7. adventures in deutschland, pt 1

"Hi, Arthur," giggled an Asian girl with a pretty pink flower in her hair and a shy smile. She wiggled her fingers at him and smiled.

Arthur raised an eyebrow and a corner of his mouth in response. "Hello," he said back to her—he would never admit it but he didn't honestly know her name. Being popular was still sort of new to him, though it wasn't like he didn't like it. It was just... weird.

Gilbert was definitely enjoying it, though. As Arthur walked down the hall, he could see the German boy surrounded by a crowd of people, all trying to talk to him at once. Gilbert himself was laughing hysterically in the middle, his friends Francis and Antonio by his side. Francis looked up and caught Arthur's eye.

Arthur felt his cheeks warm slightly and quickly turned his gaze away from the French boy. He wasn't about to distract himself with any stupid frogs, especially when now the music was speaking him louder and clearer than ever. It was like that performance at Antonio's birthday party had unlocked songs hidden in his brain that he hadn't known before. Yeah, there were better things to think about than that bloody frog.

Well, Arthur thought as he stepped into his history classroom, maybe with the exception of history. It wasn't better by much, but he still had to remember it. For now it was the World Wars that he had to know, along with terms like 'Western Front' and 'Holocaust.' And, well, horrible as they were, Arthur could honestly are less. It was too depressing and too dark to think about, let alone learn about.

He dropped his bag onto the floor near a desk and sat down. Today he wasn't expecting much, as they'd just had a test the class before, and weren't due to start the next unit for a week. So Arthur was slightly annoyed when their teacher, Mr. Stearns, wrote in big letters 'BERLIN' on their blackboard. Arthur braced himself for another hour-long lecture, but when Stearns began passing out handouts (something he didn't usually do), Arthur paid attention. In fact, Mathias walked in to see Arthur fixated on the sheet of paper.

"What's going on?" the drummer asked.

Arthur looked up, feeling kind of misty and vague, and pointed to the paper.

"Class trip to Berlin," he said hoarsely.

.

"Berlin? Seriously?" Gilbert simultaneously snatched the handout from Arthur and shoved a spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. "Bloody hell, that's awesome!"

"I know," Arthur groaned, pushing the pasta on his plate around. He propped his head up on one elbow and sighed. "I wish I could go."

Mathias and Gilbert froze and looked at him. "What do you mean, you wish you could go?" asked Mathias slowly. "Aren't you going?"

"No," Arthur mumbled, studying his pasta. "I haven't got the money."

"Whaa?" Gilbert consulted the handout. "It's really not that expensive, is it?"

"Not really," said Arthur. "But well, I'm here on scholarship. So other than anything here, I can't really pay for it."

There was an awkward silence. Gilbert slowly put another spoonful of mashed potatoes in his mouth.

"I could have my parents pay for you," Mathias suggested, and Arthur shook his head.

"That's silly," he muttered.

Mathias bit his lip and blinked. Arthur could see the concern in his face and a little part of him felt glad that he had good friends like him around to feel genuinely worried for him. But then again, Arthur preferred to be self-sufficient.

"So what are you going to do?" asked Gilbert. "I mean, I'm going, Mattie's going"—Mathias nodded vaguely—"and well, we—FBN—we have to go! Berlin is my homeland!" He spread his arms out to show it, spoon still in hand.

Mathias laughed. "Really?" he asked a little sceptically.

"Dead right!" Gilbert leaned forward. "I mean, I was born in Liverpool and blah, blah, blah, but my family's from Germany! Our lineage goes back all the way to the nobles in the court of King Friedrich the Great! And my Oma lives there, so I go visit her about every summer," he added, shrugging. Mathias sighed.

"That's all nice and everything," said Arthur. "But it doesn't solve the problem that I really don't have the money."

Another awkward silence. Arthur's pocket vibrated.

Mathias jerked his head. "You should take that."

Arthur made a face and put the phone to his ear. "Hello?" he asked, feeling kind of stupid, being on the phone with his friends looking on. He wasn't sure why this was the case; there really wasn't anything to feel awkward about. He hadn't had people to feel not-awkward around before.

"Ciao, ciao," Roma said from the other end. "Arthur, it's been so long since you gave me a ring!"

"Sorry," said Arthur. He gave his snickering friends a glare and walked away from them. Sometimes, Roma was needlessly loud on the phone.

"So, how are you?" Roma asked. "Anything fun going on?"

"If you count a trip to Berlin for history class as fun, then sure," said Arthur rather bitterly—he knew he wouldn't be able to go.

"Berlin?" Roma's voice rose in surprise. "Wow, that's great! Do you want to go?"

"Er…" Arthur bit his lip. He didn't really know what to say. He did want to visit Berlin and Germany, and he was sure that Mathias and Gilbert would want him to go, too. The main problems were, that well, he didn't have the money. Hell, he didn't have a passport.

"Is there something wrong?" Roma's voice jerked him out of his thoughts, and Arthur laughed nervously.

"No, well, I—I don't think I can go," he stammered.

"Why wouldn't you?"

"I… well, it's just, er… I don't… really… I don't think—"

"Is it a money problem?" Roma was so poignant that Arthur, stunned momentarily speechless, cringed.

"Um… yeah," he managed to choke out, almost guiltily.

"Arthur, you know that I'll willingly pay for it," Roma insisted. "I want you to go."

"Sorry?" Arthur frowned, but it was in shock and confusion rather than anger.

"I want you to go to Germany," repeated Roma. "I think it would be a good experience for you. You need to get out there and understand the world. And it's not only when you're touring or whatever. Business, awareness of what's really going on—it's easier to grasp when you see it.

"Tell you what," continued the Italian. "I'll fly down and help you get your passport, too."

Arthur wasn't sure he was capable of processing much, if any, thought. "R-really?" he managed.

"Really."

The Italian, though Arthur couldn't see him, smiled warmly and reassuringly through the mobile. Arthur couldn't help but smile, too.

"Thank you, Roma."

.

A hand shook his shoulder roughly. "Arthur!"

Arthur didn't say anything. Maybe if he kept his eyes closed, he could get his nice, if not weird, dream back. It was going to be a smack-down between Pete Townshend and Mick Jagger. Of course he'd want to stay asleep for that! Hell, it'd just started and they were getting all warmed up and everything—

"Arthur!" Something—it felt like the polyester-nylon fabric of their blazers—whipped him in the face and he pried open his eyes. The pale, concerned face of Mathias Kohler came into focus. "Arthur, we're landing in five minutes," he said.

"Then why did you wake me up?" Arthur grumbled. "Five minutes lost when I could have seen Mick and Pete fight…"

"What?"

"Five minutes, lad," Gilbert piped up, and he moved so that they could see his face. Barely. It was only visible in the crack between the two plane seats. "And I still have yet to brief you on Gilbert Beilschmidt's Awesome German Experience."

"Gilbert's what now?" Arthur asked sleepily.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt's Awesome German Experience," Gilbert repeated like he was talking to an idiot.

"Then by all means, brief us," said Arthur dryly.

"Simple," said Gilbert. "We sneak away after dinner and go to Klub Lido. Then we party until the dear wee hours of the morning. And then we go to bed."

"That sounds incredibly stupid."

"I think that sounds fun," Mathias chimed in. "But I've never heard of Klub Lido."

"It's really great!" Gilbert said. "My cousin told me they have great bands that play there, like, every other night."

That sounded more interesting. "Hang on, I want to see those," Arthur said.

"I knew you'd be interested," said Gilbert grinning. "So, you in?"

"When are we going?"

"Tonight, if possible."

"…You're mad," said Arthur.

"Not."

"Gilbo, as much as I'd like to go out and have myself a good time, we'll all have jetlag and be exhausted from walking around and travelling," the Dane pointed out. "And we have a lot to do today and tomorrow."

Gilbert made a face. "Well, I guess," he mumbled. Arthur yawned heavily in response and closed his eyes. Maybe I can catch another couple minutes of sleep—

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. We will shortly be arriving in Berlin's Tegel Airport. The captain would like to ask that all passengers return to their seats and fasten their seatbelts in order to prepare for our descent. Thank you."

Mathias squirmed excitedly as he fastened his belt. "This is it!" he told Arthur gleefully.

The Bright rubbed his eyes and shrugged. He wasn't expecting much from Germany, actually, now that he really thought about it. A part of him wondered vaguely what he was doing on this plane, on this trip.

Gilbert leaned over again and gave them a thumbs-up.

Oh. That was why.

.

The day passed without much to happen, although when they got off the bus to go see Unter den Linden, Gilbert ran the whole length of the street (they could have put him on the track team at the speed he was going) and knelt down at the foot of a tall, bronze statue. Arthur didn't see what was particularly special about a six-metre statue of a man on horseback, but as Gilbert was kowtowing and yelling stupid things ("Old Fritz! Oh, old Fritz!") and generally making a fool of himself, it must have been relatively significant. Mathias told Arthur that the statue was of Frederich the Great of Prussia. Gilbert, claiming his lineage of Prussian nobility, probably had some sort of connection to the king. Something like that.

The German was later reprimanded by Stearns, and received detention to be completed after their trip.

So much for Prussian nobility. Surely, Arthur reasoned, the son of a count or duke (or whatever) wouldn't get detention.

When he brought that up, Gilbert told him to stuff it up his arse. And various other colourful places.

After dinner, they checked into the hostel. It was a very modern-style hostel, with metal furnishings and bunk beds in every room and brightly painted coloured walls. He, Gilbert, and Mathias were all sharing a room, and when they walked in, Arthur immediately collapsed into one of the lower bunks while Gilbert dropped his bag on the floor and pulled his jacket off.

"Who's our fourth roomie?" he asked the others. A noncommittal grunt was Mathias's answer; Arthur merely turned over and yawned.

"I hope we don't have anyone el—" he began, but was interrupted as the door burst open.

"Desolée, amis," announced another voice, and Arthur groaned, not bothering to even keep it to himself. It was bad enough that people kept disturbing him while he tried to sleep, but did it really have to be a fucking frog?

"Frannie!" Gilbert yelled. "Yesssss!"

Mathias waved. "Hi."

Arthur, even with his back to the rest of the room, could feel that frog coming closer and closer to him. Oh my fuck, what am I going to do. He weighed his options: on hand he could ignore Francis completely and hope the French boy would leave him alone. Not likely. Or he could punch Francis very very hard, but as tempting as that was, he got the sinking feeling that Gilbert would shun him for a while, and that wouldn't be good for the band. He could run, of course, but where was there to run to?

A sharp poke in his side and he jerked and flipped over to see Francis looking at him with an expression that was equal parts glee, mischief, and slight amazement (though at what, honestly, Arthur had no idea).

"What the bloody hell was that for?" Arthur snapped with all the friendliness of a disturbed beehive (he rather felt like one right then).

"I had to make sure that you weren't asleep," replied Francis, while behind him Gilbert was (quite literally) rolling on the floor laughing.

"You didn't need to poke me that hard, tosser," Arthur shot back.

"Sorry," said Francis, but he didn't sound very sorry at all.

Arthur put his face in his pillow and screamed. It was going to be a long week. He could feel it already.

Mathias sat down on the other bunk. "You feeling all right, there, Artie?"

"Oh, I'm great," said Arthur darkly. "Just great."

Gilbert shrugged and yawned. "I'm going to take a shower. See you lads later."

He disappeared. Mathias mumbled a similar excuse, and left with him. It was just Arthur and Francis.

God. It was so horrible awkward. Arthur faced the wall and gripped his covers. He let his thoughts wander.

First off, why was Francis even here in the first place? Arthur didn't even remember Francis signing up to be their roommate. Then again—Arthur frowned slightly—Gilbert had turned that roommate form in for them. Oh, of course that mischievous tosser had put Francis's name in there. Probably to torture him, too. It was going to be just them, but no, of course Francis had to crash their little party. Er, whatever party there was to begin with.

Behind him he could hear Francis climb the other bunk to the top bed, and settle down with an annoying sigh. Then the sounds of soft breathing followed that somehow grated on Arthur's nerves. God, everything about Francis bothered him so much that Arthur just might—God, he didn't know—strangle something—

"The awesome is back!" Gilbert proclaimed, bursting through the door, Mathias close behind.

"Oh. That was fast," Arthur said, rolling over to face them. Mathias followed the German in, shrugging and grinning as if to say "He's awfully energetic after a shower."

"Hey, lads, I've got an idea!" Gilbert flopped down on the floor. "Let's play Truth or Dare!"

"Truth or what now?" Arthur raised an eyebrow, determinedly not looking at Francis.

"Truth or Dare," Gilbert repeated. "I ask someone 'Truth or Dare?' and they pick one. If they say 'Truth,' then I ask them a question they have to answer truthfully. If they say 'dare' I dare them to do something stupid."

"I like the sound of that, actually," said Mathias. "Is that something Alfred taught you?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

The Dane shrugged. "Just a hunch."

"Okay, then let's start." Gilbert waggled his fingers, and everyone laughed. "Okay, Francis! Truth or dare?"

"Truth," said the French boy. Arthur crossed his arms and tried not to look awkward as Francis's eyes flicked towards him.

"Okay." Gilbert rubbed his palms together. "Have you ever drunk-rang anyone and who?"

"Lame!" Mathias said, but Gilbert punched him.

"It's my question!" insisted the German.

Francis laughed. "Well, I've never drunk-rang anyone, but while we were walking around, I got my mobile and accidentally called a prostitute."

Gilbert fell over laughing. Mathias and Arthur both laughed to lesserdegrees.

"Arthur!" Mathias exclaimed. "Truth or dare?"

The Brit frowned. He hadn't been expecting to be picked, not this soon, anyway—but he probably should've known better. The people in this room—with them, well, anything could happen. He swallowed and answered.

"Dare."

Gilbert widened his eyes. "Ohhh! What's it gonna be? Take off your pants and wave them outside the window?"

Arthur turned red, thinking of his Union Jack boxers that he was wearing right then. "No!" he shouted, a little too defensively.

"No, Gilbo, that's not good enough. It's my dare, anyway. Okay." Mathias put his hands on his knees. "I dare you… to kiss Francis."

Arthur made a face, but Gilbert held up a hand.

"Wait a second, here," Gilbert interrupted. "Is everyone in here queer or what?" He glanced around menacingly, and Francis raised an eyebrow.

"You know me, Gilbert," he said shrugging.

Mathias only smirked—one very reminiscent of Gilbert's trademark ones.

Arthur frowned. He wished he could say he wasn't gay, but to be honest? He honestly didn't know.

"Agh, what does it matter anyway," Gilbert said, and threw up his hands. "I'll just sit here… and not watch… Go for it, Artie."

"Sorry?" said Arthur, still feeling very red.

"I dare you to kiss Francis. No, wait—I dare you to snog Francis," said Mathias with an evil grin. Arthur didn't even know that the Dane was capable of making such an expression. It was unnerving.

Arthur looked at the French boy, and made his repulsion obvious on his face. Francis, on the other hand, suddenly looked… well, Arthur couldn't read his expression. His round-eyed expression, with soft mouth and golden hair—

Fuck, what was he thinking? This was the bloody frog he was thinking about! Ugh. Arthur inhaled and exhaled. "Okay," he told Francis. "Let's just… let's just get this over with."

"Fair enough," said the other boy. Arthur shut his eyes—he didn't want to see that frog's face up close, let alone at all—and leaned forward. Somehow his heart was beating unsteadily and loudly in his ears, but for what, he didn't know. He could smell the frog's minty breath—dammit, why was his breath minty?—and hear his breathing. In, out, in, out.

The first touch of their lips—that was like the electric high notes of a guitar solo, and if it were any more possible Arthur could feel his heart beat faster than ever. Francis tasted like mint—maybe he'd been chewing gum or something before—and had a surprisingly soft mouth. The kiss lasted quite long. Maybe it was too long. Maybe it wasn't long enough.

It would, however, be enough to keep Arthur staring into the darkness long after his roommates had fallen asleep.

.

The next two days passed in a blur of museums, restaurants, and hours spent on a bus. They visited places with long, German names that rolled off Gilbert's tongue easily and gave Arthur headaches just looking at them. They visited Checkpoint Charlie and Sachsenhausen and Deutsches Historisches Museum and Olympiastadion and too many other places that Arthur forgot the name of. It was all very much a great adventure, and Arthur admitted (to himself, no less) that he was starting to have fun. The people were all open and friendly, although it was rather difficult walking down the busy street without bruising his sides from bumping into everyone.

It was also filled with a blur of rather silly shenanigans. For example, on the bus, they once passed a newsstand stacked with magazines. That wasn't the unusual part. The magazines, were, well, plastered with… explicit images. Mathias, the idiotic git, had yelled out, and most everyone on the bus had crowded to that side to ogle. Gilbert, sitting next to Arthur, just laughed.

"This is nothing," he told the Brit (who felt rather wary of Gilbert right then). "You should see the beaches."

Sometimes they would walk past the occasional heroin junkie, too, and Arthur would get a sick feeling in his stomach and immediately think of Rhys, wasting away in his room and his chemical cloud. "Don't they usually do something about this?" he asked his German friend, but he only got a casual shrug in response.

Gilbert would also point out random bits of German culture—which, while rather helpful at times, became gradually more and more annoying. First it was saying "Guten Appetit" at every meal. Then it was "Schönen Tag noch" in the stores and then bragging about the billion different types of bread and wurst and all sorts of random other rubbish and it was driving Arthur absolutely insane. He had no problem with liking Germany, but did the lad ever shut up about it?

On Thursday they travelled to Potsdam, which was due southwest of Berlin. It was a fairly long bus ride, and Arthur popped in his earphones and wrote whatever music he could. Most of it ended up rubbish, but he felt like he'd churn out a good song if he tried hard enough. Something like that.

Before they arrived, Mr. Stearns stood up at the front of the bus with a megaphone. "Can everyone hear me?" he yelled into it, and the entire bus cringed.

"Sorry about that," he said in a normal voice. "Well, then, we do have a worksheet for Potsdam like we did for the German History Museum and Checkpoint Charlie"—everyone groaned—"no, no, don't groan! It's a good old scavenger hunt!" He paused, grinning goofily, like he was expecting them to laugh. "No? No? Well, all right. You'll be working with the people sitting next to you, so cheers to that, eh? Happy hunting!"

Arthur looked to his right and groaned. Not the frog! He hadn't even noticed Francis sit down next to him! He suppressed a groan of frustration and instead made a fist in his hair. His life was a mess. A god-damn-forsaken mess.

The bus stopped. Arthur bit his lip as everyone got up.

Francis didn't smile or anything like he usually was, the slimy frog. He simply looked at Arthur with those damn blue eyes and said "What are you waiting for? Let's get to it."

Arthur swallowed. "Yeah, sure."

Potsdam was beautiful. Or rather, it was Park Sanssouci—Arthur cringed slightly at the French name—which Francis translated for him in a whisper: "without a care." The buildings were covered in green vines and leaves, or else decorated with ornate stonework that dated back from the Baroque period, and flowers and plants covered the rest of the grounds. Francis seemed to lag behind as they walked through the park, camera in hand. Arthur could hear the slight clicking noise of the shutter going off.

"Stop taking so many pictures," Arthur said crankily. "We have to finish this!" He waved the worksheet around.

"There isn't a rush, Arthur," said Francis, laughing as he took pictures of squirrels. Squirrels! Arthur ground his teeth. There was that, and then there was something in how Francis said his name—it just seemed to annoy him and get under his skin like nails on chalkboard.

"Don't call me Arthur," he grumbled.

"All right, then," said Francis. "I'll call you lapin instead, oui?"

Arthur reached up and yanked his fringe in frustration. "Just—don't call me anything!"

"Sure, lapin," laughed the French boy. Arthur shook his head. This wasn't a battle to waste his energy on. Instead he cast his eyes on his paper, reading the first question: What is inside the Chineseisches Teehaus (Chinese Teahouse)?

"C'mon, let's go," he sighed. "We have to go to the Chinese Teahouse. I think it's that way." He pointed.

"All right," said Francis compliantly, smiling.

They began walking, side by side, and Arthur felt extremely uncomfortable. He tried to keep his limbs to himself—he felt like that if he stuck his elbow out, he might brush the French boy's side or something.

Arthur, you're making too big a deal out of this, a part of him said. Francis is pretty harmless. You found that out last night.

Arthur shut his eyes. He was going mad, he was. Francis was a frog, and if he'd learned anything about frogs, it was that they weren't to be trusted.

"Is this it?" Francis's voice cut into his thoughts. Arthur summoned his self-control and looked at him.

"What?" he said, feeling tension leak into his voice.

"This." Francis pointed.

It was a nice building, but Arthur thought it a rather a lot like every single other fancy old building in the park. And as he squinted, the sign didn't read "Chineseisches Teehaus."

"That's not it," Arthur said with exasperation.

"Then we should keep walking," said Francis, and marched off. Arthur sighed and hurried to keep up.

"So, Arthur." Francis put his hands in the pockets of his school blazer (which, much to Arthur's dismay, they were required to wear at all their sightseeing tours). "How are you this fine day in Potsdam?"

"Not great—since I'm talking to you," retorted Arthur.

"Oh, c'mon lapin," the French boy said, laughing. "I'm not going to poison you or anything."

Arthur eyed his companion warily. "You never know."

"Ah, you're too paranoid." Francis looked up at the sky. "You should loosen up a little bit. Relax. Quite uptight for a rock star, aren't you?"

"Shut up," said Arthur. He looked at the ground.

"Why do you hate me so much, lapin?" Francis asked him.

Arthur stared straight ahead. Bloody hell. There were so many answers to that question. First: Francis's long hair. Honestly, who wore their hair like that still? Second: his eyes, God. Those eyes were just creepy. Round and obnoxious and never failing to make Arthur's skin crawl. Third? Well. Arthur wouldn't talk of that. He could never talk of that. It was just… no. He needed to stop thinking about it, even if there was that reminder next to him, breathing and walking with that blond hair and blue eyes and smile and god, what was he thinking? He pushed those thoughts away. It was no use reminiscing over something that was better left secret.

"Arthur?" Francis' voice boomed in his ear, and the Brit jumped.

"Oh. Sorry." Arthur reached up and closed his fingers around the earring in the lobe.

"Are you going to tell me why you hate me?"

Arthur looked at the other boy, who'd stopped walking. A moment passed between them. Arthur wasn't sure what it was exactly, the two of them wearing matching school blazers, standing under the trees of Park Sanssouci in Germany. He wasn't even sure if he liked it or not. Only that he shouldn't have. He shouldn't have liked it...

"No," Arthur said, so quietly that he couldn't even hear himself. "I can't tell you that."

Francis sighed softly. "Well, it doesn't matter too much, now does it? I feel like I've seen this building before," he added, switching the subject abruptly, and pointed out the same building they'd first approached in Sanssouci.

"What?" Arthur groaned. "Dammit, we've been walking around for—"

"Five minutes?" Francis suggested.

"No." Arthur gave Francis an odd look. "It's been at least... an hour?" He checked his watch. "Nope, it's been at least two hours."

"Time does fly, doesn't it?" Francis laughed, and Arthur suppressed another groan. Was this boy bipolar or something? One minute he was as sober as Arthur and the next he was chasing butterflies. Goddammit.

"No, that's not it! Dammit." Arthur yanked on his hair. "We've been walking around for two whole hours and we've done a full lap around the park?"

"So?"

"Dammit, Francis!" Arthur shouted. "We're lost in Berlin!

"Lost!"

A/N: Good fun, this chapter. Did a whole crapload of research for what, five tiny details? Good job, me.

All of the places I mentioned—Deutsches Historisches Museum (German History Museum), Checkpoint Charlie, Unter den Linden, the Statue of Frederich the Great, Olympiastadion, Sachsenhausen Museum, Park Sanssouci in Potsdam, the Chinese Teahouse—they are real and can be found in and around Berlin. :) Doing research for this chapter really made me want to go to Germany TT^TT I really encourage you to go out and look them up and go there. I want to, ahaha.

Oh, Oma is supposed to be German for 'grandmother.' Cuz Gilbo's German and all.

I feel like I'm boring you all or something with this mundane-mundane chapter. That's bildungsroman for you.

Second part of their adventures in Germany to come up next :