Chapter 8
A week passed by in relatively listless way. When Arthur wasn't spending time with Francis (he disappeared at odd times, but Arthur didn't ask questions) he would relax in the lobby with Feliciano and Lovino, occasionally playing a game of Risk, which ended up being surprisingly good at. Antonio would pop in now and again, merrily cheering the older Vargas brother on while he lost yet another country to the growing British Empire.
When not embroiled in the fictional destruction of Europe under the Anglo-Prussian Alliance, - Gilbert visited frequently to visit his brother and would join their game, aligning with Arthur and dominating within ten minutes of the start, effectively putting to rest the awkwardness of the "Bar Debacle" - Arthur would find himself with Francis more often than not.
Oddly well-cultured, as if the German, English, Italian and French fluency wasn't a clear indication, Francis seemed versed in everything, from Renaissance art to Swedish pop bands to ancient civilizations. Arthur wondered why he had explained the fall of the Holy Roman Empire as love story between Italy and the Empire, but the tales were so entrancing that he couldn't help but ignore the voice in his head telling him it was stupid and that countries couldn't fall in love.
One fine afternoon they found themselves once again in the lobby, now attempting another game of Monopoly - Lovino had finally gotten over his outburst and was raring to destroy Arthur after yet another humiliating defeat in East Africa- while Francis was sitting in the red armchair, reading the German book of poetry when the phone rang, making everyone jump.
"It's an '867' number…" Feliciano said, glancing at the phone.
"It's probably one of those bastards trying to sell us satellite. Don't answer it." Lovino said, "Last time you almost got us year's worth of oysters."
Antonio snatched the phone out of Feliciano's hand before his brother could, jumping away and clicking the 'talk' button. Arthur suspected that he was doing it just to show the older Vargas sibling what's what. He shot a very significant look (and you still say they like each other? Please.) at Francis who chuckled and shaking his head.
"La Dolce Vita, Antonio speaking," The Spaniard sang, now attempting to keep Lovino off him with one hand while holding the phone to his ear with the other, "You want to speak to Arthur? Who's this? ...Matthew? I've never heard of you, are you a prank caller? Are you trying to sell me oysters?"
Getting to his feet, Arthur plucked the phone out of the dancer's hand, stepping away from the brawling couple and slipping outside, ignoring Francis' quirked eyebrow. "Hello? Matt? Is that really you?"
"Oh Arthur! I just got a hold of a phone and got your message!" Matthew's light and soft voice issued from the receiver, "Are you alright? Is the hostel okay? Are you dying of hunger? I am so sorry! I'd help but I'm stranded in Nunavut right now!" He sounded as distressed as ever and Arthur found himself smiling despite his brother clear distress.
"It's alright Matthew. I'm fine now, I've found someone to stay with and I'm working out my money problem at the moment." He said, leaning against the outside of the hostel, holding his arm, glancing up at the grey muffled sky.
His brother sighed. "That's good to hear. And… And the…" He hesitated and lowered his voice significantly, "The Alfred thing?"
There was silence from Arthur. Not because he was having another episode of unbelievable grief but because he was surprised. He had barely given any thought to the American since they had arrived in the city -save for the one moment of weakness near the docks along with the numerous other tiny pricks of remembrance. So much had been going on and Alfred seemed like something out of a past life. A past life that Arthur wasn't too keen on revisiting.
Matthew seemed to interpret his hush not as a thoughtful musing, but rather as a depressed, miserable, despondent grieving. "Oh Arthur!" He cried,"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean, eh, I didn't...oh God…" He trailed off.
Arthur could almost see the tears bubbling in the corners of the blue eyes, which only intensified his amusement. "Don't worry Matt. I'm actually doing really well. I've met someone," a small flush appeared on his cheeks, and he attempted to correct himself, "I-I mean, some other people that have helped take my mind off him." He hoped that Matthew wouldn't notice his stumble.
Being the good brother he is, Matthew did catch the stutter. "Someone-?" He started, but there was a click and a new voice spoke across him.
"Mattie! Like, who are you talking to? I need to, like, use the phone!" Arthur almost dropped the handheld. He knew that accent all too well. It was the Polish researcher that was travelling with Matthew, whom Arthur had only had the displeasure of meeting once and hoped to never lay eyes on him again.
Arthur's history with Felix had started when Matthew had dragged him to a conference once, saying he was nervous and needed support. Arthur had almost opted out until his brother had casually -oh so casually- mentioned the open bar. Only under the heavy influence of three shots of tequila and two beers could he have mistaken Felix Łukasiewicz for a female. That night, Felix (or 'Poppy' as he was known) was the most brilliant, charming and interesting person he had ever met - who wasn't when you were drunk - and only as he made the run to second base did he discover Felix's mannish disposition.
Since then he had never touched Canadian beer or been able to face the Pole without wanting to vomit.
Matthew's slightly exasperated voice wrestled him out of his sickly reminiscence. "I'm talking to my brother Felix," He said, "I'll be off in a second."
"But I need to talk, like, now!" Felix whined back, his voice screeching against Arthur's hearing like nails on a chalkboard. He considered hanging up the phone when yet another click echoed across the lines and a new, much less irksome, voice spoke.
"Felix! Leave Matthew alone! He's trying to talk to his brother." It was the Lithuanian that was also working with Matthew, Toris. Much, much, much politer than Felix, he had taken pity on Arthur, leading him away from the Pole while he was testing out his substantial vocabulary of profanities. After calming Arthur down, Toris had found Matthew, found them a taxi and a few days later had called to apologize for the confusion.
"He doesn't like men…" Toris had tried to explain to a bruised-ego Arthur, "He just likes girl clothes more." Too stunned to come up with a rebuttal, Arthur had simply muttered a small 'thank you' and hung up the phone, spending the rest of day nursing his hangover and washing his hands, wondering if he'd ever feel clean again.
"Go away Tor!" Felix said, "I'm, like, totally freaking out! I need to call Ed and Rav, like, NOW." The connection actually feedback slightly from the force of the last word, making Arthur yelp.
Above the reverb and the still bickering scientists, Matthew attempted to have himself heard, his quiet voice barely audible. "I'm sorry! Just a few more minutes Felix!" Which only started an even louder and more irksome response.
Arthur held the phone at arm's length, raising his voice in a vague hope that his brother would hear him. "No, it's alright. I'll call you if I have any troubles, okay Matthew?"
There was silence form the receiver that Arthur could only suspect meant that Toris had located Felix and hung up his phone or that the Pole had a sudden epiphany about his hair not being spiffy enough and had wandered off. After a few moments of silence, Matthew spoke, quietly, as though scared at any moment the rumpus would begin again, "You sure Art?"
"I'm sure." He nodded, realizing that Matthew couldn't see him and stopping immediately, "Have fun on your trip okay? Stay warm and don't lose any fingers."
"Same to you." His brother paused, "A-about the fun trip, not the losing fingers thing… Bye." The line went dead, but Arthur didn't go inside right away, taking a moment to himself. Matthew's phone call had been a blip in his trip, a small chuck of reality coming to knock against his head, reminding him of his life outside Via Del Sole. He tapped the phone against his brow, blowing a raspberry with his lips as he wandered back inside.
Antonio and Lovino had disappeared while Feliciano was packing up the game of Monopoly. "If you get a bill for a long-distance call," Arthur whispered, passing the phone to the Italian, "Just tell me and I'll pay for it."
Smiling, Feliciano placed the phone away and muttered something about visiting Ludwig and flounced up the stairs. The oak desk proved to be a good leaning place, and Arthur wasn't sure if his legs were ready to hold him as reality was settling around his shoulders, nestling there.
"Who was that?" He turned around to see Francis watching him, the book of poetry closed, sitting on his lap.
"Just my brother…" This time he actually slid down an inch, still clinging to the desk, "He's travelling in northern Canada and couldn't get a hold of me until now." He pursed his lips wondering why he was feeling so antsy, even his foot was tapping. There was a quiet beat pulsing through the air. "I-is that music?"
Francis got to his feet, quirking his head. "Mais oui…" Prying himself off the desk, Arthur followed his companion who was wandering over towards the door leading to the small courtyard.
As they peaked around the door, Arthur noticed two things. One, it wasn't raining, well not hard, the light drizzle that had come to be standard still prevailed. But other thing that was even more distracting than the lack of bad weather, but the two men apparently dancing in the small courtyard. Antonio was holding a frustrated Lovino, trying to guide him through the steps of a dance.
Just as Arthur and Francis attempted to sneak back into the hostel, Lovino stepped on Antonio's foot, causing the Spaniard to let go of him, wincing, but still smiling. "Lovino!" He whined, reaching out and pulling the Vargas brother into a headlock, fluffing his head, "This is a dance of passion! Don't treat it like a job! You were the one who wanted to do it in the first place!"
While Arthur tried to figure out how they went from fighting over the phone to tangoing, the Italian pushed Antonio off him, his cheeks flushing a bright red as they puffed out. "Shut up you bastard! I am trying!"
Before Antonio could continue his teasing, Francis intruded on their small scene, giving the pair a small wave. "Perhaps I can help?" The Italian's flush turned and even more vibrant read and he clutched Antonio's shirt, trying to pull him away from the Frenchman.
The Spaniard ignored the tugging and floated over to Francis, all smiles. "Oh, Francis. You've danced?"
"Once," He flipped his hair, gazing forlornly off into the distance, "In another lifetime." Arthur rolled his eyes.
Clapping his hands, Antonio glanced down at Lovino, who was not practically glued to his sleeve. "If you see the dance, do you think that would help Lovino?" He asked, still smiling. Arthur wondered if his jaw was stuck like that. The Vargas nodded, detaching himself from the dancer's shirt and stepping away, taking a place beside Arthur.
As the other two talked for a few minutes Arthur and Lovino did not exchange a word, both having their arms folded tightly against their chest and both looking very unimpressed about the closeness of the Spaniard and the Frenchman. Antonio's hand grabbed Francis' while his other slide around his waist, pulling him close. Arthur could see the Italian's cheeks slowly swelling again as Francis touched Antonio's shoulder.
"Ready?" Antonio asked, not even looking at Lovino, "Okay, start the music."
It took Arthur a moment to realize wasn't even paying attention to the dance. He was waiting for Francis to look at him. To wink, to smile or even a small nod, anything. A minute passed and Francis had not even spared a glance. He cleared his throat, but a tiny nagging voice inside his head told him that Francis couldn't hear him, that he was too focused on being as close to Antonio as possible. And then, in a blinding moment of realization that made Arthur want to yell and rage and hide away at the same time, his brain reminded him of what this notion was called. Jealousy.
Feeling detached and numb from the world, Arthur slowly crept backwards, opening the door back into the hostel and slipping inside. The music could still be heard and his brain was trying to process the new emotion eating him from the inside. This wasn't like Alfred. There was anger and want there, but with Francis, something else was bothering him. His feet felt heavy as he climbed the stairs, stumbling into his room. His knees hit the ground as he sank to his feet, staring blankly at the hardwood floor.
Jealousy. All over one, stupid Frenchman.
Author's Note
I need to write Toris and Felix more. I think they and Matthew probably had some nice times stuck in the north with nothing to do but talk to each other. Fun times.
"I, like, spy with my little, like, eye… something… white."
"Is it the snow?"
"Oh my god! Totally! How did you, like, know?"
"Lucky guess."
I walked upstairs one day and my dad was all like "Listen to this!"
Well I don't mind, wastin' my time on this crazy afternoon
I got sunshine and red wine, a friend-o-mine, takin' it easy.
But oh my soul, I lost control of my reality,
Cause I got sunshine and red wine but there's hardly nothin' left of me