The next Tuesday morning, Francis raided the cabinets with a yawn. It took him three checks to be sure his local grown apples were missing. Because it really was that big of a deal, he inspected the trash. Indeed, apple cores. Someone else ate his precious, hand selected, and over-priced fruit. They had personal and joint cabinet space for a reason. Only one person would so disregard the rules like this. Francis pushed open the back door which stood slightly ajar. Antonio knelt in the dirt with gardening supplies scattered around him. By the looks of it, he started a little over an hour ago. "Did Gilbert already go to class? Unless you ate my breakfast."
Antonio put down the little hand shovel. When he wiped a bead of sweat off his face, he left a smudge of soil behind. He didn't wear gloves, preferring to feel the dirt with his fingers. Shrugging one shoulder, he nodded. "Yes. He got up before me." The two shared a look.
Francis sighed and ran a hand through his unbrushed hair. His irritation over the apples fell to the back seat. "This is troubling indeed." Gilbert turned into a responsible and punctual man—the person he was when not comfortable with others. He never once showed that face to his best friends. After a second more of silence, Francis tied back his hair and knelt down in the dirt with Antonio. "What are you planting?"
"Spinach and tomatoes for now. I want to plant strawberries too, but we don't have a lot of room," he explained, each with a point to his planned spaces and the seed packets. "The box garden will be for basil and thyme. We can keep it on the windowsill!" Antonio shoved his hands into the fresh dirt, laughing as it crumbled around him.
Francis nodded his head in appreciation. There was nothing like fresh herbs to a gourmet like him. "I've got some time yet. Let me help." For all that he came from money and splendor, he shared Antonio's love for the dirt. Gardening relaxed him in a way that little else could. They didn't speak as Antonio dug the holes and Francis filled them with seeds. Francis found himself drifting into his thoughts as he always did when gardening and judging by Antonio's face, he did the same.
An old groundsman taught Francis to love the art of growing. Raised around delicate breakable things, he molded himself into the sort without a wild youth. Trouble didn't suit him at all, not when he spent so much time preening on compliments to his looks and behavior. The only thing he missed were people to talk to who would really listen and not just nod their head. He'd found himself sitting on the doorstep and talking for hours about a child's delight in this or that to the kind old man. He had children so he just let Francis talk without a care. Just like the two gardening now, the groundsman gave the plants his real attention. It took time before Francis got over dirtying his hands and started gardening himself. A plant deserved to be treasured from seed to plate. Sometimes he wondered what it felt like to grow up on an orange orchard, working side by side with the migrant workers at harvest. To be a little Antonio holding the gathering basket as another youth taught him Spanish—how different that would be.
"Sorry, that's all I can do for today," Francis said as he finished off one row. He found it hard to drag himself away, but mother nature blessed him with a good internal clock. He didn't need an alarm to tell him the time to go. Rubbing his hands clean on a cloth, he ginned down at himself. "The museum opens at nine and I need to change again it seems. Anyway, I'll be out all day. At least until closing. I've got a project to start on."
Antonio grinned, less bright, but soft like a calm breeze. This lasted until he scratched his nose, inhaled a bit of dirt, and sneezed. Francis burst out laughing even after he received a muddy slap to his arm. "Don't laugh! You're the one with dirt on his eyebrow," Antonio huffed. Francis moaned in horror and nearly wiped his face until he realized how dirty his hands were. Antonio rubbed the speck away with his sleeve, tongue pressed to his lip in some sort of dorky show of concentration. "You've already got projects on the second week? I don't know how you guys do school."
"I am a grad student. Got to keep my grades up and my parents happy. Like they say, no rest for the wicked." Francis winked as he headed for the door.
"I thought you didn't get sleep because-"
"See you later, Toni!" Francis laughed as he danced back inside.
xXx
Francis didn't mind getting lost in the Los Angeles County Museum of Art at all. With Rembrandt and Cézanne at his side, how could he consider this work? He only felt awe to be in the presence of such masterpieces. It was the art historian in him talking, but also the romantic. Francis didn't have time to linger or visit the entirety of the museum though. He used the little handheld map to find the French oil paintings and circled the room. He held a notebook in his hands and by far wasn't the only student wandering around like this. In a city with a vibrant art culture like LA, students often visited the museums. Francis' studying focused around European art as he prepared himself for a massive end of the quarter paper. Each in his class picked their own focus within the umbrella of Europe. Naturally he picked France, the country he wished he could do more than trace a vague linage to. If only he had been born in such a wondrous place. He could only satisfy himself with paintings.
Hours passed as pages in Francis' spiral turned. He tucked his erasure stick behind his ear, looking the picture of an art student. The museum kept an awed hush. Not silence which would be cloying, but filled with the whispered conversations of viewers. Any other time, Francis would lose himself in people watching. Now he noticed the existence of people in the farthest back of his mind. That was until a pencil skittered into his leg.
"Sorry, could you…?"
Francis turned to see a head of short blonde hair behind him. He froze, his response dying in his throat. Everything inside him tried to pull apart; he wanted to soar up and dash himself into the floor at the same time. Arthur's here? He finally came back from Oxford! But when Francis blinked again, the face in front of him stood just a little too low and the smile wore lipstick. Her cheeks curved round and pink so unlike the ones Francis wanted to see. He stared at the girl silently because he thought he needed to remember something more than she looked like Arthur.
"Ah…that's right. You probably don't remember me," the girl chuckled. She tucked one golden strand behind her ear and her lips twisted in a mockery of a smile. "My name is Alissa. We met at a party, oh I dunno…a year ago? You were fun."
Francis never quite put together who she was, but he knew what she was now. Just another girl and one that looked like his unrequited love at that. She must have been a moment of weakness. Still, she had a cute smile and the same dimples. Francis found himself smiling and lifting Alissa's hand to press a kiss to it. "Perhaps you just need to help me remember," he whispered with his blue eyes dancing. He couldn't have Arthur, but that didn't mean he couldn't have everyone else in his stead.
Alissa giggled which set Francis on edge. Arthur would never giggle, but he ignored the discrepancy. She took her hand back before answering. "That would be wonderful. Actually…" She twisted the black strap of her bag before lifting her eyes to meet his again. By then her smile regained the confident and almost superior look of before. "That's why I approached you. Will you go for a second whirl with me?"
All over again Francis found himself drowning. Arthur…no she was Alissa. Why did they have similar names? Though at this point, he could have found Ramundo similar. The lie caught him up too deeply. She was Arthur, but a female and less hateful version. He could work with that even if her forwardness turned other men away. He gluttoned himself on this type of punishment. All the green eyes he loved looked down at him like this. He wouldn't be able to react to any other ones.
"My dear Alissa, I would never turn a pretty girl like you away. Green eyes are my weakness." He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Perhaps I can take you out for dinner tonight?" She nodded and the two hashed out the details. Francis gained a new contact in his phone, not that he had many to begin with. As often as he gained them, he deleted them. The men and woman who breezed past his bed would clutter his phone otherwise. As he turned back to Landscape with Ruins by Pierre-Henri de Valenciennes, he wondered if this meeting counted as a fortunate turn of events or proof he was a masochist in matters of his heart.
xXx
Half an hour after dinner, Antonio knocked on Gilbert's door. A couple days ago, he added some sticker with a childish 'keep out' phrase and Antonio couldn't help but think the timing meant something, even if Gilbert had similar signs on his dorm room last year. "It's your turn to do dishes." He listened for movement, heard it, then turned to go. Before he reached the hall, a voice yelled after him.
"Help me edit my English paper!"
A grin tilted over Antonio's face. He pushed open Gilbert's door and found him sitting on his bed, laptop open, and a German/English dictionary against his knee. He patted the deep blue sheets and Antonio plopped down with a bounce and giggle. Gilbert shifted, making sure to keep a space between them. He sat cross-legged in his favorite jacket, mis-matched with shorts and a tank-top. Maybe because he showed so much skin, he made sure to keep it to himself. Still, Antonio felt relief. This was the normal Gilbert who forgot his best friends had a taste in men. Antonio didn't realize how badly he missed the ease of conversation. He didn't expect it to ever leave.
"Are you sure you want a drop-out like me to help?" Antonio joked even as he pulled Gilbert's laptop closer. He carried the reputation of being an idiot after all. Not that he minded. He cultivated that image himself. When he felt a stare on him Antonio looked up.
Gilbert looked like he seriously considered his friend's intelligence, but he shrugged in the end. "At least English is your first language." Although he started learning English at age eight when he moved in with his aunt, uncle, and prissy cousin, he found this a solid excuse. Gilbert tossed his ridiculous plush panda across the room. "What do they expect out of me?! I should get special treatment for being German!" After five seconds more of pouting, he jumped up to fetch his panda, patting out the ruffled fur in apology.
Antonio just continued to scan through Gilbert's writing about Cher Ami, a famous bird from some war. What a morbid topic and Antonio doubted the teacher's prompt allowed for it. "Uh…The subject title says this is a personal essay." Gilbert shot him a glare. "What I mean is your grammar's a little off here and there, but ahaha, otherwise your English is fine! I don't get why you're complaining. I dunno, you can ask Francis later. He's better at this kind of stuff."
"Where is that pantie drooler anyway?" Gilbert grumbled. He stayed in his room most of the time, but he noticed who was home and who was not. He noticed who cooked dinner and the lack of his annoying voice. Not that Gilbert missed it or anything. He just noticed these things.
When Gilbert's shoulders slumped and his pout deepened, Antonio patted his hand. "Not a clue. Didn't get a call so he probably fell into someone's pants. You know how he is. Ah?!" He looked at Gilbert in confusion when he jumped and snatched his hand back. For a second, they stared at each other, silent with their breaths held. Then Gilbert jumped off of the bed and walked to the middle of the room, then most of the way back before laughing.
"Yeah, I know he's an idiot with his head and his dick disconnected!" Gilbert snapped. He tried to make it sound like his usual callous joke, but his voice came out tense. He sounded too irritated. If Gilbert couldn't play nice, then he needed to go—that's what he thought anyway before he moved to the door again. "I'll go do the dishes now. Finish fixing my paper."
Gilbert escaped to the hall, leaving Antonio baffled with the computer and a panda where his friend previously sat. "You don't have to act like we'll jump you!" Antonio yelled after him. Gilbert glanced back, then laughed in a strained and irritatingly self-satisfied sort of way. He said something about 'awesome people never running' and then he was gone.
Gilbert did have to run though. He leaned heavily over the sink as he waited for the water to turn hot. He could still feel the burn of Antonio's hand against him and it left other images flashing in his mind. Less than a week passed since he said he wouldn't sleep with either of them and his memories must have a serious vendetta against him because all he saw were those two naked on the living room rug. It started with a thought: "I wonder what they're like in bed?"
And now, he just had to know. He couldn't remember anything from that night, so he wondered how Francis might touch him. Would he taste like wine and cigarettes, or finely cooked foods? With shaky hands, Gilbert picked up a bowl and the sponge. A second later, he disappeared into his mind again. I really want to stop thinking about this. But he never did. An image of Antonio stretched out on his side, a lazy smile on his face, jumped to mind. Gilbert squeaked and nearly dropped the bowl. That was it, he would make himself stop thinking. He just wasn't cleaning hard enough.
The dishes found themselves freed of their grime, then placed with perfect order in the washer. He wiped down the counter too, since he was there. He probably shouldn't have rearranged the condiments or moved the knife rack, but didn't it look better to the left of the sink? By the time Gilbert came back to himself, he'd cleaned the kitchen and half of the living room. When did that dust rag even get in his hand? He tossed it down and stomped back to his room. He took one look in there and started shrieking.
"Who said you could hug my panda of happiness!?" Antonio lay on his bed with the panda nestled in his arms and the laptop still open. He shook himself, then opened his eyes. Gilbert flew into the room, fists clenched, but Antonio didn't blink. He yawned and pulled himself upright with the panda in his lap.
"Oh sorry. I fell asleep. You have a lot of games on here, but they make me think too hard. Thinking makes me sleepy." He offered up the panda in time to have it snatched from his fingers. Gilbert made wringing motions with his free hand, but he couldn't strangle someone with that bright of a smile. He wanted to, but Antonio just looked too innocent. He probably smiled like that on purpose. Grumbling, Gilbert snapped his laptop shut and tucked it under an arm.
"Come on. Out of my room." He motioned to the door with his panda filled hand. Antonio pouted and got up. "If you want to sleep, do it on your bed. I've still got homework to do." Or procrastination and a little work. It amounted to the same thing since it would take him hours to finish. Antonio hesitated just inside the doorway.
"Are you going to lock yourself in here again?" He wouldn't leave if Gilbert said yes. Eyes narrowing, he sought the perfect words. "I thought you hated to be alone."
Gilbert choked on his air, doubling over and dislodging another stuffed animal from his bed. "W-what?! I love being alone. It's super fun! And…uh…I mean, if you want me around, then I guess I can be. I didn't know you missed me that much. Should have just said so."
Antonio rolled his eyes for Gilbert's benefit before he led the way to the living room. "I want to wait for Francis. You'll keep me company right?" He sat on the couch and pulled the blanket down to snuggle with. Gilbert hovered longer with his eyes flitting between bedroom and living room. He finally set his panda against the pillow and followed Antonio. He didn't take the other side of couch, but settled in a hand-carved rocking chair Antonio brought from home. Their furniture really did lack continuity.
The two fell into silence with Gilbert typing and Antonio stretched out under the blanket. His presence and the soft silence warmed Gilbert, making him want to sleep. It's not like he meant to avoid his friends. It saddened him to think he might have to. If only this new problem would go away soon and then no one would have to avoid anyone. They'd be friends all over again. Only, Gilbert feared his interest wouldn't die down before he caved.
Francis snuck in at three in the morning. He found Gilbert working on his computer by lamplight and Antonio asleep on the couch. Despite being tired, he carried a glow and a smile with him. Seeing his friends like this made him smile more. Things were back to normal now. Shame on him for thinking rain couldn't fall up into clouds. "Why are you still awake?" he whispered as he laid a hand on Gilbert's shoulder. The younger man jumped and craned his neck up, shifting just slightly so Francis' hand fell away. Not quite back to normal, then.
Gilbert closed out of his windows with suspicious speed, not about to share this blog entry yet. He jerked a thumb at Antonio. "He wanted to wait up for you. I just needed to do some homework. Calculus if you must know. Where have you been?"
Francis didn't need to know. Math made him grimace. "A girl." No need to elaborate. His words were met with a sigh.
"You really do play around too much. Don't you get tired of nameless faces?" Gilbert asked. A distant look passed over Francis' face and he couldn't quite call it happy. He didn't have a word for the emotion though. Maybe something like longing, but far colder, heavier.
"Don't you get tired of not getting laid?" Francis countered with.
All of Gilbert's questions evaporated with those words. He brandished his pencil like a knife and Francis backed up well out of reach. "At least I know my lovers' names."
"Alissa," Francis said abruptly. Gilbert tilted his head. "Maybe you'll get to meet this one if things go well."
They did get to meet Alissa when Friday rolled around and Francis planned to meet her for a lunch date. At the start of living together, they wrote out the rule of no dates inside the home. That was their sacred ground. So the trio waited together at a local coffee shop. They chatted until Francis received a text and bounced up from his seat. The other two stared at him, taken aback by this show of excitement. Francis got flighty around pretty faces and bubbled and talked and flirted, but he didn't jump from his seat so fast it nearly knocked to the ground. Behind the usual behavior lay a weariness as if he forced himself through those actions and to be happy with them. Not now though.
A girl stalked toward them, head high as if she couldn't care less who stood in front of her. That was, until she saw Francis and her face split into a grin. Francis dashed up to her and kissed her cheek, waving bye to his friends and leading her to the car.
Antonio spit out a mouthful of muffin and Gilbert whined in disgust as some bits slopped onto his sleeve. When he looked up, a thrill of shock went down his spine. Gilbert glanced over to his companion. "Doesn't she look a bit like…?"
Antonio continued staring at the car. "Arthur? Yes. She looks exactly like him." The two sat together, forgetting to move, forgetting to speak. They didn't need to watch each other to know what they thought because they shared the same conclusion. Both turned at the exact same time to lock eyes.
"He'll end up crying for sure."
Notes: Cher Ami was a real pigeon who carried a message during WW1 that ended up saving the lives of almost 200 American soldiers. Although she was shot and blinded in one eye, the leg carrying the message nearly severed, she flew all the way home. The story makes me think of Gilbert and his birds.
The painting mentioned is, as far as I can tell, really in the LACMA. Not sure about Rembrandt and Cézanne, though when googling I saw something about it.
And a quick update: I will be writing this story for NaNoWriMo this year. Because of that, I won't be updating for a month or two, but hopefully I'll finish the story in that time. Haha, with a goal of 55k, I can only hope. I don't really know how long this story will be though. Ciao until then!