9. don't know why you say good-bye
June arrived with a great deal of English rain, and Arthur was forced to keep an umbrella stashed in his bag to keep dry between second and third hours. He kept to the covered walkways as much as he could, but try as he might, he couldn't avoid that one path crossing straight through the quad to French. It was particularly wet that day, too, wet and dank and Arthur was walking quickly on the pavement, trying to avoid stepping on muddy clots of grass. He pulled the brolly down closer to his head and sighed. He didn't really hate rain, but it rather made things fairly uncomfortable and inconvenient.
"Wait, please!"
Arthur turned to see a girl running towards him, with wavy blond hair that had darkened in the rain and round green eyes. Her skirt and blazer were soaked, and she was holding her bag above her head to keep from getting wet, though it wasn't very effective.
"Thanks," she said, breathing very hard, and ducked under his umbrella.
"Oh… you're welcome," he said awkwardly. "I guess," he added after she flashed a grin at him (one rather reminiscent of Francis's).
"It's not problem," she laughed. Arthur thought he sort of recognized her but couldn't quite place her name or face. The green eyes did look familiar though. He frowned, struggling to remember.
"Something wrong?" she asked innocently.
"Er, I'm sorry to ask, really"—here she laughed—"but do I know you at all?"
She laughed again—it was a nice laugh, really, though Arthur—and shrugged her shoulders in a very innocent way. "I'm in your French class."
"Really?" Arthur searched his memory while he opened the door. "I didn't know that."
"Term's almost over and you still don't know my name?" she teased, and spun into the building. The corner of Arthur's mouth drooped slightly.
"Piss off," he told her, but he didn't really mean it, and she seemed to know that.
"Well, if you really don't know me," she said, shrugging her shoulders again. "I'm Bella, Bella van Vliet."
"Arthur Kirkland," he returned. "Er, nice to meet you."
"Oh, I know who you are," Bella said. "My brother's mentioned you quite a few times."
"Your brother?"
"Yeah. Jager. He's a university senior, but—"
Arthur didn't hear anything past "Jager," because he suddenly added two and two. "Jager? Jager van Vliet?"
She looked slightly taken aback "Yes. Er—"
"I know him," Arthur burst out. "Yeah, he's brilliant!"
"So are you," she countered, and he looked down at her to see a very intense look in her green eyes.
The moment was broken by the bell tolling suddenly, and Arthur let out an "Oh fuck!"
Bella gave him a sideways glance. "Race you to class."
She took off at an astonishingly fast speed, and Arthur stumbled to catch her. He wasn't the fastest runner around, but he was able to catch her in the stairwell—Vans were awfully easy to run in. Right as they reached the classroom, he tripped and nearly fell onto her—well, actually, he did fall on her, enough that she let out a squeak as they stumbled in.
The teacher looked up with a stern look on her face. "En retard, tous les deux vous! Asseyez-vous!"
Bella shot a grin at Arthur as if to say "What a tosser" and slumped into her seat. Arthur slid into his own seat, which was right next to Antonio's. The Spanish boy grinned and cocked his head suggestively at Arthur, though what he was trying to suggest was beyond him.
"What?" the Brit snapped tiredly in a whisper.
"Walking in the rain with Bella van Vliet, huh?" Antonio whispered. "What else were you doing?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Arthur asked, still frowning.
"You didn't know?" The Spanish boy raised his eyebrows. "She fancies you."
"She doesn't," Arthur insisted. "I know her brother, that's all."
"Mm-hmm," Antonio said, obviously not convinced. The boy was dimmer than Arthur had realized, dammit.
Arthur let out an exasperated sigh and focused his attention on the teacher, who was still lecturing about exams.
"Now, your exams will start on le dix juin," she said. "Which as you know, is really just next week…"
She kept going on and on about what they needed to know for the test, but Arthur didn't seem to be able to process what she was saying. Except for le semaine prochaine. Next week. La semaine prochaine. Bloody hell, exams were next week !
He sat there, thinking that for the rest of the period, and when the bell chimed, he grabbed his bag.
"Arthur where are you going?" Antonio yelled after him.
"Dorm to study!" Arthur yelled back over the shoulder.
"But don't you have—"
"Exams next week, can't waste time!" Arthur turned his head back to look forward just in time to make out a brown jacket with a little star logo sewn on it. Then he suddenly couldn't breathe because, well, he was suffocating. In the brown jacket with the little star logo sewn on it.
"Shit, I'm sorry," Arthur blurted out into the blazer.
Alfred F. Jones straightened his glasses and laughed. "No, it's all right. I didn't watch where I was going."
"Neither was I," Arthur said quickly.
"Hey, where you heading for the library? Because, uh, I could really use some help with chemistry. I still don't completely understand this thermo-chemistry thing—" Arthur looked up (Alfred was taller than him) and saw a very oddly hopeful and (if Arthur wasn't mistaken) sort of bashful expression on Alfred's face. There was something in the American's face at which Arthur couldn't resist scrunching his face up into a smile; he was just so silly in that moment… so Arthur shrugged.
"I was heading for the dormitories, actually," he admitted to the American, "but sure, I can go with you to the library. I don't mind having a study partner."
This was sort of a lie. Arthur preferred to do things alone. He didn't open up easily. It'd taken him a bit of time to open up to Gilbert and Mathias properly. He'd hardly talked to Alfred all year, but still. Still. It was worth saying that to see Alfred light up and twist his face into such an expression that Arthur thought the American might wet his pants. It forced a laugh out of his stomach, and they walked to the library, bantering easily like Arthur had never done before.
But as they walked there, side-by-side, the Brit caught sight of Francis walking out of it.
He had a very sad look in his violet-blue eyes, Francis did.
.
Arthur collapsed in his dorm bad and sighed. Studying was bloody exhausting, and he felt like his brain might explode with all the conjugated verbs and the figures and formulas he had to remember—
Buzzzzzzzz.
The Brit rolled over, checked the screen of his mobile, and groaned.
Gilbert Beilschmidt: Where r u? Its been 2 hrs at least :P
Arthur's eyebrows crinkled in confusion. What could he possibly be missing?
His eyes fell on the worn black case propped up in the corner of his room, his guitar sitting there but beckoning. Beckoning with music.
Arthur groaned and restrained from hitting himself with his mobile. He'd totally forgotten, in the blur of studying for exams and trying (with little success) to cure Alfred's stupidity—here Arthur smiled for no reason, something about the guy just made him laugh. But above it all, he had band practice. Dear bloody hell. He had no idea when their next gig was—they didn't have a next gig, as far as he knew—and their repertoire was mediocre at best.
But still… there was that same magic, when no one messed up, when Gilbert hit all the high notes just right, Mathias wasn't rushing, when Arthur's fingers didn't fumble for the chords, when it all blended perfectly and sounded perfect.
He rolled off his bed, straightened his clothes and grabbed his guitar, and ran. He ran so hard that he nearly collapsed on the floor when he reached the music room.
"Oh, Arthur," chirped Mathias. "You're here. Gilbo and Lizzie and I were talking about how we ought to do the talent show."
"What?" Arthur set his guitar down, then steadied himself on a music stand.
"Okay, first," he began. "Lizzie?"
The Hungarian girl waved from her perch on the windowsill. "What's happening, lad?" she said in her best Scouse accent (which sounded horribly wrong to Arthur). He grimaced and crossed his arms.
Gilbert grinned. "If you don't mind."
The Brit just shook his head. "Whatever. But the talent show? Wasn't that in May?"
Mathias shook his head. "Misprint. There's auditions this week and the show's two weeks after that."
Arthur snorted out a quick, contemptuous laugh. "You can't really be serious."
"We are," Gilbert said, crossing his arms. "I want to be able to perform as much as possible. Good exposure and all that."
He had a valid point. Arthur couldn't really argue with that. They had to perform as much as possible, otherwise they'd be out of practice and God knew what would happen to them then.
"Are you sure we couldn't have Jager or Sadik book something for us?" Arthur tried desperately.
"Why don't you want to do the talent show? We've got a good fan base here and everything!" Mathias spun his drumsticks lazily. "I think it'd be a lot of fun."
"So are the clubs," Arthur said. "I'd really rather play in the clubs."
"Yes, but no one would really care because we're just a 'bunch of bloody teenagers,'" said Gilbert sarcastically. "No, I'd rather not make a fool of myself again."
"Jager's out of town anyway," Mathias pointed out. "And this might be our biggest break for now."
Arthur, as much as he wanted to argue (against playing in the school talent show) and deliver some brilliant argument reminiscent of some kind of genius, could sense that he was out-reasoned here. He hadn't played a proper show since Berlin, and even that was extremely rough and unpolished.
After a long moment of mental debating, he sighed. "You know what, fine. Sure. We'll play," he mumbled, and Gilbert exploded into cheers.
"Yeahhh!" the German squealed, and fell over laughing.
"Calm down, mate," Mathias said, idly spinning his drumsticks, weaving them between his fingers. "We've still got to audition and take exams and all of that."
"Bloody hell, exams!" Arthur moaned. "No, don't remind me!"
"Oooooooohhh!" Mathias rasped in his ear. "The pressure of the gas is inversely related to its volume as defined by Boyle's law…"
"Shut up!" Arthur clamped his hands over his ears, but he was laughing hysterically.
"ONE MOLE IS EQUAL TO SIX POINT-OH-TWO TIMES TEN TO THE TWENTY THIRD POWER PARTICLES!" Gilbert chanted, and Mathias joined him with cries of "CAUSES OF WORLD WAR TWO! NATIONALISM, GROWING POWER OF THE NAZI PARTY—"
"Stop!" Arthur shrieked (which surprised even him) but instead his bandmates jumped him and began tickling his stomach
Lizzie only shook her head slowly. "You three are just a funny, funny lot, aren't you?"
.
The weeks passed without any major incident. All of them passed their exams without too much trouble, including Gilbert, which for Arthur was actually quite surprising, considering the German boy never studied or tried at all in class.
"What's that supposed to mean, 'I didn't fail'?" Gilbert demanded at band practice that week. "I'm awesome, I couldn't possibly fail."
And to prove it he waved his test score in their faces, which Arthur had to admit, wasn't half-bad.
"Yeah, it's good, actually, good for us," Mathias remarked. "That way no one has to study for make-up exams and we can stay focused on the talent show."
Arthur groaned. "Still can't believe you talked me into that."
"What's wrong with it?" asked Gilbert tucking his score away.
"It's… just… so amateur," he complained, and picked up his guitar.
"It's not," said Mathias. "We shouldn't try so much on the first go. Not that we shouldn't try hard, but these things take time to build up and be successful. How long do you think the Beatles were together before they became any good at all?"
And Mathias was right. Arthur wasn't particularly fond of that aspect of his friend sometimes, because he rather preferred that he would be right. A stone settled into his stomach then, and he shrugged rather sulkily and turned his attention back to the song.
They practised well over the course of the two weeks leading up to the show. They prepared five different songs but in the end they were only allowed to play one of them. They had to vote on it, and between the three of them it was mostly Gilbert and Arthur arguing over it—the German pushing for his renewed passion of German metal and Arthur for his post-punk indie. But then Mathias put his foot down and told the two of them to stuff it, because well, they were going to play—
"And the next act to come up is The Fantastic Boggle Nerds"—the MC frowned slightly and her voice wavered over their name, at which Gilbert snickered—"playing 'Hello Goodbye' by the Beatles!"
The student body clapped and cheered as the three of them walked onto the stage. Well, Arthur nearly fell down, but he could qualify that as walking, sure. Yeah.
"God, why are there so many of them?" Arthur said through his teeth, more of a statement than a question.
"Gonna puke any moment now," said Mathias, and Arthur saw that he did look slightly green.
"Why're you two so nervous?" the German boy said. "We've played worse crowds, yeah?"
Mathias made a small gagging noise and sat down very, very hard on his stool. Arthur had two seconds to think "Lucky wanker" before Gilbert blew his ears out.
"Hellooooooooo SPQR!" he yelled, his voice blasting through the amps, and Arthur cringed at the feedback.
"My God," shouted Arthur, but he didn't yell it into the microphone, so instead it was lost in the cheering.
"It's so awesome to stand up here and play for you all," continued Gilbert, who was either pretending not to hear Arthur's remark or really didn't hear Arthur at all, "so I'll shut up now and get this party started, yeah?"
He was met by more cheers, and as he looked out into the crowd, Arthur didn't seem to be able to see it as his peers anymore. He couldn't pick out anyone, not Alfred F Jones the American, not Francis the Frog, not Bella who was Jager's baby sister, not anyone. The only faces that he could clearly make out were his bandmates', and it seemed to him that Mathias had gotten well over his stage fright as much as he had. Their bright white faces, already beginning to perspire in the heat of the bright lights, blurred and Arthur laughed because well, the fact that they were wearing jeans and jackets wasn't helping at all, but even as he picked up his guitar he saw Gilbert strip his own thick brown jacket off and toss it into the crowd. "I want that back, you hear me?" he yelled into the mike, and was answered by squealing.
Mathias clicked his sticks together at a moderate tempo. "A-one, a-two, a-one, two, three, four!"
"You say yes, I say no; you say stop—but I say go, go, go!" Gilbert sang, and Arthur couldn't help but laugh, because that little line reminded him of their trip to Germany and when Gilbert was pissed and told them to go to Lido. It took him back to days of the rare English sunshine and days out in the London streets and raucous laughter and stupid dancing and even as they were playing, Arthur could see Gilbert drop his bass and start shuffling LMFAO-style, causing more shrieks of laughter to erupted from the audience. Arthur couldn't complain, though, because he was laughing too and in the back Mathias was head-banging like crazy. Then there was the crowd, all a blur of illuminated, smiling faces and clapping and whooping.
"Hello, hello!" the words went, "I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello!"
Somehow by the end of the song, Gilbert had gotten the entire audience to stand and wave their hands in time with the beat, singing the words with them. He was mad, Arthur thought almost dizzily, his fingers playing the same lick over and over again, but he was dead fantastic, he was.
"Hello-oh-oh…" Gilbert let his voice drift away, but his smile did anything but diminish. He laughed to a screaming, stomping crowd and took a small bow. Then he motioned for Arthur and Mathias to come up to the front with him. While Arthur, laughing, walked up to join him, Gilbert took the time to take another extravagant bow, and (it seemed) bent over too far, because to Arthur's horror, he toppled off the high stage into the audience floor, all pale, thin limbs and dark denim…
.
"Sure you're all right, there?" asked Mathias as he stood up from his seat on the train.
"I'm fine," insisted Gilbert, but then he nearly tripped over his bass, which was idly lying on the floor.
"Hey, hey!" Arthur said, catching him. "Take it easy, you've got that broken leg and all."
"Don't need to remind me," Gilbert pouted, and glanced down at his neon-pink cast, covered in inky get-well messages. "I feel so bloody useless as it is!"
"It goes away after a while," Mathias said easily. "Come on, let's go."
They staggered (well, it was only Gilbert who staggered, Mathias and Arthur were walking beside him and keeping him steady) off the train and onto the platform, their things in tow. It was, as usual, swarming with people and trolleys and all sorts of official-looking uniformed people, and Arthur's mouth quirked into a smile as the familiar mumbling Scouse accent flooded his ears.
"What're you smiling about?" demanded Gilbert, whose face was flushed pink from struggling to stay upright on his crutches.
Arthur quickly hid his smile. "Nothing," he said quickly. "Just good to be home."
"Got that right," said Mathias. "I've missed this bloody place."
Up ahead Arthur could spot Roma, wearing trendy clothes and that silver cross necklace that had been there since Arthur could remember. The Italian caught sight of him, grinned widely, and began doing a sort of weird side-to-side movement like he was trying to wave to Arthur, but with his entire body instead of just a hand.
"Is that Roma?" asked Mathias, trying to hold in his laughter.
Arthur shielded his eyes and turned the other way. As much as he loved Roma, sometimes he was slightly embarrassed to know the Italian. "All right, if anyone asks," he told his friends in a deadly voice, "we do not know that man in any way."
They reached him at a record-breaking slow pace (Arthur was suddenly thankful that Gilbert had crutches) and had barely stopped for a split second when Arthur was enveloped in one of Roma's familiar bear hugs; strong, tomato-scented, and so tight he thought he might pass out.
"Arthur!" Roma cried thickly through Arthur's jacket. "Blimey, it's been forever!"
"It's really only been six months," said Gilbert stupidly, and Arthur could barely hear him through Roma's arms.
"Can't—breathe—" he choked out.
"Oh, sorry, sorry." Roma eased up and leaned back, his tanned face split in a grin. "Aw, you've gotten even cuter since Winter Break! Have the ladies come for you yet?"
"I'm not cute, and I haven't dated or anything," said Arthur irritably, while Mathias and Gilbert shot him "Yeah, right" smirks.
"Yes, yes, of course," said Roma reasonably, and patted Arthur's shoulder. "Should we get going?"
Arthur jerked his head over to his bandmates, and Roma nodded and moved away.
Arthur looked at the other two and put his hands in the pockets awkwardly. "So, um… I guess this is goodbye. Until September. You know."
Mathias threw his head back and laughed. "What are you talking about? We live here. I live in Everton, actually."
"And I live in Toxteth," Gilbert put in.
"Oh. I live in Vauxhall. Er, inner-city," said Arthur, wondering why he gave the location of the filthy Kirkland flat to the other two.
"You know, Arthur, think of it like this"—Mathias raised one finger philosophically. "This isn't goodbye. We'll see each other loads over holiday, yeah? So really"—he grinned at this, like he was making a clever joke—"it's more like hello!"
"I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello!" sang Gilbert, as if to accentuate his friend's point.
Arthur groaned. "At this rate, I almost want to say good-bye to the lot of you!"
"S'not trueee," Gilbert said. "You love me!"
"And me," added Mathias, and together the two of them jumped Arthur, tickling him everywhere they could reach, which was quite a feat for Gilbert and his broken leg.
"Aghhhh! Stop, please, guys—" but Arthur was laughing because hell, he was going to miss these two idiots.
"NO HOMO! NO HOMO!" Gilbert screamed (which attracted his fair share of odd stares).
"All right, lads, ease up there," said Roma's deep voice, and reluctantly Mathias and Gilbert let up. "That's right, come on."
"You know, we've got to get together and have a practice or two, all right?" Mathias said, grinning, and jerked his head towards a couple with blond hair and another very tall boy with severe turquoise eyes and glasses (Arthur thought he recognized him from somewhere at SPQR but he couldn't be sure). "I've gotta jump but ring you soon? Ring you both soon?"
Arthur waved. "Yeah, all right!"
Gilbert waved too. "See ya, lad!"
Mathias grinned and disappeared with the family. Arthur turned to look back at Gilbert, who nodded vaguely. "Actually," he said. "I'm going to be leaving in a week to visit my Oma in Germany."
"Seriously?" said Arthur. "How long are you staying there?"
"Pretty much the whole summer." Gilbert said sheepishly. "But don't tell Mathias that."
"Yeah, all right," said Arthur, laughing. "See you in September then?"
"Yeah, hope we both get the same dorm next year, eh?" said Gilbert, grinning at him. He saluted goofily and turned around and walked away, looking back once to stick his tongue out at the Brit.
"So," Roma said, popping up behind him suddenly. "Shall we go?"
Arthur felt all his happiness fade away. "Oh. Yeah."
"You all right there?"
Arthur thought about the flat covered with dirt and grime and ale canes and weed and all the nasty, horrible twins and Rhys in his chemical cloud and Ian with his evil smirk and the dump that just happened to be their bedroom—just thinking about it was making his skin crawl. He didn't want to go home; he never had wanted to go; he didn't want to face it, any of it. God, it was why he'd applied to SPQR in the first place. To get away from all of it. He hadn't even considered the thought of going back every bloody summer and having to deal with it again—
"Arthur?"
Roma was looking at him with an odd expression on his face. Arthur swallowed the bitter anger and nodded. "Yeah," he said shortly. "I'm fine."
He got a funny look, one that Arthur didn't understand. "All right," said the Italian.
They got in Roma's car and began driving. Arthur kept his eyes fixed on the rosary ornament hanging from the rear-view mirror, watching it swing erratically from side to side as the car turned through the streets.
"Arthur, are you sure you're all right?" Roma asked as he turned another corner. "Seriously, lad. Talk to me."
"No," said Arthur. "You talk more like a Scouser now, why?"
"Well, I've been spending a bit more time in Liverpool lately," said Roma. "More local projects, you know. Been a bit busy."
"I see," said Arthur, but he didn't really see at all. Roma was always sort of vague about what he did for a living, but Arthur just assumed he was relatively well-off—the Italian always paying for his things and giving him expensive presents. And not to mention his bloody ginormous flat, which—Arthur frowned—they were pulling up to right then.
"Roma, why are we going to your flat?" Arthur asked.
"You're going to live here."
There was a moment where Arthur couldn't speak. "E-er, I'm sorry, what—no, I live—"
"Here." Roma stopped the car. "I took some liberties and made some arrangements."
Arthur stared. "Arrangements?" he echoed dumbly.
"It's rather a long story," said Roma, almost in a strangled voice, "but, er, I'm your, uh, official guardian now."
Arthur couldn't speak. His throat was clogged with something of what it entirely was, but either way, he drew his eyebrows down and opened and closed his mouth stupidly for a few seconds. "Wh—How—" he choked.
Roma just smiled and placed a hand on the Brit's shoulder. "Come on. Let's go."
And Arthur laughed.
They went.
Author's Note~
Final word count: 4218. I'm very happy that these are ending up more and more consistent in length. Fff! :) Yay planning, hahaha. I feel like, though, that there's an awful lot of dialogue in this chapter, too… hrff.
Songs featured: "Hello Goodbye" by the Beatles (durrr)
En retard, tous les deux vous! Asseyez-vous! – Late, both of you! Sit down!
So, uh, reviews? I know this story's becoming ridiculously ordinary/mundane, but I want to know what you guys want to know about the characters! Because this story is really character-driven, I think, and even I don't know all that much about Gilbert/Mathias/anyone else, really. So ask? Please? :D