Chapter 7
One very smelly, unpleasant, heart attack-inducing scooter ride later, Arthur found himself standing beside the Vespa, watching Roma detached the sidecar while Francis was sitting on the main body, double-checking where all the dials and knobs - all three of them, it wasn't a rocket ship for Christ's sake.
"Have fun you two!" The chef said, "Don't ride them too hard, okay?" He gave the Francis a very significant smile, raising his eyebrows in Arthur's direction.
Once he was out of earshot, Arthur turned to Francis, arms folded tightly against his chest. "I'm just going to pretend he was only referring to the scooter."
"Whatever you say Sourcils." Francis said, patting the seat behind him. It took the Englishman a moment to clamber onto the scooter and almost an entire minute to position himself so that he was touching as little of Francis as he could, while still maintaining a safe hold on him. A task only made more difficult be the tilt of the seat that almost always landed Arthur's hips right against Francis'.
"Allons-y!" Whooping loudly, Francis revved the engine and the small scooter jumped ahead, speeding along the cramped roadway. Arthur clung to him as they drove through the streets, trying to make himself as small as possible so as not catch his arms or legs on the buildings that bordered the road. Despite the breakneck speed Arthur found himself enjoying the ride and even relaxing enough to look around at the city life. There were people of every kind, moving in the constant pulse that made the capital come to life. Francis turned a sharp corner, barely missing a car, causing Arthur to swear loudly, burrowing his head back into the Frenchman's shirt.
He could feel Francis' chest rumble with laughter and an unwelcome blush flushed across his cheeks. Closing his eyes and trying to calm himself, he breathed in the city - the proletariat that littered the streets, the ancientness Rome whispered into the night, the life that every inhabitant carried - and the musky smell of sweet pastry and lilies that seemed to cling to Francis. Sighing contentedly, he snuggled close to the warm back, enjoying the cool air that weaved through his hair and across his burning cheeks.
It was night by the time Francis stopped. Arthur managed to detach himself from the man - and he thought Roma's driving was wild - and stepped off the scooter, stretching and staring around. It was a small square, most of the space taken up by an extravagant fountain. Dozens of people were milling around, filling their air with an exotic sound made up of dialects from every corner of the world, the chatter louder than the low rumble of the water. Lights shined from underneath, making the water and stone glow slightly. Francis placed his hands on his hips proudly, as if he had built the spring himself. "Et Volià! La Fontaine de Trevi!"
Arthur took a moment to look around, staring at Poseidon - who looked ready to drown the world - then looked at his companion, folding his arms. "It's a bit touristy."
The Frenchman seemed to deflate, arms falling from his hips as he shook his head in exasperation. "You can't go to Rome and not visit Fontaine de Trevi." He gripped Arthur's upper arm, dragging him through the crowd, managing to get him right at the edge of the pool. The water glittered up at him, reflecting the streetlights and the constant flashes of cameras. He reached forward, dipping his fingers in the water, splashing slightly before turning to Francis with a look that said, 'Happy? Can we go now?'
"We have to throw three coins before we can leave." Francis said, fishing in his pockets and pulling out a handful of change, dumping a few coins into Arthur's hand, "C'mon, don't be a sourpuss Sourcils."
"It's stupid."
"Then why is everyone else doing it?" Francis said, gesturing around at the numerous tourists gathered around the edge, all cheering and chattering happily over the continuous 'plop' of coins.
"Why do lemmings all throw themselves off cliffs?" Arthur retorted.
"I don't think throwing coins into La Fontaine de Trevi is the same as throwing yourself off a cliff," Francis gently bumped Arthur's shoulder, nudging him in the direction of the pool, "Go on. It'll be fun~" He said, adding a singsong voice to the last word, which earning himself a glare from Arthur.
Sighing, Arthur turned his back to the fountain. "Fine." Knowing Francis, he wasn't going anywhere until he played along. Totally okay with him going out and getting piss drunk, but the minute he wasn't participating in Closing his eyes, he tossed a piece over his shoulder, listening to his plop into the water.
"You know there's story behind the fountain." Francis said. Arthur was sure he was purposely not looking at him, rather gazing at the statue of Poseidon with a dazed, far-off, reminiscent smile. "Magic spells and promises… très charmant." Arthur wasn't sure if the Frenchman was just acting, but the effect was alluring, despite his best efforts to remain sullen.
"Magic?" He said, trying to keep his voice controlled. Arthur may or may not have had a slight obsession with the occult, but Francis didn't need to know that. Alfred (him again) had more than once walked in on him mixing a number of herbs and ingredients or muttering Latin over a hundred-year-old tome. He usually took it in stride, using it as blackmail and mocking material, always in the most good-natured of ways, bothering Arthur just enough to get him ticked off so they could have great make-up, make-out sessions after.
Francis nodded, his voice snapping Arthur out of his reminiscing. "Magic. The legend goes that if you throw three coins, each assures a different promise. Like making a wish, but the wishes are already chosen."
Taking another glance around at the crowd, the Brit sighed and shook his head in resignation. "What are the wishes?"
"I'm not telling until you throw." Francis sang, wagging his finger at Arthur, who immediately tossed the coin over his shoulder, ready to anything to stop the wiggling,"That guarantees a return to Rome."
Brilliant. I can come back one day and spend time in a very nice hotel, alone, without a Frenchman or annoying Italians or angry Germans. Arthur thought bitterly, hoping that Francis' unusual mindreading abilities were working at that exact moment. He tossed the next coin. "What does that one mean?"
"New love." Francis said with the smallest and most irritatingly knowing smile.
Arthur wasn't sure if the ghost of the wink was his imagination. He also wasn't sure if he wanted to throw the next coin and find out it meant, 'And you will be shagged in the next twenty-four hours by a Frenchman and then will be married to him by Roderich while your not-crush acts as your Maid of Honour.'
But he did anyway. "There all done."
"Marriage," Francis said as the coin arced gracefully into the water, "Or divorce depending on if your glass if hall-full or half-empty." They stood quietly for a moment, Arthur wondering vaguely if both were a possible outcome, or if one really had to happen over the other. And then he realized, in a much less vague manner, that he had considered the possibility of marrying a man he had known for less than five days twice in the last minute.
"Well, let's go find something to eat," Food. The solution to every problem, even awkward half-daydreams about matrimony. "I'm starving."
"Un moment," Francis hurried away, Arthur watched him weave through the crowd, rubbing his arms as the cool night settled around him. The square was slowly emptying of people, leaving him with nothing more to listen to than the low gurgle of the fountain, and the suspicious noises issuing from the two people embracing beside him. When the Frenchman returned he held a single rose in his hand. Arthur immediately froze up as Francis bowed his head slightly, offering the flower.
"What? A rose?" He managed after a moment of staring at the flower as if it were one of Gilbert's Cojones. After realizing that is wasn't he red death drink, but a rose, and a red rose no less, Arthur immediately held up his hands, trying to back away from Francis. The back of his knees hit the edge of the pool, blocking his escape. "Francis, I can't accept this-"
Long fingers wrapped around his hand, pulling it forward and Francis pressed the rose into his palm. "It's a gift. Consider it a celebration of taking chances and meeting new people." Francis poked his forehead, placing a hand on his hip and winking at him, "Don't be so tense Soucils."
Holding it for a moment as if he was scared it was going to explode, Arthur's arms slowly relax and he brought the flower to his nose, breathing the scent deeply and smiling. His father always bought his mother roses every Sunday so that he'd wake up to the smells of her fresh baking (he was unlucky to have not inherited her cooking skills) and the sweet scent of the flowers. He twirled to rose idly in his fingers, feeling oddly calm, "What does that mean anyway?" He asked, glancing at Francis, "Sourcils?"
A guilty smile. Just one twitch of his lip and Arthur couldn't help but speculate. Beautiful, it's got to be mean beautiful. No, that's 'belle' even I know that one. Talented? No that'd stupid, who would go around calling someone 'talented'? Maybe it means 'honey' or 'dear'… okay, no, I hope it doesn't meant that, I don't, not-, Francis, I mean, oh God, I can't even figure it out. Shit.
"It means 'eyebrows.' "
Silence. The bubble of the fountain. The moans from the couple. The flash of the few remaining cameras. A guilty smile. A hand tightening around the rose. Green glares at blue. The slow inhale, and then, "You FROG BASTARD!" Arthur shouted, fists clenching. With a laugh, Francis turned on his heel and fled the square, Arthur taking only a moment to tear after him. They raced through the streets, Arthur reminding himself the entire time that he needed more exercise. You never know when you might need to chance a cheeky Frenchman through the streets of Rome.
The two ran until both were out of breath and had to lean against the wall of an alley, both panting, Arthur clutching his side, one of the rose's thorn poking him. Francis was the first to recover, chuckling lightly and running hand through his hair, attempting to get it back into a somewhat presentable fashion. "Well you have to admit," Francis said, "They are very frappant."
For good measure, Arthur punched his shoulder, still gasping for breath. "I'll take that as an insult." They both straightened looking around the small square they had stumbled upon. It was empty save for a small fountain in the middle, a café and a church off the side, whose steps were being swept by a nun who was watching the two men with an evil glare. "Look, there's a restaurant over there, let's get something to eat." Arthur said, wanting to get away from the scary old lady more than anything. Francis didn't hesitate and followed him over to the café.
One they were finished with the meagre meal, Arthur had been surprised to find himself missing Roma's cooking already, Francis took Arthur's hand, ignoring the pink flush on his cheeks and dragging him past the nun -how long was is taking her to sweep those steps!?- led him to a small convenience store. After some haggling and bickering between the shopkeep, his assistant and Arthur (arguing the mechanics of ice-cream in a foreign language wasn't exactly easy) the two sat of the edge of the fountain, slowly eating their ice-cream as night began to fall. The crazy old nun had disappeared inside so that they didn't have to feel awkward while eating.
He tilted his head upward, chomping down the last bit of his cone. Clouds were covering the sky and before he could even form a word to Francis the light drizzle that had pervaded all day gave way to a torrential downpour. Arthur and Francis hurried to find shelter, hiding on the steps of the church, watching water pour off the roof. Arthur shivered, moving closer to his companion. He was not so proud to ignore a source of heat in the freezing rain. They didn't say anything, Arthur just sitting, trembling fingers still playing with the rose while Francis was watching him shiver, his eyebrows furrowing.
"I'm cold okay?" Arthur snapped, the cold getting the better of him, "I came to Rome because I was expecting warmth, not the fucking Scottish Coast with Italians." He pouted, still hugging his arms, wondering why he still was carrying the stupid rose.
"You didn't come here because I was an extremely good looking Frenchman?"
"O-of course not! Don't be so full of yourself! Bloody bastard…"
"Are you sure~?"
"I am very sure! Don't think for one second your French guile will work on me!"
Francis sighed, trying to shuffle closer to Arthur, who had to use all of his will power not to in lean any closer, despite the warmth radiating off his companion. Shaking his head, he took once last glance at Arthur -not that Arthur wasn't watching him out of the corner of his eye or anything and got to his feet.
"I'll be right back." He took a deep breath and threw himself into the street, running across the square and disappearing into the deluge. In an instant Arthur was also on his feet, yelling at him to return before he caught his death. There was no answer save the splatter of rain and the creaking of the door as the nun poked her head out, glaring at Arthur. He did his best to ignore her and hugged himself unable to see the Francis' tall frame through the sheets of rain. He waited, quivering violently, trying to tune out the nun's incessant mutterings in Italian, calling for Francis every few moments. Just as Arthur was about to step out into the rain did the slapping of feet on wet stone announced Francis' return.
The Frenchman was sopping wet and scowling slightly, holding a cup in his hand that he passed to Arthur. "I could only afford one." Francis sat down, shaking his head, flicking water at Arthur, who shrank away. He sniffed the cup's steaming contents interestedly. "It's Earl Grey…" Francis said, rubbing his arms and pulling his legs close to his chest, now shivering. Arthur stared at the Frenchman, white shirt was clinging to his thin frame, looking guilty down at the tea.
"T-thank you." Arthur said finally, sipping and relaxing as the warmth spread through his body. "T-this doesn't count as French charm, okay?" He tried a smile, but Francis was shaking violently, head buried in his arms, trying to stay warm. Making up his mind to stop being such a prick, he stood, taking his coat off and wrapping it around the Frenchman's quaking shoulders. Francis grabbed the material, pulling it tighter around him. Arthur shifted closer to him, leaning his head on Francis' arm and drinking his tea.
Half an hour passed and eventually the rain died down. The minute it was liveable, the door to the church opened and the nun who started flapping her hands at them, speaking rapid, angry Italian. Francis jumped to his feet, pulling Arthur up with him and hurried away, shouting a few words of apology as they fled the scene. As they mounted the scooter this time, Arthur didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around Francis' waist, yawning widely and leaning his head against Francis' back, closing his eyes. The small vehicle puttered into life and gently carried them through the sleepy city.
Francis slowed down as they neared the hostel. The scooter stuttered to a stop and the headlight flicked off as the motor died. He tried to move but found that Arthur had fallen asleep, snoring lightly, arms still tucked around his middle. Smiling, Francis carefully picked up the small man, holding him close. The bell above the door jingled as he entered the lobby. Feliciano was dozing on the front desk, a large, black coat spread over his shoulders. Across from him, asleep in an armchair, was Ludwig. He crept by them, making sure to skip the fourth step as he climbed the stairs.
He eased the door open and placed Arthur on his bed. As he closed the door, there was a snuffling and he turned to see the Brit shivering. Crimson bed sheets were pulled along Arthur's thin frame and the quivering stopped as he nestled into the soft bed. Francis reached out and brushed a lock of hair out of the closed eyes, he then slipped into his own bedstead and fell asleep almost instantly.
Author's Note
I haven't had time to edit yet, but it'll be all fixed by tomorrow.
Just to be clear, Francis first addresses the fountain by it's French name La Fontaine Trivie
Frappant - striking, or noticeable. It comes from the verb "frapper" which means "to hit"
That scooter scene was actually the initial piece I wrote when first designed this story. In it I decided two things: one, they were in Rome and Arthur wasn't supposed to be in Rome and two, that they had never met The plot evolved after that, forming a much longer and more complicated story than I had originally envisioned.
And ZOMGSPOILERZ, Mattie's making his fabled appearance in the next chapter.