart, insisting that that was how it was supposed to be. To be without one was unnerving. Nothing to look to when things began to go awry, then again that had never helped him in the past.
To find one's way one sometimes had to stray from the path, he supposed, and he may even find a short cut. To where, though, was yet to be seen, but perhaps that was the fun of it. He had wanted to be an explorer once when he was younger, for about a week. In a way, this was the closest he could get. The whole world had been discovered several times over, but the future was unknown to all and he would be the first to discover what was in store for him.
Similar thoughts, both positive and negative, kept him up as he tried to switch his brain off that night. In the darkness of the morning, it took all his willpower not to spiral, so much so that he exhausted himself before sunrise and fell into an unconsciousness that bordered the threshold of death. So complete was the unfeeling trance, in fact, that on waking he almost forgot the previous day entirely and had to check with himself that his fresh memories were true.
Lying flat, frowning at the ceiling as he recalled the details of the event it all seemed like a dream. To think he wouldn't have to get up on Monday and go to that place, that he would never have to go there again, sent a thrill through him and a sporadic laugh came from his throat. Putting a hand to his mouth so as not to wake the man beside him, he tried to smother the sensation but couldn't keep the smile from stretching wider over his face.
Unable to remain in bed while filled with such energetic elation, he got up and went to feed Queenie who had chosen to sleep on the kitchen counter that night. He wiped the stray hairs from the surface, covering up her crime before Francis caught her, and watched her eat while he ate toast over the sink, not bothering with a plate. She purred the whole time and left herself some for later on then trotted off to take up her place on the sofa.
He joined her, glancing at the clock as he made his way over to see with some surprise that it wasn't even nine yet. Oddly, he wasn't tired at all, his body free of the lethargy he had come to accept and his mind ready for the day after the uncommonly profound sleep he had experienced. Taking his place on the furniture, he turned on the TV, keeping the volume down, and switched to the news.
Some fluff piece about a rescue dog finding a new home came on and, though he might usually have dismissed the empty story, there was something genuine about the presenter's happiness that stopped him from feeling this way. Who was he to question what brought a person joy, after all? Why should it not brighten their morning, especially considering how depressing the rest of the shows subject matter usually was.
Alice had been much the same, going through the paper and cutting out all the articles about animals and heroics and storing them away for a day when there was no good news to be told so she could read them. It was always funny to see the day befores broadsheet, pages of war and tragedy still intact then an empty space where a paragraph had been stolen, like someone was collecting every shred of happiness they could find.
Arthur wondered what she had done with all the scraps of paper she had accumulated over the years and whether they still existed somewhere. She could be quite the hoarder at times, so he doubted they would have been thrown away. Wherever they were, he hoped the pictures of piglets in hats and old people's birthday parties were bringing joy to someone.
It was during the same piece that Francis came downstairs, expressing his surprise at finding his significant other awake before himself. They sat together a while as the elder of the two laid out his plans for the day, various errands and things of personal interest he was to see to. Arthur's offers to help were turned down and looking at the foreboding sky that awaited him outside he had no problem with this.
Procrastinating his excursion a good while, far too comfortable, Francis eventually worked up the will to go, leaving with the promise of not being too long. Knowing this meant he would have several hours, at least, to himself, Arthur got up and perused his impressive bookshelf. He had more than one unfinished book that he could have completed but was in a very specific mood and required just as a specific read to accompany it.
Running his eyes over the spines crammed together tightly into the limited space, his fancy was drawn to the most beaten up, or as he liked to think of it the most loved, book on the shelf. A copy of Alice in Wonderland. It had belonged to his mother when she was a girl and, prompted by the fact he had been thinking about her the last day and a half, he reached for it straight away. The yellowed pages and creased cover art were nostalgic just to hold in his hands and the cloud of scent which puffed upward when he opened it knocked him back a few decades.
He knew it so well he barely needed to read the words to see the story in his head and got through the first few chapters quickly. The words soaked into his mind like butter through warm bread and he absorbed each line into his very core where they had already left their mark many years ago. Consumed by the world the pages told to him much like Alice herself, he was startled by his phone which vibrated against the fabric of the sofa.
Begrudgingly shifting his attention to the screen, he saw it was Alfred and opened up the message. He was asking if he was at home to which Arthur replied he was and a moment later another text came through. 'Can I come over?' it read. Again, Arthur responded affirmatively and got one last message telling him Alfred was on his way.
A mild sense of anticipation touched him, still feeling as though he hadn't seen his brother in weeks after his prolonged absence and wanting to make up for it. A subtle simper resting at the corners of his mouth, he went to turn off the screen and caught the date as he did so. The thirtieth of December. It took him a second to recall why it stuck out to him then remembered the visit he had received not a week ago, it was the day of the trial.
Pausing, he speculated in a detached manner over what was happening at that moment, whether the trial had even begun yet or whether a man's life had just been changed forever. He briefly considered whether his lack of investment was calloused but was merciful towards himself. There was really no reason he should care, after all, the man was a stranger, they had never even met. The fact they shared DNA didn't change that, he was no more than a random passer-by in the street was to him. He did wonder about Allistair, though, and how he was holding up but still in a rather indifferent frame of mind.
His curiosity was fleeting, however, and he went back to his reading material as he waited for Alfred to arrive. The younger man had his own set of keys but still knocked when he knew someone was home and soon Arthur was alerted of his arrival by a rapping on the front door. It poured with rain outside, so he hurried to let his sibling in for which he was grateful, scuttling over the threshold like a waterlogged insect.
"As soon as I got outside, it started raining," Alfred complained, taking off his steamed glasses and shaking his hair like a dog.
"It looks rather miserable out there," Arthur observed, his light tone mismatching his words.
"A real nice welcome home," the other responded sarcastically as he hung up his sodden jacket on the pegs by the door.
Arthur breathed a laugh from his nose and was about to ask his brother if he was hungry before the younger man took it upon himself to head for the kitchen.
"I'm going to make some coffee, want tea?" he offered.
"Sure, thank you," Arthur didn't mind that the boy treated the house as if it were his own, he was pleased he did.
Alfred set to making the drinks, taking down two mugs from the cupboard and dropping a teabag into one. Digging a spoon into the jar of coffee granules, he dumped the heaped helping into his cup followed by another and one more for good measure.
From where he stood, leant against the sink, Arthur elevated one quizzical brow.
"Why not just eat it with a spoon?" he suggested sardonically.
The other glanced back at him. "You've got no idea how tired I am, man," he groaned heavily, "It's the jetlag."
"Should that not have worn off by now?" Arthur pulled his brow down again to frown lightly, folding his arms.
The kettle clicked and the younger man poured out its boiled contents, his glasses fogging over again as he did so. "I keep falling asleep in the middle of the day and fucking up my sleeping pattern. I just have to stay awake until I go to bed so I can get a full night's sleep and I'll be fine," he finished his sentence by yawning into the crook of his elbow and Arthur had to pity him.
He did look drained, face pale so that the purple bags under his eyes appeared even more dramatic, his shoulders slumped, one hanging lower than the other. The whole of his image exuded exhaustion and he sounded a little worse for wear on top of that.
"So, how are you? How's work been?" Alfred changed the subject as he turned to hand Arthur his mug, sipping from his own.
"Awful, so I quit," the older man answered.
Chuckling at what he assumed was a joke, Alfred waited for his real answer, but received only a deadpanned look.
"What? No. You didn't really," he rejected sceptically, "Did you?"
Arthur raised a self-satisfied brow over his mug as he took a sip and watched the other break out into a grin before frowning suspiciously.
"Who are you and what have you done with my brother?" he accused jokingly.
"It was shit. I hated it there and I had no real reason to stay, so I left," Arthur put plainly but honestly.
"Hey, more power to you," Alfred commended, nodding approvingly, "I honestly didn't think you would ever do it, I'm happy for you."
"Thanks," the older of the two uttered.
"So," Alfred predicated the question he was to ask, and Arthur could tell what it would be, "What are you going to do now?"
His lips twisted unsurely, as he still had no more of a reply than he had the day before. "That's what I have to work out next."
"Ah, don't even worry about it," Alfred assured him with a wave of his hand, "I never have a plan and I'm always fine."
Shaking his head at his sibling's perpetually happy-go-lucky demeanour, Arthur had his doubts. There were certain people that stuff just worked out for and others for who it never did, and, with his luck, he was most certainly the latter.
To stop himself from falling asleep, Alfred had brought some films that would keep him occupied and, if that failed, had Arthur to poke him awake. He slipped one into the DVD player, making fun of his brother for being so behind the times, and came to sit beside him. Disinterested in the images that flashed dramatically across the screen, Arthur went back to his book, his concentration broken occasionally by the over the top explosions that flared in his peripheries.
Slouching back into the cushions, it wasn't long before Alfred was struggling to keep his eyes open. His head lolled to the side every few minutes then jerked back up only to start inching to the side again seconds later. It was quite entertaining to watch but at the same time Arthur felt bad for him.
"Keep those eyes open," he ordered as he saw the cycle about to repeat.
Alfred moaned and sat forward, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses. Sighing deeply, he twisted to adjust the pillows behind him so that they supported his right shoulder then sat back gently, flinching a little.
Catching the subtly pained look, Arthur drew attention to it.
"Is your shoulder still bothering you?" he inquired, gaze flitting between his brother and his book.
"A little," Alfred's lips were pressed together as he continually fidgeted, unable to find a comfortable position.
"I thought you said you would get it checked out," the older man tutted.
"I did," Alfred replied, reaching across his body with his left hand to hold his shoulder, "It's just a strain but it could be a couple of weeks before it's fully healed."
Sympathy in his eyes as he turned his head, Arthur couldn't stop himself from murmuring a soft, "I told you to be careful."
Alfred gave a grunt at the retrospective as his head tipped back over the top of the sofa. He remained still a few moments then reached behind himself to take one of the cushions he rested on and threw it down onto his brother's lap, flinging himself onto it.
Sniffing loudly, the younger man pulled his legs up onto the sofa, having to bend his knees so that he fit, and wiped his nose along his sleeve.
"I think I'm getting sick," he groused.
"Don't do that, Al," Arthur criticised the habit as he looked down at the head that now rested across his legs.
Despite his words, however, he felt his chest warmed by the action and laid a hand over his forehead, finding it mildly hot.
"You're fine," he told him, running his hand through the sunny blond locks that splayed over the pillow. His hair, unlike his twin's, had the texture of silk and was dead straight apart from the one little cluster at the front which curled skyward however forcefully it was flattened. Just one of the many differences that appeared between the two when observed for any length of time.
Arthur could remember a time they were practically indistinguishable from one another to the point that even he would get them mixed up occasionally. It didn't help that they would sometimes try to switch places or respond to the wrong name just to confuse people. This trick had stopped working, on the people that knew them at least, quite quickly as differences became evident in both appearance and personality. In many respects they could be considered polar opposites and there were times Arthur could hardly believe they were twins at all. Lost in thought, he almost missed that his sibling had drifted off.
"Hey, wake up," he jerked his leg so that the other was jostled awake, a sound of complaint coming from him as he was roused.
Readjusting himself where he lay, the younger man blinked, pressing his eyelids together tightly to try and wake himself up, and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through various social medias in an attempt to distract himself from how horrifically tired he was, replying to messages from the people he had met stateside, unaware his activities were being watched.
Though he knew he shouldn't, Arthur peeked at his screen over the top of his book, intrigued more by the reactions of the younger man than what the messages said. His lips were curved in a restrained expression and his bespectacled eyes radiated a giddy delight which was unmissable.
"What are you smiling at?" Arthur asked.
"Huh? Oh, nothing," Alfred tried to act inconspicuous, his face straightening manually, "Just talking to some of the guys."
Peering at the screen, a smug expression came to the older man. "Amelia. That's a unique name for a man."
Caught, Alfred looked up at his brother, his narrowed eyes tapering further when he saw the look on the other's face.
"Okay, so I'm talking to a girl, that doesn't mean anything," he defended.
A justified glint sparked in the emerald eyes above him.
"Doesn't it?" Arthur goaded.
A huff came from the other's nose, eyes rolling. "See, this is why I didn't say anything, I knew you'd get the wrong idea," he accused quite peevishly.
Smothering a chuckle, the elder of the two relented. "Alright, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it," his curiosity burned, however, and he sought to know more, "So, she's just a friend? How do you know her?"
Irritation too weak to last, Alfred simply shrugged. "Yeah, we got on. She works in the town where Paul and Linda live, in the diner."
Unsatisfied with the stilted answer he received, Arthur pressed on. "Yes?"
"Yes what?" the other repeated, "We hung out a couple of times, she's cool, we're friends."
Arthur studied his brother's face a while before deciding he had no reason to doubt him. If there was anything he held back it would have been revealed in his betraying eyes, in his telling mouth. Still, he took the opportunity to goad him.
"Interesting," he stretched the word annoyingly.
"Look, I know what you're thinking," Alfred speculated, "but I'm not looking for anything. I couldn't deal with a long-distance relationship even if I did like her like that, which I don't. I'm happy just being friends with her. So, stop being a weird old pervert."
Laughing, Arthur accepted his answer, pleased his sibling had finally stopped obsessing over women for the time being, and changed the subject.
"What was it like where they live? You haven't told me much about it."
"Some small town in the middle of nowhere," Alfred described, sounding none too impressed, "Farms and forests and all that wilderness stuff, you know."
"Sounds like a real metropolis," Arthur drawled.
"It was alright," the younger man understated, "Spent a lot of time looking around but there wasn't much to look at. Glad I found Amy, she made it more fun, but she told me she hates it there."
"That's unfortunate," Arthur had to admit he didn't find the image if small town America as aesthetic as some people did, "but I suppose you weren't there for the sights."
"Yeah," the other replied, his tone muted, as it had been when they'd spoken about it in the cab.
It struck Arthur as odd, Alfred was usually the first to over enthuse about something, yet he had only spoken at length about the school and his times there, not about the second portion of his visit. He could remember when he had returned from Paul and Linda's last time, exclaiming for days about every detail in a way that sparked a hint of jealousy in his brother. However, seeing him disappointed brought him no pleasure and he was reminded of what Matthew had said to them not long ago.
"What's the matter?" he raised the question, lowering his book to the side.
"Nothing," Alfred glanced up at him then away again, but it was enough to catch the perturbed look in his eye.
Arthur's brow furrowed. "What is it?"
It didn't take much persuasion to get Alfred to open up as he turned onto his back, looking directly up into his brother's face.
"I just," his lips writhed against one another, "I don't know why they invited me. Like, there were so many people there the whole time I barely spoke to them."
A slight tinge of frustration permeated his words, like a person whose plans had gone awry but was trying not to let that bother them.
"I wasn't expecting to be the centre of attention or anything, but I thought they'd be a little more interested in me."
Although more irritated than hurt, it was still a heart-breaking sentiment and Arthur felt anger flare in his ribcage. How anyone could undervalue Alfred, he had no idea. He for one had never met someone more positive, more the embodiment of sunshine or more generous with their happiness and he thought it an insult to take those attributes as anything less than the privelages they were.
"Well, they don't know what they missed out on," he complimented softly, meaning it and letting it show in his expression that it was meant, for once not feeling uncomfortable with raw sentimentality.
"Awh!" Alfred exaggerated back, grinning, "Well ain't you sweet."
Smacking him playfully on the forehead with the back of his book, Arthur smiled, taking his jibes with humour. Alfred raised his arms over his face to shield the second blow, laughing at having gotten a rise out of his brother then quietened down, crossing one leg over the armrest at the other end of the sofa.
"But I mean, whatever," he picked at a nail, having gotten over the whole thing already, "Not like we're close or anything. I don't even feel like I'm related to them, so I can't really be upset over it."
"It's not surprising, you hardly know them," Arthur empathised perfectly with the situation.
"Their loss is your gain, right?" Alfred jested.
A smile softened Arthur's lips as he nodded, knowing that Alfred couldn't tell how sincerely he agreed.
It was some time later that Francis returned with shopping bags almost splitting, half with groceries but also a good deal of things they didn't need, and the other two helped to put everything away.
"Alright, mon cher, I will spare you the pain of a conversation, but will you say hello, at least?" Francis asked of Arthur as he took his laptop into the kitchen and opened up a Skype call.
His expectant yet doubting look was something Arthur could hardly say no to and so, with a taut exhale, he submitted himself. Standing behind his other half as he sat at the kitchen table, he shuffled in place and waited for the two dreaded faces to appear.
They soon did, two sets of steely eyes locking onto the object of their contempt with unveiled disdain. Arthur would have been lying to himself if he'd have said he'd never felt such an aversion to the very sight of a human being himself, but he could barely imagine such hatred. Their distaste was so obvious, so burning that he almost felt guilty for simply insulting their sight.
"Salut maman, papa, comment allez-vous tous les deux?" Francis set off the conversation while Arthur stood awkwardly, hiding behind him, waiting for a moment to insert himself.
"Bonjour, mon amour," the woman who bore a striking resemblance to her son spoke with all the warmth of maternity then turned to Arthur with an icy, "Salut, Arthur."
"Bonjour, uh, how are you both?" Arthur fumbled his words, hands sweating as he gripped the back of his partner's chair.
"Bien, merci," the man, deigned to give him an answer, staring him down.
An uncomfortable silence took hold as Arthur ran out of things to say and doubted the older couple would respond anyhow, and therefore made his exit.
"I'll leave you to it, then," his voice was near inaudible as he slunk across the hall.
Blood rushing to his face, the back of his neck burned. He didn't know how he could bare a visit to them, yet he didn't think he'd be able to turn Francis down for the hundredth time. But surely, he would rather have a nice weekend with his parents alone than a horrendously awkward one with Arthur involved. The conversation flowed behind him and he wiped his hands down his jumper as he entered the living room.
"Brutal," Alfred remarked, teeth bared and wincing.
A resigned shrug was all that Arthur offered as he slumped down beside him.
The three voices across the hall spoke over one another, raising in volume as the exchange went on so that Arthur was unable to ignore them. He heard his name mentioned more than once and forcibly blocked out the words that came after, though his imagination filled in the blanks for him against his will.
Sat quietly beside his sibling, Alfred took note of his dejected demeanour. Standing abruptly, he announced, "I think I'm going to say hi," striding from the room with a look of conviction, leaving Arthur to confusedly watch him go.
Having been a part of Francis' life so intensely for so long, his parents knew both of the twins. Their relationship wasn't much more than acquaintances, though, and they didn't speak unless they were to impact Francis in some way and so when Alfred appeared from the corner of the screen, they both appeared understandably unsure as to what was happening.
Mischief in the curve of his lips, the younger man cleared his throat. "Bonjour," he purposefully mispronounced in his worst French accent, "Baguette, fromage, revolution?"
The conversation stopped dead, three questioning pairs of eyes stared at him, and from the doorway a fourth looked on bemused, eyebrows raised.
Alfred continued to provoke with glee, however.
"Hey, I've been meaning to ask," he leant over the back of Francis' chair, "in France do you guys call a Nintendo Wii a Nintendo yes?"
A snort came from the archway where Arthur hid his mouth behind a hand, on the screen the two unimpressed French natives were baffled into silence and Francis's gaze flicked between his parents and the oddly behaving boy.
"Oh, wait, don't say anything, I've got another good one. How many French soldiers does it take to defend Paris?" he paused, lips flickering as he took immense pleasure in watching the couple's expressions darken, "No one knows, they've never tried."
"Al, what are you doing?" Arthur hissed through his snickering.
By the looks of the glares he was receiving from across the channel, Alfred thought he had probably pushed things far enough and considered his goal accomplished.
"Anyway, just wanted to say hi," he stepped away with a wave, "Au revoir, y'all."
Leaving the three of them to collect themselves after his display, Alfred walked casually back to the living room and sat down as though nothing had happened.
Arms folded and eyebrows held to the heavens, Arthur followed him, after a while saying, "Practicing for your stand-up show?"
"I'm here all week," the other smirked.
Letting out a breath as he shook his head, Arthur couldn't help but feel his brother played the part of the stereotypically ignorant American a little too well. He couldn't stop himself from laughing, however, and give a look of silent thanks to his sibling for taking his place in their lowest opinions.
The rain outside was dangerously soothing and Alfred fought to keep his eyes open as the room darkened, barely responding to Arthur's prods. After shaking him awake once more, Arthur thought he could trust his brother alone a few minutes while he went to the bathroom but was proven wrong when he returned to his unconscious form draped limply over the armrest.
He tutted sympathetically and went to rouse him as Queenie brushed past his leg. Biting his lip as he smiled, he picked up the animal and approached the sleeping body quietly, holding her over him. Gently setting her down on his lap, she sat in place, too light for Alfred to notice. More at ease with him now that he was incapacitated, Queenie craned her neck to sniff his face to no reaction. Deeming it safe to venture further, she stepped forward, climbing onto his chest and continued to snuffle around his nose.
This finally disturbing him, Arthur watched as his eyelids flickered open to be met with the feline gaze.
"Oh…kitty," he reacted drowsily, scratching her under the chin.
"Maybe you should get home," Arthur advised him to which he nodded.
Stretching, he shifted the creature from his chest and stood up. He poked his head into the kitchen to say goodbye to Francis and turned down his offers of food before pulling on his damp jacket and heading off through the dwindling drizzle. Arthur only hoped he didn't pass out on the street as he locked the front door.
Passing back into the kitchen where Francis had finished his call a little while ago and had moved onto prepping food, Arthur filled Queenies bowl with pebbly chunks of kibble.
"I am sorry about them," Francis apologised, sending a look of remorse over his shoulder.
Glancing up, Arthur brushed it off as he always did. "It's not your fault."
"Oui, but I have told them I do not appreciate it," the older man muttered, a certain bite to his words as he averted his eyes to the potato he peeled.
"There's no rule that says they have to like me," Arthur justified, unsure as to why he was defending them.
"What about how I feel?" the older man turned to him, eyebrows drawn together, lips pouting slightly, "It hurts me when they insult you. I do not know why they do it."
Offering a consolatory half smile, the smaller man stepped forward to kiss him chastely.
"You just can't persuade some people," was all he could say.
Lips twitching similarly, a puff of air came from the other's nose. "It means a lot to me that you still try," he thanked with his eyes as well as his words.
With hand on cheek, Arthur kissed him again. He tasted sweet, like natural sugar or the air after snow had freshly settled. It was a taste like no other he knew and more than made up for the bitterness he suffered for it.
Disclaimer, I have nothing against French people but I suppose if you watch this show these are hardly the most offensive jokes you've heard. Also disclaimer, these jokes are ones I heard from other people a long time ago.
So, yeah, pacing is still my enemy but that's what you get when you do absolutely no planning before writing what has turned out to be a novel. Can't believe people are still reading this after this much time, I don't even like to think about how long it's been to be honest, but as you can probably tell things are winding down. I won't say how much more there will be because I'll probably be wrong but it will end at some point.
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