Chapter 14
Francis really didn't know how he ended up at 'Five Meters' but he really didn't care. Arthur's words kept playing over and over in his head and he knew that he was going to go insane unless he did something. He suspected that the bright flashing sign (somewhat of a 'guiding star') had led him inside.
A few hours of crying, cursing the moment he had met Arthur and listening to Gilbert tell him that the Englishman was a pussy anyway and that he deserved a much hunkier man, Francis had finally calmed down and was rolling am empty glass between his hands- the remains of his third Gilbert's Cojones sloshing around.
"I just don't get it." He said for what felt like the dozenth time in the last hour alone, "I thought he really liked me…" Sighing heavily, he stopped rolling the glass.
Gilbert was sitting on his bar, dark plaid-pants hanging over the side as he fixed Francis a slightly exasperated look. "Look, Franny," The Frenchman scowled slightly at the nickname the albino had given him, "It's time to get over it. Artie was just a one-night stand that lasted two weeks, that's it!"
Slamming his glass on the bar, Francis fixed the Prussian with a slightly watery stare. "No!" He said, grabbing Gilbert's shirt arm, "It was more than that! Love! Love!" He released the shirt and let his head fall onto the counter.
"You really are from the country of love." Gilbert said, laughing nervously, sliding away from Francis. "Look, go fucking get him then. You're not going to do any good drooling on my bar. He's probably stuck at the airport in this weather." As the bartender spoke, thunder rumbled outside. "That's kinda loud…"
The door to Five Meters suddenly opened. Lightening flashed behind a limping figure. Gilbert screamed, jumping into Francis' arms. The stranger lumbered inside and pulled back his hood, revealing Antonio's smiling face. "Hey," he said, lifting a hand in a friendly greeting, "You guys hugging? Can I join?" He approached them, holding his arms out.
"No! I'm not some fag like you two!" Gilbert said, pushing himself ff the Frenchman and folding his arms stubbornly over his chest. "Antonio, what the fuck are you doing here? Shouldn't you be off dancing or something?" He failed his arms around and shook his hips, which Francis expected was supposed to be dancing.
Antonio just chuckled, taking the seat beside Francis, wincing horribly. He caught the Frenchman's quirked eyebrow and shrugged, "My side is bruising," he pulled his shirt up, showing the purple splotch flourishing on his tanned side, "Lovino was still angry about the beach."
Shaking his head, Gilbert strode around the bar, reaching into the small fridge and pulled out three beers. "It's German," He said, slamming them in front of his patrons, "Drink it, or get the fuck of my bar."
Thinking it better to listen to the Prussian than to question him, Francis an Antonio took the bottles. They all paused for a moment, staring at each other awkwardly. Well, awkwardly as in Antonio and Gilbert were both staring at Francis as though expecting him to breakdown at any moment. The Frenchman raised his beer in a toast. "To lost love." He said.
The Spaniard grinned. "To hard love." He lifted his bottle, letting it hang beside Francis'. They two men glanced expectantly at the third members of their small trio, both smiling knowingly.
"To good beer." Gilbert said, tapping his bottle against the other two. They all pulled the drinks back and took long sips, the bartender lasting the longest without breath. The mood relaxed almost instantly and Francis found himself feeling a little less lonely in the company of the two other men.
He took another sip of his beer almost choking on it as Gilbert struck the bar with his empty bottle, fixing him with a beady stare. "Did you guys kiss?" He asked.
"Oui." Francis said dejectedly, hacking slightly.
Reaching into his pocket, Antonio pulled out a bill and passed it to the bartender, who kissed it. "I knew it." He said, waving it around like a small fan, "Didja do it too?"
"Non."
The money was quickly snatched back from the gloating Gilbert's hand. "I knew it Francis," Antonio said kindly, "You really did like him."
Francis was stuck between laughing and punching both of them. Instead, he took another long drink of his beer and asked for another. The night ended rather quickly after that, Francis finally succumbing to the effects of the alcohol. He was dragged, singing the French national anthem, from the bar by Antonio and down the road. Laughing, Antonio took the Frenchman up the stairs of the hostel and deposited him in the bed. The Spaniard wished him goodnight, but Francis had already passed out.
He woke up the next morning to a pounding head and the beginnings of a storm. Blearily, he stared out the window at the grey sky, musing the idea of going home today, but he had already paid for the room, might as well use it. Still keeping the blanket wrapped around his shoulder, Francis got out of bed and opened the French doors, letting the cool air soothe his headache.
Ludwig came in an hour later, a book in hand and a plate of breakfast in the other, while Feliciano was watching from the door, giving Francis a comforting smile. The German placed the food and book beside Francis and patted his shoulder awkwardly before leaving, closing the door behind him.
Carelessly, Francis picked at the fresh tomatoes, grabbing the book. The tomato stopped halfway to his mouth as he read the title. Great Expectations. He sighed, putting the tomato down and looking out to the foggy sea. Was this how Arthur felt when there was some small reminder of Alfred? No wonder he went back to the Américain if this was how miserable he felt. He spent the rest of the day curled up in a ball, perusing the book and fell asleep on page 487.
"Francis… Francis, it's time to get up." A hand shook his shoulder and he opened his eyes to see Antonio crouching beside him. "C'mon, you have a plane to catch…" He sat up, rubbing his eyes. Lovino was also in the room, standing with his arms folded, cheeks puffing out slightly.
Francis got to his feet, shirking off the blankets and casting them onto the bed. "Thanks… I will be downstairs in un moment." Antonio nodded understandingly and left, grabbing Lovino's arm and guiding him away. He began to pick up his clothes, stuffing them into his dufflebag in a haphazard fashion before slumping out of the room, closing it without a second-look.
He walked down the stairs and found Feliciano and Ludwig in the lobby, the mechanic in the armchair, browsing the newspaper, and the Italian - looking more fretful than usual - standing with his back against the counter. They both looked up at the creaking fourth step and Feliciano hurried forward. "Do you really have to go Francis?" He asked, taking the Frenchman's free hand.
"I do…" He said, gently tugging his hand out of the young man's, "Everything is paid for, right?" The Italian nodded, "C'est bon. I will be going then. Merci for everything Feliciano. Tell Antonio and Lovi I say goodbye." He moved to the door and gave the German a short nod before leaving.
Glancing back into the hostel, Francis watched Feliciano bend over and place a chaste kiss on Ludwig's nose. He stayed long enough to watch a blush bloom on the pale cheeks before starting down the street. Roma café was not as warm and inviting as he had remembered it to be. This could be due to the fact that he had expected Arthur to be here, waiting for him, waiting to apologize, waiting to take him back.
The chef walked out from the kitchen, wiping his large hands in his apron. "Francis?" He asked, "What are you doing here?"
"I just came to say goodbye." Francis said, shifting the strap of his dufflebag, "You've been so kind I thought I'd…" He trailed off.
Roma grabbed his shoulder, squeezing it. "It was nice meeting you Francis," He said kindly, "But where is your English friend?" Roma glanced around Francis, as though expecting Arthur to be hiding behind him, waiting to spring out and surprise him.
The Frenchman stepped back, running a hand through his messy hair. "He left before me." He said, voice crackling slightly, "Well, I'll see you around Roma." Francis opened the door to the restaurant and stepped outside onto the street.
"Arrivederci."
He closed the door and sighed heavily. He needed to get away from Via Del Sol before he went crazy. Walking to a busier street, Francis hailed a taxi and scrambled inside. He almost gave instructions to the airport but hesitated, giving another location entirely.
The cab pulled up to the curb and Francis told him to wait, that he'd be only a few minutes, passing a few bills over before climbing out. Tourists were already gathered around the landmark and Francis pushed his way through them, standing at the edge of the fountain, fishing in his pocket grabbing a few coins.
He tossed one into the water. "One for a trip back to Rome." He said, watching it sink to the bottom of the clear water, "Like I'd ever come back here…"
Another coin. "One for new love." It hit the bottom. "Never said the love had to stick around."
He hesitated with the final coin before shrugging and more throwing it than tossing it. "One for marriage." He sniffed slightly, "Flights to Vegas are cheap this time of year…"
Moving back through the crowd, Francis climbed back into his taxi, telling the driver to go to the airport. He sighed, leaning forward and placing his head in his hands. The taxi pulled off the curb and trundled along the road.
It began to rain.
Author's Note
DOES ANYBODY KNOW WHO THAT GUY WAS IN THE LASTEST EPISODE IN THE LAST SCENE WITH FRANCE AND ENGLAND? Was it, like, Finland?