It took no more than a week for the novelty of unemployment ware off. Though Arthur tried to fill his days as much as he could, there was only so much he could do within the small scope of his home. The living room was slathered with more layers of paint than necessary, with the canvas of his mother now hung in pride of place on the back wall, the grass was mown almost to nothing, the chores were completed to a painstaking degree of perfection. Even the kitchen was kept to Francis' exacting standards.
Although it wasn't enough to fill the days, there was a fairly substantial amount to get through, Arthur realised with some guilt as he thought of how he had been doing nothing to help for the past months. All the most tedious tasks had been left to his other half and, though he knew that Francis would say he didn't mind, that wasn't how a fair partnership was meant to work.
Yet the role of the homemaker was far from satisfying to him and he sought other means of amusement. Looking for companionship proved difficult, however, as the few friends he had all, annoyingly, had lives of their own. There was always his brother's, yet while they would have willingly put their own activities on hold for him, again, Arthur knew this was unfair to ask and so he endeavoured to bother them as little as he could.
He took to walking Friede in the mornings as a favour to Gilbert, though he suspected his dear friend to be pandering to him as he had never been short on the time to do it himself before. Nevertheless, Arthur came to look forward to his morning strolls through the park, through the puddles and sludge, but there was still the problem of what to do with the rest of the day. He picked up a piece of embroidery he had abandoned long ago, he tried the TV series his brothers recommended to him, but all of it just seemed rather dull. It worried him.
While Queenie would gladly have laid on his lap for hours on end, Arthur found himself lonesome. Not in the same way as he would have normally experienced it, though. Not like he was at in his office once more, people all around but none that cared for his wellbeing or even knew his name. More akin to watching through a window from the inside and seeing other's outside smile and laugh together while the observer remained so consciously alone. Like he had done when the other children at school played without him. He felt left out.
From what he thought he was being excluded; he couldn't say. It wasn't like all of his nearest and dearest were in one place while he was in another, there was no plot to push him out, but still it existed in him. The desperate boredom of the involuntarily solitary individual. Left out of life itself as, while others went on living theirs, he was neglecting his own, not knowing what to do with it.
He expressed these feelings to the most qualified of his confidants when he was next in that homely room, to which the response was somewhat helpful but nothing he couldn't have come to on his own.
"The lack of purpose you feel now is inevitable, really," Tino had mused, "This is the first time in how many years you've been unemployed?"
"About seven years," Arthur had sighed, reflecting on the length of time and how many hours of drudgery that added up to.
"So, no wonder it feels odd to you," the other had justified, though this did little for him. Seeing his client's uninspired reaction, Tino considered his advice before giving it. "I suggest you focus on productive activities. Things you can look at afterwards and see you have really done something with your time."
Arthur nodded, though had that not been what he was doing already? And he was running out of what could be done.
Another few days and he had not only finished the numerous half-completed books which lay scattered around the house but had white-washed the bathroom and was already drawing up plans for the garden. Despite not being able to plant anything for several more months, he put those plans into effect the very next day.
Beneath a sunny sky striped with ribbons of whipped cloud, he knelt in the kempt grass, rusty trowel in hand, and scored the ground. Taking some effort, enough that his brow became damp, to permeate the frozen earth, he dug out the flowerbeds in accordance with the rough schematic he had drawn on the back of an envelope. He paused to check it every now and again, and to swipe his wrist over his forehead, and once the basic lines had been followed, he set to stripping up the turf.
Careful to rehome any upturned bugs he came across, he tossed up the earth to aerate it and enrich the soil. He remembered the trick from his mother, as he did everything he had learned about gardening. Just as he seemed to have inherited her ineptitude in the kitchen, he had been gifted her natural talent with plants, though he still aspired to reach her level of skill. While he could keep a plant alive, help it to thrive even, he would still find imperfections.
A shrivelled leaf, a bloom too small, a bud which refused to open because it had been placed too far from sunlight. Never anything disastrous, but that didn't mean he couldn't strive for better. There was nothing wrong with wanting to excel at something one cared about, after all, so long as ambition stayed out of the realm of obsession. That was what Arthur told other's, Alfred with his sports, Matthew with his grades, Francis with his projects, and he thought it time he started taking his own advice.
He sat back on his heels, knocking the dirt from his knees and hands as the impact of something cold against his neck sent a shiver up his spine. Glancing up to see a blockade of grey cloud bourgeoning on the horizon, Arthur quickly finished turning the earth of the section he worked on then headed inside to avoid it. Preventing Queenie from dashing out past him with his foot, as she had started waiting by the door so as to try and make her escape when someone opened it, he slipped in and closed the door behind him.
She mewed her complaint and followed Arthur into the living room, jumping up onto the sofa beside where her master had slouched. Not caring that he trod mud into the already ruined carpet, Arthur scratched his companion behind the ear and sighed, trying to think of what he might do next. The thought of more housework was thoroughly uninteresting, and he could come up with nothing more that needed doing. Queenie pawed at his lap and tried to climb on, but he lifted her off, he was too restless to sit still.
He wandered to the kitchen for a glass of water and gazed through the window which faced the driveway. The grey which crept up the horizon from behind wasn't visible that way and he figured he may as well go out while the weather held. Where to go was the next issue he had to tackle, for which a solution presented itself. Francis had been in somewhat a bad mood that morning, or as bad a mood as he was able to conjure being the naturally positive person he was, Arthur recalled, and it was his thinking that a visit at work may be of benefit to them both.
Taking the stairs with some added vigour, his brilliant idea having brightened him from his very brief slump, and went into the bathroom. He turned the tap on and bent over the sink. Cupping his hands under the spurting faucet, he collected the water and splashed it onto his face, the cold making his skin tingle. Raising his face, he let the droplets trickle over his cheeks and slide dawn the back of his collar while he scrubbed the dirt from his hands as best he could.
Roughly mopping his face and neck with the fabric of his t-shirt as he went across the landing, he pulled the garment from his torso and tossed it into the washing basket. The knees of his jeans, he saw in the mirror, were caked in mud and so those came off too, leaving him stood before the wardrobe in his underwear. His options were limited, but he spent some time perusing them anyway. He wanted to at least attempt to look somewhat more presentable than he usually did so as not to embarrass Francis in front of his colleagues.
Wire handers screeched against the pole as he pulled each shirt across to inspect them one by one, finding none that sparked satisfaction. Washed out white, dingy blue and one of a particularly unsightly shade of yellow that he couldn't recall the origin of. Surely it wasn't something he ever would have purchased for himself, in fact it repulsed him so much he saw the need to remove it from the wardrobe immediately, lest it offend his sight again.
Sighing as he settled for his least drab option, he went to pull it from the rack, however, as he did so a trace of colour caught his eye. Buried under even more greying cotton was another piece of clothing Arthur didn't recall owning, though this time it was a pleasant surprise. He pulled out the shirt, finding its fabric soft to the touch, and examined its unique style. Patches of turquoise, teal and navy blue swiped together like some sort of abstract painting, the colours all overlaying one another with the imitation of brush strokes.
He held it up to his body in the mirror and had to flatter himself a little on how well it suited him. Though he was sure he had never worn it before, the fabric fitted his body more comfortably than his favourite jumper. Loose in just the right way so that it hung baggy around his arms but fitted his shoulders perfectly. He tucked it messily into the waist of some ancient black jeans and found the ensemble to be most pleasant. Observing himself in the mirror, his cheeks pink from time spent outside, hair tousled by the breeze and grown out to a good length, he allowed himself a smile at his appearance.
His vanity was short lived, however, as he moved away and went downstairs, pulling on his shoes and coat and patting Queenie goodbye as he strode out the door. The briskness with which the outside greeted him was matched by his pace as he wasted no time in wanting to reach the station. Francis worked some distance further into the city that Arthur did, or had, and commuted by train every day, which was the only route that Arthur knew.
Therefore, he traced the footsteps of his other half, as though tracking the man, down to the station several streets away. The wind at his back, his gait was long and purposeful, racing the black clouds behind him, but once down the steps and onto the platform he slowed to a stop. Soaking up the sunlight which blessed his face, he stood in place and tilted his head back slightly, eyes closing against the brightness.
Below street level all seemed quieter, the light breeze swooping to rustle the bare branched bushes which grew against the chain link fence. The bridge which ran above the tracks for pedestrians echoed with their footsteps and the rumble of traffic and the pigeons that roosted on the beams which supported it, cooing. Announcements came over the loudspeaker, garbled to the point of nonsense, but Arthur knew which train he needed from memory.
Scuffing his heels, he strolled further down the platform so as to be closer to the front of the train. Alone, aside from the proprietor of the little kiosk stand selling coffee, painkillers and gum, the staple diet of the average office worker, Arthur observed his surroundings in a pleasantly detached manner. Mindlessly enjoying the sun and the cold and the way his breath glistened in the air before his eyes, he almost missed the train which pulled into the station.
Only one other person inhabited the carriage with him, rustling their newspaper every now and again as the scenery sped by. Regretting not having brought a book to pass the journey, Arthur instead stared through the window, forehead pressed against the rumbling glass so that his vision vibrated. It was hardly a long trip, however, a half hour at most until he reached his destination and stepped onto the platform with only a handful of others.
It was an area he had barely been to but had a vague idea of, enough that he knew to turn right out of the exit and follow the road down the broadway. He supposed it was the sort of place that a person may refer to as 'metropolitan', full of the fashionable young people that resided on the covers of magazines. The sort of place where bars served gin in mason jars and furniture stores sold wooden, rustic looking tables for the price of a forest's worth of Ikea. Somewhere he could never feel that he completely belonged.
Turning into one of the surplus of independent coffee shops, Arthur picked up a tea for himself and something more sugar than coffee for Francis and continued on at a leisurely pace. With the rain put far behind him, there was no need to hurry and he took full advantage of the vacant streets. Having passed midday, it appeared he had just missed the lunchtime rush, those few hours when things are quietest and time slows, giving the world time to breath before the work continues.
Offices, shops, playgrounds, all had a lull about them. Passing the gates of a school, the only souls around were the two young girls stood outside, clad in blazers and kilts with cigarettes in their hands and their long hair tied in plaits. He breathed a sound of amusement from his nose when he saw them, reminded too much of himself at their age. While he may not have been the rebellious sort, he had been no angel, that was for sure, and the day he left school was amongst the happiest of his life.
Then again, there had been good times alongside the bad. Sunny lunches out on the field, skiving off in P.E. to hide behind the sports shed, dawdling on his way to lessons for the breif chance to hold hands with Francis for a few more heart pounding minutes. Most of his best memories to do with school involved Francis in some way, he realised, as did most of his best memories in general. Sometimes he forgot how long eight years really was, how much had happened between them. It seemed simultaneously to go by in two seconds and feel like a millennium.
Their first kiss, first time, first admission of love all could have happened yesterday for how fresh in his mind these things were to Arthur. He could have sworn that he was on his way to the local community college to wait outside for Francis to finish photography class, as he had used to on pleasant days after work. In his usual seat outside the music classrooms, he would listen to the orchestra practice, his chest swelling like the sound of twenty violins when he saw his partner round the corner with the most benevolent smile on earth.
But all of that was so far behind them, he thought as he neared the office block he wanted. Things were another way now. Better in many aspects and simply different in others but certainly no worse. It was impossible for things to be worse when they still loved one another the same as they had done then. A thrill of anticipation ran through him as he approached the entrance to the office with these thoughts occupying his mind.
Pushing the door open with the shoulder, as both of his hands were full, he looked around the small foyer as he made his way to the lifts. The work of the employees lined the wood panelled walls but none that he could identify as distinctively Francis'. He was quite proud of his ability to identify his other half's work, being so familiar with it after years of being asked what he thought of it. His way of composing and framing a shot always brought to mind classic renaissance paintings to Arthur, though he couldn't say he was overly familiar with traditional artwork.
Something else too, his way of capturing life in a still image as though it were still moving. That was Francis' style. His ability to make a photograph look as though it had just been taken, like the scene were still playing out in real life just behind him even when a picture was years old. It was a mystery to Arthur how he did it.
Reaching the doors of the lift, he stopped, realising he should have thought his surprise visit through a little more when he saw the card scanner beside the buttons. Stuck, he stood there looking down at the barrier, considering whether it was better to call Francis down and ruin the surprise or try again another day.
"Oh, are you trying to get upstairs?"
Arthur turned as a woman's voice addressed him and saw her approaching with a smile, her pointed heels clattering on the floor as she quickened her steps to help him.
"Yes, I am," he replied, returning the friendly look which she offered him.
"Here, let me help you, I'm going up as well," she scuttled the last few steps over to the keypad, taking a card from her jacket and pressing it to the scanner.
The doors rolled open and Arthur let her step in first then followed.
"Fourth floor?" she glanced back at him, swiping her blond fringe from her face.
"Yes, please," Arthur thanked her, grateful that she wasn't suspicious of him as he clearly had no professional business being in the building. Being in a sociable mood, however, he thought he should still explain himself. "I'm just here to meet someone," he mentioned casually.
"To see Francis, right?"
Her response startled him which must have shown in his expression as she let out a soft laugh.
"He talks about you all the time, Arthur," she directed her knowing smile at him.
An awkward breath escaped his throat. "Well, that's embarrassing," he returned amusedly, averting his eyes as his cheeks grew heated.
She shrugged her slight shoulders and continued to watch him. "I think it is quite cute," she teased him.
The elevator dinged as it reached the right floor and both of them stepped out. Seeing that they were both headed in the same direction, Arthur continued the conversation.
"You work with Francis, then?" he glanced over at her, the light catching her cheeks to show her makeup was beginning to collect in the creases of her face, "Are you a model?"
Her lipstick stained mouth opening slightly, she turned her face away to giggle at the unintentional flattery, causing Arthur to realise his complimentary mistake.
"Sorry, I didn't mean like…" he trailed off with a chuckle.
"I am the junior art director," she corrected him good humouredly, "I actually have something for Francis, do you think you could take it for me?"
From her coat pocket she pulled a USB drive.
"Of course," he complied, allowing her to slip it into the top pocket of his shirt as his hands were full.
She thanked him, still cheery faced, and disappeared down a corridor before Arthur reached the other end of the hall where Francis' office was located.
It was at the front of the office and the hallway which Arthur walked along was lined with windows facing out onto quite the view. The stretching expanse of city seemed to hardly resemble the same sight Arthur was used to seeing from his own office, now ex-office, windows, though it was undoubtedly the very same one. A sea of shimmering grey, like scales, as other buildings' windows reflected the light that came from directly overhead. Far below and to the left was a park, a splotch of healthy green surrounding a lake which could have been mercury for the way it glittered.
From such an angle as the building stood at, one could even see the fringes of the town itself. The frayed edge where infrastructure began to fracture and blend with the no man's land which stood between cities. Fields and forests cut through by roads. The whole image seemed very complete to Arthur as he became distracted gazing out upon it, and he found himself quite contented. Their drinks were getting cold, though, and he didn't linger too long, making his way to the very end of the hall where he felt his lips curve upward at a sight far more lovely than a thousand shining lakes.
Through the window in the door Arthur caught sight of him. Leant back in his chair, on leg crossed over the other, gently tapping the end of a pencil against his chin, mouth hung open slightly in thought. Behind the reading glasses, which rarely made it out of his desk draw, perched low on his slim nose, two balls of sapphire focused intently on the screen, too immersed in their work to notice their admirer approaching.
Arthur stood close behind him a few moments, waiting to see if he would be noticed. Beginning to think he could remain there all day without his lover realising, however, he decided to say something.
"Too busy for company?" he drew attention to himself with some amusement at the other's reaction.
Jolting in his seat, Francis' head twisted suddenly from the fright but with a smile on his face.
"Cheri! Why are you here!" he squealed a little louder than Arthur would have liked, other heads in the office space turning to look at them, "Oh, mon amour, what a wonderful surprise!"
The object of such delight only laughed lightly, holding the drinks out of the way as Francis stood and clasped both hands to his cheeks to kissed him excitedly.
"I thought you would appreciate the spontaneity," he chuckled into the affection, "You're not too busy, are you?"
"Never," Francis insisted, taking the cup that was held out to him while he gestured to the free chair at his desk, "Come, sit with me."
As instructed, Arthur seated himself and made himself comfortable in the foreign space. He had been to the studio once before a long time ago and so was not too familiar with it. A wide, airy space, with a blank set at one end, ready for a shoot, and several desks placed in a seemingly random fashion with barely anybody sat at them. Most didn't even hold any personal affects, reminding Arthur much of his own dismal desk, though Francis' was the outlier.
The desk at which he sat contained numerous photos, of its owners' parents, other relatives and their shared friends and family, but most notably of the very man that observed them. Ones taken by the professional's own hands, some Arthur remembered being taken of him and others he had no recollection of, and others taken by third parties so that both of the couple could appear in them. Some in which he laughed and others with unreadable expressions. He could see why he was known within the building.
"You must be able to read minds, mon lapin," Francis spoke as he sat also, taking the lid from his drink and inhaling the sweetened scent, "this is just what I was pining for."
He took a sip and sighed in contentment, some of the whipped cream topping sticking to his nose.
Biting his lip amusedly, Arthur reached over to wipe it away, also tucking a strand of hair, which had fallen from the other's ponytail, behind his ear. "Having a rough day?" he ventured
Exhaling vocally, Francis reclined in his chair and swivelled it from side to side while looking at his computer screen. "I am just a little stuck," he mumbled.
Directing his attention to the monitor also, Arthur observed the image, head tilted, as though his opinion would be of any use. "What's it for?"
The woman on the screen looked out past them both from the flower filled balcony at which she stood, her wistful expression betraying nothing.
"A spring shoot for some magazine," Francis waved his hand vaguely in her direction, "I cannot get the lighting right."
Frustration tinged his tone as he subconsciously tapped his ring finger against the cardboard cup. Clearly, he had been stuck on the problem for some time.
"But she looks lovely," Arthur complimented with his untrained eye.
"Oui, she does, but it is the clothes that are meant to look good," the older man disparaged.
Eyes flicking from the screen to the taut lips of his lover, Arthur suggested, "Would getting out of here for a while help? What if we went to lunch?"
It didn't take much more than a half-raised brow to convince him, as Francis would have seized any excuse to get away. Pulling on his coat without a second thought, the two of them vacated the near-empty space and finished their drinks on the way to the foyer, a small thrill running through both men at their mild impulsiveness.
The weather took pity on them as some force was still holding back the blackness that Arthur had escaped from. Although both men were blown back by the wind, which had become rather more aggressive, as they exited onto the street, hair tousled and scarves flapping, the smell of approaching rain carried on it. Yet, unperturbed Arthur pressed on down the high street he had just walked up, the roads lined with freshly painted railings and well-kept hedgerows.
They meandered their way along, slowing sometimes to a complete stop to gaze in through a store front or for Francis to point something out, he knowing the area so well and Arthur not at all. Though they had gone out with the aim of eating, both admitted they weren't all that hungry and so the object of finding a place to go was one that took some discussion. Passing the edges of the park, Francis pointed out an establishment he thought his partner may like and brought him over to scrutinize the menu hung up by the doors.
"Oh my God," Arthur physically recoiled at the prices, looking from the sheet of paper to his other half with eyebrows near meeting his hairline.
"It is a little on the up-market side, but I thought you liked seafood," Francis understated with a shrug.
"Not that much," the other had yet to regain himself from the shock, "I'm not going to pay thirty-five pounds for a bit of fish."
"Well, you do not just pay for the food. It is the ambiance, the elegance of the experience," Francis explained, albeit jokingly.
Arthur scoffed. "I'm afraid the sophistication of such high-class salmon is rather lost on me."
Sensing the sarcasm, Francis laughed. "It is just that sort of area," he excused, "Come, I think I know somewhere more to Monsieur's liking."
He linked his arm through Arthur's and led him through the park. Down the little pathways that curved through the grass and below the sparse tree canopies, past the fountain and through the thin film it produced, blown by the wind in their direction. They soon reached the other side and continued walking until they reached the point that Arthur was beginning to wonder where he was being dragged, until Francis made a sharp turn down a narrow side road.
"Will this be alright?" he asked.
How anyone was supposed to know about such a place, Arthur had no idea as it was completely out of sight from any passer-by's, nestled away in what was essentially an alley, carved into the wall like some kind of giant mousehole. The only indication the place was an eatery was the singular table with two decrepit chairs set up outside, unstably balanced on the cobblestones.
"Sure," Arthur assented, thinking nothing particular about the place.
Francis led the way in with confidence and was greeted by the man behind the counter. They shared a few words of breezy conversation before the man asked if he cared for 'the usual?'
"Oh no, I simply must have him try the cheesecake," Francis ordered for them to share. "I come here quite often," he mentioned to Arthur, though he could have deduced that for himself.
It was quite odd, really, to be brought into a new sector of the other's life, one he had never been exposed to before, especially when he was so used to knowing everything there was to know about him. Francis had a life outside of him, though, of course he did. People he knew, things to worry about. He wondered how much else he had yet to learn about the man he had been with for so long, and whether he had been paying enough attention so far.
"Would you like to sit outside while the weather is nice?" the man he thought of enquired, taking their food from the countertop, to which Arthur nodded.
Wobbling precariously as they set the plate down on it, the couple took a seat at the lonesome table outside. There was a distinctly Parisian feel to the whole set up of the place as they watched people pass on the street from their hide away. Perhaps that was why Francis liked the place so much, it reminded him of home. The whole area, in fact, suited Francis somehow. It was a place for artistic people, for trendy people that understood things like fashion and modern art. He could have thrived there, and Arthur had a feeling that if it weren't for him that he would be living in exactly that sort of place, leading a very different kind of life.
He pondered the thought as they sat and chatted quietly. Francis was clearly in no rush to get back to work as he savoured his tiny bites of cake and paused between each one. Arthur did the same as he found it so sickly sweet that he required a few seconds to let the sugar rush die down before eating more.
"You have been in the garden today?" Francis noted the mud still lodged under his partner's nails.
Inspecting them himself, Arthur saw that they needed cutting, for once not bitten out of existence. "I dug out some flowerbeds along the fence," he reported.
"What will you plant there?" the other was curious, being quite useless in the garden and so leaving those matters to his other half.
Arthur took a breath and let it go. "I haven't decided yet."
Nodding, Francis took another scoop of the creamy desert and raised it to his lips. "No wonder you look so healthy. The outdoors does you good, mon cher," he slid the fork into his mouth and let it rest on his lower lip a moment, admiring the youthful, rosy glow that had come into the other's cheeks. "Is that one of my shirts?" he recognised after a moment, cocking his head.
Glancing down at the soft material that rested comfortably over him like a second skin, Arthur's brow furrowed slightly.
"I suppose it must be," he concurred, "I found it at the bottom of the wardrobe, couldn't tell if it was mine or not. I'll hang it up on your side when I get home."
Though they shared a wardrobe, a majority of which was taken up by the more fashion oriented of the two, they didn't really share clothes, their preferences being so different.
"Non, you should keep it," Francis declined, a faint curve tilting the edges of his mouth as he saw how well the shirt, which would have been comically loose on Arthur a month ago, so handsomely adorned his frame, "It suits you better."
"Alright, I do quite like it," Arthur poked at the cake and took a sliver on his fork, "Thanks."
For a long time, they sat there outside the little café, concealed away together, working on the one piece of cake between them. Even after the plate was scraped clean, they couldn't bring themselves to move, not always talking but spending the special sort of time together that people who are at complete peace in one another's company do. That is, until the first spot of rain fell with a heavy slap directly between them in the middle of the table. From there it was a dash back to the office with the collars of their coats pulled up over their heads and shoes splashing through the fast forming puddles.
Breathless from laughter, hair flattened to the backs of the skin and dripping onto the floorboards as they fell in through the doors, the couple paused in the foyer. Still panting as they came to a stop, Francis looked over to his significant other. He stepped closer, leaning in to kiss Arthur's flushed cheek.
"Thank you for taking the time to see me," he thanked contritely.
"I needed to get out of the house, I was bored stiff," Arthur admitted.
"Well, you should be bored more often," the other joked, both of them still smiling at one another like fools. "You should wait here until the rain stops."
Arthur looked out of the steamy windows at the dwindling downpour. "No, that's alright, I've distracted you long enough and it's already stopping."
Pouting, Francis pecked his lover once more and made to go to the lifts before Arthur remembered his delivery mission.
"Oh, wait," he halted the other, taking the USB from his pocket, "Someone gave me this to give to you."
Francis looked at the device, his eyes disheartened, and took it. "Ah, oui, merci."
"What's wrong?" Arthur caught the dispirited intonation to his words.
"It is just, uh," Francis' lips drew together and twisted, "another project. It is a busy week."
"Oh, sorry," Arthur apologised as though he were the one handing out the work, not having expected to upset his partner, "Don't worry about it just now, love, you'll get everything finished."
The other nodded and stretched a subdued smile over his face but Arthur could tell he was stressed. Reaching over to touch his other half's damp arm, he raised one hopeful brow.
"Don't come home late," he showed his concern and understanding with one simple request, "Please?"
His strained expression softening, Francis exhaled. "Of course, amour," he agreed, knowing his lover would hold him to that.
Smiling in return as he began to walk away, Arthur watched him go and disappear behind the sliding doors of the elevator. They exchanged one last loving expression and were parted, leaving Arthur alone. He turned and moved towards the exit, leaving footprints to soak through the wooden flooring in his wake, and went to reach for the door handle.
Glancing up, however, he immediately released it as a figure stood on the other side. He stood back, his gentlemanly ways insisting he allow the other person to come in first, but the stranger did so too, waiting the same as him. Exactly the same, he realised with some embarrassment, as his reflection stared back at him expectantly.
He couldn't help but laugh to himself, watching the other him do the same with bemused pleasure. That man, that stranger which he was sure was himself, was not at all how he remembered him. Those smile lines had never been there, that forehead free of worried wrinkles, the lack of bags under such bright, green eyes. It was him, for sure, but how? It was almost as though ten years had been stolen from him without his noticing, a past version of himself, lighter for the youth, now stood before him.
Almost afraid to come any closer should the illusion be shattered; he couldn't stay transfixed forever like some modern-day Narcissus. He reached to the handle again and grasped it, keeping one of his four luminous eyes on his alternate, and let himself out. The translucent Arthur remained trapped in the glass of the door, of course, and swung back with it and was left behind as the physical Arthur walked on into the rain.
With every soggy storefront, though, a new iteration of him was formed, following him the length of the glass and vanishing into the frame, and with each iteration it was like he stole more of that inexplicable youth from them. The further he walked the more he became them, his physical being becoming transparent before his eyes, becoming lighter, freed from the very concept of time itself. By the time he reached the train station, it felt as though he floated down the stairs without touching a single one.
The entire journey home went by in the blink of an eye and Arthur only noticed how fast he had been walking when he came through his front door panting. He had left the storm clouds far behind him, for poor Francis to put up with, he thought to himself, while from his own kitchen window he could look out upon his newly sculpted garden coated in glossy sunshine. Ducking to see the sky through the same window, he saw a silver lining, silk embroidered upon the clouds, and beamed along with that secondary him which he looked through.
Despite his promise, Francis came home a good forty minutes later than he usually would that evening. Arthur didn't draw attention to this, however, not wanting to guilt trip him and thinking it would be rather unfair for him to criticise when he wasn't even working. The thought plagued him somewhat. While he in no way missed conventional work, his days felt empty without something structured and he hated putting everything on Francis.
Of course, Francis didn't mind at all. It wasn't like he needed to take on more hours to pay the bills, it was merely coincidence that Arthur's unemployment had happened at the same time as a busy spell for him, but in some ways that made it worse. Arthur was at home, doing nothing and even coming to bother him at work while he was doing everything he could to maintain stability. That was Arthur's way of seeing things, at least.
Besides that, it was the pure boredom which got to him the most. Each day he mentally planned his activities to the hour. The morning spent out with Friede then home to do some gardening before the weather turned on him in the afternoon. An hour or so of tidying a mess which never accumulated, remembering to eat at some point, then to the sofa with a book where he would oftentimes stay until Francis came home to alleviate the stagnation. While he had only been unemployed a matter of two weeks or so, it felt that things had been this way forever.
The following day Gilbert joined him on his walk, though he complained the whole time about the blustery conditions. With their faces burrowed down into their collars, they walked Friede to the park as Arthur usually did, swapping the leash between them as she was prone to pulling when she got excited and, being a large animal, their arms were quick to tire. For a half hour she was allowed to run loose, bounding about the field and occasionally coming to check in on the other two members of her pack, before she was reined in once more, and they took the long rout back.
Friede trotting ahead of them, her mane-like fur caked in mud and her tongue lolling from her mouth, they chatted about nothing in particular. Arthur was tempted to ask his friend about his latest covert affairs, knowing he would be able to wrench the information from him if he tried, but decided against it, finding he enjoyed the easy company too much. Side by side, they rounded a corner and approached the familiar promenade, coming to a stop close to the newly renovated bookstore when Friede began sniffing around for a place to squat.
Allowing Gilbert to take care of it, Arthur drifted a few more steps to check up on it. Boxes stood about the place, likely filled with product that had yet to be unpacked as the opening date was still a few days off. As many shelves as possible were crammed in, the prospect of all of them being lined with gorgeous literature quite appealing to the man that gazed in, fogging up the glass. Other than that, the insides were rather unremarkable, though a sign taped to the inside window caught Arthur's attention.
In capital, red letters underlined was a printed notice stating with no uncertainty 'Part-Time Staff Wanted'. He looked at it, thinking, knowing really, what he wanted to do from the first moment he read it.
"Is this new?" Gilbert came up beside him, eyes squinted at the storefront as he tried to remember what had been there before.
"It used to be the old music shop," Arthur reminded him, eyes still fixed on the notice.
"Huh," the other expressed, studying the place a moment then looking to his companion. "What's so interesting?" he asked when Arthur hadn't said anything for a while.
Still not speaking, too absorbed in his thoughts, Arthur nodded at the sign, prompting Gilbert to lean in and read it.
"You thinking of applying?" he inferred.
Quiet a second more, Arthur broke his train of thought with a breath. "I'm just so bored," he sighed.
"Hey, why not?" the older man shrugged, "It's only part time."
"Maybe," Arthur hesitated, torn two ways over the decision.
On the one hand, he couldn't take his lethargic lifestyle much longer. He knew if he allowed himself to remain that way that he would just get depressed again, and he had worked so hard that he couldn't let it all be for nothing. Then again, he had worked retail before and remembered all too well the hell it could be. Long shifts, incompetent co-workers, purely demonic customers that only existed to cause him pain and call the manager on him because of something he had literally no control over. It was truly miserable.
More than that, he was afraid of being overwhelmed again. A new job was a big step and he was worried that, perhaps, he was taking it too soon. He knew that he should push himself, that it was good to take things at a quicker pace if he could, but what if he were to push himself directly over the edge of a cliff he hadn't seen. Francis would worry about him too, he always insisted that things should progress slowly but surely. But despite all this, there was still the urge.
"What is it?" Gilbert detected his friend's internal struggle, his expressive eyes shifting about in his skull.
"I'm just not sure," he bit at his lip in consideration, "I want to, but it's just been so long since…"
"Well, why not apply and decide later," the other suggested, playing mediator, "You never know, you might not even get an interview."
Finding this oddly encouraging, Arthur nodded half-mindedly, drawing himself from the window so they could get home and out of the cold.
Once home he set to editing his CV, opening up the old file on his laptop that had not been revised for more than four years. Reading some of the things he had written he almost laughed aloud. 'People oriented', 'always thinking of the client's best interest', 'dedicated to the trade'; all things that couldn't have been more untrue about his work ethic. And as for the section describing his personal skills, or rather lack thereof, and his atrocious grades. Ludwig had definitely pulled some strings for him.
Finding the words to describe the last four years of his professional life didn't come easy, avoiding phrases such as suicide inducing being a real struggle, but after some hours of work he managed to complete the document. Francis came home not long after, however, he seemed hardly able to keep his eyes open and so Arthur thought he would wait to bring up the topic. As there had been no contact information on the notice, he planned on slipping a copy of it under the door when he was on his way to Tino's office the next day.
He began looking forwards to his sessions with Tino, finding the mental stimulation did him good. As he had nothing else to do, he would book them during the blandest hours of the day, take his time getting to and from the office, strolling through the residual fog that shrouded the streets during the early afternoon but dissipated by the time he made his way home. Sometimes he would detour, taking a back street just for the sake of the activity itself, one rout along a narrow, housed street he particularly enjoyed as it led him past a house with blooming green trellises where a white terrier slept in the window.
More than once he arrived late due to his distractions, despite leaving early so as to avoid this, but Tino only ever smiled and asked how the weather was.
"The winters here are so different from the ones in my hometown," he reminisced as they took their seats, "they're so…wet."
"Not exactly what Dickens leads you to believe, are they?" Arthur joked and smiled when the other laughed out of genuine amusement.
"Not quite," he agreed, then muttered again more quietly, "not quite."
Settling back in his seat, he tapped the tip of his pen against the top of his notepad as he looked through his notes from the last session. They carried on the conversation and Arthur got to talking about how he had been spending his time without needing to be asked.
"So, you have been spending your time quite productively," Tino observed, "That's good, just how we talked about."
"Yes, I suppose, but," Arthur picked at his nails, which were caked in mud again from his mornings' excursion to the park, "it just doesn't feel…meaningful."
A raised brow from Tino was all it took to keep his client talking.
"You know, it just seems a little frivolous. There's no balance to it when all I do is whatever I want."
"One cannot know good without the bad," Tino agreed musingly.
"Exactly," Arthur made some kind of a gesture with his hands as he explained, "I mean, I don't miss my job, but it's been such a long time since I, well, since I didn't have one."
"What do you think you'll do?" the older man let his subject do the work for himself, bringing his pen to his lip and letting it rest there.
Eyes flitting to his bag where his CV was, his indecision having kept him from taking the rout he needed to deliver it, Arthur gently chewed at the inside of his cheek.
"I was actually thinking of applying to a position I saw the other day," he recounted, uncertainty drawing out his words.
"Oh?" Tino's interest increased somewhat, "What might that be?"
"It's just a part-time thing," Arthur told him, running his dirtied nails over his bottom lip but thinking better of nibbling at them, "at the new bookstore that's opening a few roads from here."
Tino heard the lilt to his words and prompted him when he paused. "But?"
Glancing up to the patient, lavender eyes across from him, Arthur sighed lightly.
"But I'm not sure," he continued, "I want to but I'm just worried that something will go wrong."
"Like what?"
"Like," he frowned as he tried to come up with something terrible, but all he could come up with was, "if it all becomes too much."
Shrugging, Tino aimed to encourage him without being too overt about it as he wanted his patient to make the decision.
"You could always leave if you become overwhelmed," he suggested, "people quit part-time jobs without thinking twice about it."
Arthur hummed his assent, trying to think of another excuse as he realised that, in all honesty, the prospect of making such progress scared him slightly.
"But I know that Francis would worry," he pointed out, which was true but a weak guise, nonetheless.
Tino saw through it, of course, and watched the younger man that looked away from him, his body hunched slightly. He had foreseen such a change in Arthur, he saw it in many of his clients. Improvement then self-doubt, it was a natural part of the process, and he knew how to deal with it.
"Perhaps you can prove that he doesn't have to," he put forward.
The perfect motivation, and Tino saw it take hold of the other before his eyes, the way his creased face smoothed out, the tightness in his lips becoming slack.
"Maybe," he spoke to himself more than the other occupant of the room, "I just don't want to put him through any more stress."
Despite his client's lingering insecurity, Tino felt he knew the choice he would make.
"You should trust yourself more, Arthur," he encouraged him to make the decision he could predict, "You're an intelligent man and you work hard. You know what is best for yourself."
It was a poignant compliment and Arthur felt it in the core of him. In a way, he almost didn't believe it. He didn't see how functioning like a normal human being was work, it was something he should have been doing anyhow, but he forced himself to take the kind words as they were meant. Regardless of whether he was working towards something he shouldn't have to work for or not, it was work nonetheless and he was trying his best.
"Maybe it would be good to get back into practice," he thought aloud, "I haven't been to an interview in a long time."
Repressing a somewhat unprofessional smile, Tino nodded along with him. Talk turned this way and that, as it usually did, and by the time their session was drawing to a close it had landed upon Francis.
"So, you feel he still worries over your wellbeing," Tino didn't particularly care that there was only three minutes left to talk in as he had no other clients until much later in the day and he quite enjoyed Arthur's company on a personal level.
"In a way," the other replied, lips tilting, "Not so overtly as he used to, but occasionally he'll say something that gives it away. He'll ask if I left the house during the day or if I ate more than once. He does it out of concern, but I wish he would relax, he seems stressed."
"Does it irritate you?" Tino leaned against the armrest with his head balanced on his pinkish fingertips.
Arthur hummed a little, then spoke. "Not really, but I do wish he didn't do it."
"You can't let the communication break down," the older man advised him, watching his client nod, then chuckled lightly. "Although, I'm sure you hardly need me to give you relationship advise. How many years have you been together, did you say?"
"Coming up on our ninth during the summer," Arthur couldn't help but brag. If there was one thing in his life he was proud of, and there really was only one, it was the family he had made for himself.
"That's quite something, I must say," Tino bobbed his head, brows lifted admiringly, "To be together for so long from such a young age, that doesn't happen often."
Breathing a soft half-laugh, Arthur considered this. "You're right," he said contemplatively, "I'm a lucky man."
"You credit him with the success, then," the other gleaned from his reaction.
"How could I not?" Arthur shrugged, still with a partial smile on his lips, "He's the one that's stayed when he didn't have to. Half the stuff he put up with for my sake would have sent most people running."
He looked across at the man who watched him, a simpering look upon his round face, one he would usually have been embarrassed by, however, he wouldn't stop himself from singing his lover's much deserved praises.
"And I don't know what I would have done if he had," he finished the thought, mostly to himself.
His own words sounded to him like those of someone far older and wiser than himself. One who had the authority to wax rhapsodic on such subjects. He meant every one of them, though, every syllable, and only wished he had the nerve to say them to the man that would appreciate them most. Gaze trained on his current company, he noted that his words had an effect on the professional as he moved one hand over to the other to touch the spot where a wedding band would have encircled.
"I should plan something for our anniversary this year," he reflected a little sadly, "I always leave it to him."
"That would be something good to spend time on," Tino seconded, glancing at his watch, "And speaking of time, I should probably let you leave."
Not having realised they had been an extra twelve minutes, Arthur checked his phone with some surprise and gathered his things so as to be out of the others way. Tino didn't rush him, though, even holding him up to chat a little more at the doorway.
"I look forward to hearing how your application goes," he continued their exchange, "I will see you next week, yes?"
"I was planning on it," Arthur affirmed.
Leaning against the doorframe, the other paused. "So you haven't anything booked already?"
Arthur shook his head and Tino nodded in return, slowly, ponderously.
"Perhaps you only come once next week," he suggested, "You've been doing so well recently, it's about time we tried it this way. Do you think that would be alright?"
"Certainly," the other couldn't keep the happiness from his voice and Tino failed to conceal the hint of pride from his face.
"Alright, I will see you then," he closed the door behind himself as he stepped back into his office, smile creeping further across his face as he turned away.
Doing as suggested, Arthur booked his next appointment some time in advance and left the office with the sense of levity he was becoming accustomed to.
The bitterness of January showed him no mercy, his cheeks stinging, his lips tingling and his right hand beginning to ache. Arthur looked down at it; where the cuts and bruises had long since healed but left faint scars to remember them by. It had taken him a while to notice the souvenir as the marks weren't obvious, until one day out in the garden he had seen them, turned a deep purple from the cold as though the bruises had never gone. From then on, every time he stepped outside, he would feel a twinge of pain surge through his knuckles, though it would pass within a few seconds. He drew his fingers closed into a fist then flexed them out to be rid of the feeling, then buried both his hands in his pockets.
Though the air was dry and the sky white, there was evidence of it having rained heavily not long before. Arthur must have been too absorbed in conversation as he had heard nothing but the voices within the room, not the patter of rain nor the splash of cars from the nearby road even though deep puddles swamped the roads. Concrete saturated and dark, tree bark waterlogged, and grass beaten down by what must have been a real flood, Arthur made his way without the worry of being caught in another like it. Trapesing along the walkways, with half a mind to stay out until sunset, he brushed his fingertips along the hedgerows so that a miniature storm of droplets rained down behind him as he went.
With a particular mission in mind, however, he quickened his step in direction of his goal. Hastening his way, he swerved round corners, knocking the wet branches, until he was stood before the building. The place was at least completed, inside and out, and the scent of freshly cut wood emanated from it. It was impossible to tell whether there was anyone there, but the lights were off, and no sound came from within. Arthur tried the door, pushing it gently, but was sure it was locked, for which he was somewhat grateful, a light sense of nervousness beginning to bubble in the back of his throat.
Taking the several sheets of paper from his bag, he removed them from the protective plastic sheath, gave them a last once over, then slipped them back in and slid them under the door. He looked down at them through the glass, knowing there was no taking the action back, with a buzz of apprehension but no regret. It had been the right choice, he was certain only after having done it. And so, he left the decision to whoever owned the place, accepting of whatever outcome may occur.
It had become rather a habit for him to go straight from the front door to the bookshelf, as he did on entering his home a short walk later. Although he didn't necessarily finish a book a day, he often found that his mood and preferences changed with the date, and he couldn't help but give in to it. Standing before his personal library, hands on hips, he contemplated just what would suit him at that moment. Up until then he had been on a kick for the classics, Bronte and Wilde, lapping up their dramatics and revelling in the period romance, but in that instance he felt that such fancies wouldn't do at all.
Casting his gaze like a net, he reeled in the names that caught him and allowed the rest to slip through the gaps. He wanted something spontaneous. Something to excite the senses and make a person sigh. There was but one among his collection which would match his specific needs and he located it close the bottom. Retrieving the book, he took it to the living room and settled back in the dusty light of the early evening while Queenie chirruped at the birds that sat along the telephone wire outside from the windowsill.
It was here he stayed until the sky was black and the front door opened. Lost in the story, he hadn't realised it was far past the time his other half would usually be home.
"Where have you been?" he called to the other, lowering his book and trying to look around the archway to see what was keeping him.
Out in the hall, Francis shuffled his things about and eventually moved towards the living room, lingering on the threshold.
"Désolé," he lamented shortly, leaning a shoulder against the wall, "There was some work I had to see to."
Brows drawn together at the haggard look on the other's face, a deep pang of concern clenched Arthur's chest. "What's the matter?" his softened tone went to waste as Francis turned his eyes away.
"Nothing, amour," he sighed heavily, "It has been a long day, that is all."
"I'll say, you're a good two hours late," Arthur pointed out, not meaning it as criticism, however, it was taken as such.
"I know, I am sorry," Francis unloaded another breath, crumpling against the doorframe, "Do not be angry with me."
"I'm not, Francis," Arthur's worry grew at the sight of him, his darkened eyes, his pale skin, "Darling, tell me what's wrong."
"It is nothing, I am only tired," Francis clearly lied, the slight upward tug of his lips making it all the more evident as nothing reached his eyes. Arthur began to contend him, but Francis spoke first. "I am going to run a bath," he stated, peeling himself from the wall and heading up the stairs without a second glance.
"Alright," Arthur murmured to the empty hallway, face still creased with doubt as he was left to himself.
He could hear the bubbling of the old pipes as the taps were turned on in the bathroom and the perfumed scent of soap drifted down the stairs, and in the otherwise silence, he listened. He was going to say something, he had to, but his lover's behaviour had thrown him. Thinking it best to wait until he came back downstairs, hopefully in a better frame of mind, Arthur tried to go back to his book but found himself too distracted.
It was ridiculous, pointless really, to get wound up over it but, as was one of his most stubborn flaws, he found himself dwelling upon it. The thought that something was wrong occupied his mind, and with that the subsequent preogression of questions and worries.
"Arthur…"
His name was called from the bathroom and he reacted with a start. Tucking his book under his arm, he stood and went upstairs, springing the last few steps and walking faster than needed in his anxiousness.
"What is it?" he came through the open door to see Francis in the bath with an unwanted companion.
"Can you please do something with her?" he gestured impatiently at Queenie, who had evidently nudged open the door and was unconcernedly drinking the bathwater.
"Oh, really Queenie," he tutted disapprovingly but with some humour as he picked up the intruder. She mewed in protest but was nonetheless removed to the landing.
"Ce foutu chat," Francis muttered under his breath as he sunk down into the water.
"Don't be angry with her," Arthur placated, closing the door to keep her out, "She's bored, we should start letting her out."
Francis hummed without meaning, glancing at his other half then fixing his eyes on the tap that dripped.
Hugging his arms against himself, Arthur watched, unnerved by the quiet exhaustion in his partner's stare.
"Francis, what is it?" he beseeched, forehead drawn in the middle.
Unable to avoid the burning focus of his other half's pleading eyes, Francis' attention flicked between him and the faucet a moment before he relented.
"Work has difficult lately, that is all," he yielded quietly.
"What's been going on?" Arthur came closer, perching on the edge of the bath, the rising steam dampening his arms and cheeks.
"I have a lot to do and not much time," was Francis' curt answer.
"I'm sure everything will get seen to," the other reassured him with his most solicitous tone, yet the older man said nothing. "Why won't you talk to me?" Arthur asked plainly.
He kept his eyes fixed on the blue ones that tried their hardest not to betray the feelings behind them. However, indifference had never worked for Francis and his guise faltered.
"Because," he blinked away his front, "you should not have to worry about me."
The familiar words sent a ripple of desolate sadness through Arthur so as all he could do was look empathetically upon the man before him.
"It is nothing, really," Francis diminished when his partner said nothing in reply, "It will be fixed by the end of the week, it has just been…a little stressful."
"So why wouldn't you tell me that?" Arthur insisted, his words serious though not harsh.
Head tipping back to rest against the tiles, Francis took a breath of the sweet, warm air and let it out again, disturbing the mist that shrouded their bodies.
"I like to save you from these things, cheri," he doted.
Though touched by the sentiment, Arthur declined it. "Well, that's not how I want things to be," he asserted gently, "You don't have to treat me like I'm made of glass, I want to know your problems as much as you want to hear mine, that's how things always should have been."
He couldn't keep a hint of regret from the last part of his thought, but he was glad for that. At last he could speak as he felt, and to the person that needed to hear it the most.
"Alright, alright, Arthur," Francis murmured lightly, surprised by the soft outburst, "No more of this, je promets."
The sincerity in his face was all Arthur needed but he appreciated his spoken vow no less. Leaning down over the edge of the bath, he held one hand to the back of the other's wet neck and kissed him, then parted smiling. He could feel the heat radiating from the older man's pinkened skin, could see the steam rise from his flesh like from a hot cup of tea. If he could have bottled its smell, he'd have worn it every day.
"What were you reading?" Francis looked at the book still lodged under the other's arm. Arthur turned the cover to show him. "What is it about?" he was interested by the picture; a woman leant on a table which reflected her face.
"It's American, the twenties," the other regaled him, "It's about rich people and decadence and affairs."
"It is a love story?" the elder of the two innocently inquired, resting his forearm on the side of the bath and placing his chin atop it to look up.
Arthur chuckled. "Not exactly," he contemplated, "Not a happy one, anyway."
Red lips pouting a little, Francis hummed softly. "I suppose there are not many love stories that end well," he meditated sullenly.
The edges of his lips still tilted upward, Arthur looked down into his glistening eyes, at the face that gazed up at him from the water, like a mermaid at the hull of a ship.
"It's a good thing they're just stories then, isn't it?" he dispelled the gloomy sentiment and watched the thought of it be swept from the other's delicate features.
Taking his head from his arm, Francis submerged himself so that the water was in danger of spilling into his mouth, his hair dispersing like spilt, molten gold.
"Read it for me," he requested with such tenderness that Arthur had no choice but to lovingly comply.
Easing himself down onto the tiles the opposite end of the bath than Francis sat, as he knew the other liked to watch him when he read, he opened to the page he had left off on.
He began slowly, in a low, silken tone as he had used to for his brothers when they were young, glancing up over the pages every few sentences. At first, Francis watched him, enthralled completely, but as the words became images in his mind his focus drifted. Blue eyes staring off into dreamy space, softened by the steam, a persistent smile rested on his face. Held under his lover's spell, he could have drifted away into a deep and unfeeling sleep had they not been interrupted by a knock at the front door.
Starting from his stupor, Francis looked to Arthur. "Were we expecting someone?" he questioned.
"Not that I know of," the other muttered, frowning distractedly and slowly placing down his book, "You stay there, let me see what it is."
He rose with stiff joints from the floor and went out onto the landing, closing the bathroom door behind him. Making sure Queenie wasn't around to make a dash for freedom, he opened the door and relaxed.
"Oh, you didn't say you were coming over," he greeted Alfred, standing aside to let him in.
"No, I came straight from practice," he stepped over the threshold, jigging up and down from the cold, his nose and cheeks a brilliant scarlet, "Is Francis at work?"
"He's in the bathroom," Arthur informed him, "Should I tell him to hurry up and join us?"
"Uh, no, don't, I, um," Alfred hesitated with his back to his brother as he hung up his coat, "I actually was hoping I could talk to you alone."
Halted by this, concern instantly sprung to Arthur's expression as he lent on the banister, waiting for his sibling to face him.
With a breath, the younger man did so, a nervous smile occupying his face.
"I got the call," he said, his smile stretching further, "I'm going to America."
So, another long break, but I have a better excuse this time. That being that I started my course at university in September and that doesn't leave me a whole lot of time. I do literature and creative writing, for anyone who's interested, which is honestly a massive privilege. It's all I've ever been good at (Although, I suppose you should all be the judges of that rather than me), for one, and for two I do love it.
And therefore with that I should tell you that this is the penultimate chapter. The next should be the last and I can only hope that it lives up to expectations.
Let me know what you think of this with a review, and like and follow to see the finale to this mess as soon as it's uploaded. Thanks.