13. trust renewed and trust broken
"So, Arthur," said Gilbert casually, too casually, eyes down and focused on balancing his homework on his lap. "How was last night?"
Arthur rolled over on his bed, staring at his own pile of still-untouched homework. "Fine. Surprised that you noticed I was out."
"I can fake being asleep."
"Keep telling yourself that. You snore."
"… how were the drugs?"
The Brit sat up. "What?"
"The drugs." Gilbert turned a page. "I reckon they were fun?"
"How do you know?" demanded Arthur.
Gilbert sighed. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapped the screen several times, then handed it to Arthur.
Arthur Kirkland: darkness everywhere and fuck it. is. beautiful. the lights are beautiufl because circles and hexs but CRIECLS
Arthur Kirkland: blue pink green blue-green orange CIRCLES these traffic lites kick ass
Arthur Kirkland: OH
Arthur Kirkland: fuck heavy metal
Arthur Kirkland: this is better now i go fuck guitar bye
Arthur Kirkland: CIRCLES PINK CIRCLES
Arthur Kirkland: sadik tastes like lemons
Arthur Kirkland: lol
Arthur Kirkland: hi
Arthur Kirkland: hi
Arthur Kirkland: gilbert
Arthur Kirkland: r
Arthur Kirkland: u
Arthur Kirkland: doing
Arthur Kirkland: homework
Arthur Kirkland: eh
Arthur Kirkland: bloody kraut
Arthur Kirkland: guess what
Arthur Kirkland: what
Arthur Kirkland: brownies
Arthur Kirkland: u jelly
Arthur Kirkland: plug in babyyyy
Arthur Kirkland: desigginato dwya
Arthur Kirkland: hey fuck you
Arthur Kirkland: go fuck eliziiiii
Arthur Kirkland: i'll fuck francium biggest element
Arthur Kirkland: ding dong big ben LOL
Arthur Kirkland: ooh baby dont u kno i suffer
Arthur Kirkland: u set my soul alight
Arthur Kirkland: glaciers melting in the deaf of night
Arthur Kirkland: aosdhfsdlatwoaifsad
Arthur Kirkland: asdoijasodijfsaodifjhso
Arthur Kirkland: hyper hyper
Arthur Kirkland: traffic lights are coloured e major
Arthur Kirkland:
Arthur Kirkland: HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Arthur Kirkland: good night i leave now
Arthur blinked. "Oh."
The German put his phone away and gave his dorm-mate a look. "I thought this was the reason you had a row with Mathias?"
Arthur sighed. "Okay, fine, it is, but—"
"Shouldn't you apologise?" Gilbert cut in.
The Brit cringed. "Yes, but—"
"But?"
Arthur ran a hand through his hair. "I dunno, I just don't… feel like apologising," he said lamely.
"It's only fair to him since you went off and did exactly what you were mad at him for." Gilbert slid off the bed. "I'm going to lunch, where he probably is right now. Do you want to apologise to him then?"
"I can do it later," said Arthur, slightly affronted. "It's my apology."
"It's better if you do it now," said Gilbert.
"Why?"
"Because," said Gilbert, "a row with Mattie is a row with me."
"Wait—are you saying you're taking his side?" Arthur drew his eyebrows together.
"No, I just want you to apologise, already." Gilbert crossed his arms. "It's getting pretty fucking annoying and we need to practise."
"Since when do you care about the band?" Arthur shot back.
Gilbert stared at him incredulously for a second, then shook his head. "You're impossible."
"Yeah, thanks," Arthur spat out bitterly, and Gilbert, frowning, left the room.
"Siding little wad of pretentiousness," Arthur muttered to himself once the door had closed after his roommate. "It's not his business, why does he give a fuck?"
"He cares, that's all," said a girl's voice from the door, and Arthur jumped.
Bella grinned at him from the doorway. She looked somehow really pretty that day, somehow Arthur noticed, with an oversized knit sweater and high boots and an innocent smile. Arthur tried not to notice it too much as he grinned back.
"Sorry," he said quickly.
"That's all right," she said. "They say that talking to yourself is a sign of genius."
"How'd you get in here, anyway?" asked Arthur, standing up.
Bella shrugged. "That's for me to know and you to figure out."
Arthur laughed. "Sure."
"It is, really."
Arthur pretended to think. "Wouldn't strike me."
She laughed, maybe too hard, and leaned against the frame. "Come on. Even rock stars have to eat. It's noon."
"Already?" He checked the alarm clock. "Oh. Geez, when did I start getting up so early?" He stood up to put on his jacket.
"There's a dear," she said, and kissed his cheek.
He paused slightly, surprised at the gesture. But he supposed he shouldn't have been too surprised; she was a girl, and girls did that sort of thing. Didn't they? She was already walking out of the suite in the split second he'd paused, so he decided to just follow her out anyway, pretend that what she'd done was normal. Because it was. Right. Okay.
Of course then she took his hand, which Arthur thought was also a bit forward, but it wasn't like she was hurting him at all. That was silly. But what was even sillier was that when they walked into the dining hall everyone in their form turned to stare. Including a certain roommate of his, a certain frog, and a certain Spaniard mouthing 'I told you so.' Arthur suddenly remembered what Alfred had told him only several weeks back, and his stomach twisted slightly. He gave all of his peers 'shove off' looks. It's just lunch with a friend, isn't it?
They got their meals, sat down and she smiled at him again. He smiled back nervously.
"So, how is life?" she asked him, crossing her legs, and propping her chin up on one hand. "We haven't really talked much lately."
"Yeah, exams and all," said Arthur. "I really hate GCSE year, don't you?"
"God, yes," said Bella, laughing. "There's far too much work, really. I'm kind of lazy, too," she added.
"Yeah," Arthur said. "I've got better stuff to do then all of this."
"Such as?"
"Well, playing guitar, for one." Arthur shrugged. Bella laughed. How that was anywhere near funny was beyond him.
"You've definitely got a point there," she said, playing with the plastic lid on her cup. "I wish I was that good at something like you are."
"What d'you mean by that?" the Brit asked, alarmed. "You're good at all sorts of things."
"Not really," said Bella. "I mean, I suppose, but not really. I just… haven't got—you know—a calling. Like you and your band."
Arthur fiddled with his earring. "That's not true. We're really not that great."
Bella chuckled quietly. "Did you know Arthur? Butterflies can't see the wings on their back. They don't know how beautiful and amazing they are."
Arthur pondered it. "Okay…?"
"Well, don't you see? Your band, this thing you've got—it's really a wonderful thing, you just can't… see it." Bella smiled.
He made a face. "Whatever."
"Ahh, it doesn't matter right now. You'll see eventually." She tilted her head. "Speaking of which—your band, I mean—have you made up with Mathias yet?"
"What?" Arthur studied the table. "No."
"You do know he's right there?" She pointed. Arthur cursed.
"Well, I was going to get to it. Just… not now," he stammered.
Bella gave him a look reminiscent of one of Roma's when he was expecting something from his grandsons. On him, it looked mature and wise and playful. On her, it was merely playful and pretty. He couldn't help it.
"Oh, fine," he grumbled good-naturedly, and stood up.
He forced his feet to move over to the table where Mathias sat. It was all the way across the room. He tried not to look at the Dane, looking at all the other boys who sat by him instead.
There was one boy with blond hair (well, they all had blond hair, but his hair was a sort of darkish ashy blond) and very dark blue eyes. He'd pulled back a section of his fringe by a funny cross-shaped barrette (which Arthur found extremely strange) and the rest fell straight across the rest of his forehead. He surveyed Arthur with a touch of annoyance, like the Brit was a minor itch on his nose that he couldn't be bothered with. There was something about the boy that sent Arthur's stomach in an uncomfortable twist.
Then there was Berwald sitting on the other side of the annoyed boy and intimidating as ever, and with him the ever-cheerful and smiling Tino; Arthur recognised them from his dorm. He nodded quickly to them before swallowing and looking at Mathias.
It was like looking into the sun—they tell the little kids not to, but then they do and they complain of the burning in their eyes and they look away so fast the pain merely lasts a fraction of a second and oh, he was making far too big of a fuss out of this…
"Ohm Arthur!" Mathias said as Arthur approached the table (it still felt like he was wading through thick swampy mud or something). "What's happening?"
Arthur glanced over the others (averting Berwald's eyes quickly; god he was scary) and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Uh, is there a way I can have a word with you in private?"
Mathias looked awkwardly at the others. The cross-barrette boy scoffed slightly and deadpanned "Whatever, I've got stuff to do." He looked at the Dane with slightly annoyed eyes. "Good bye, idiot."
Mathias only laughed as the boy walked away. "You too, love."
Arthur tried not to make a face. Love?
"Yeah, I should do homework," sighed Tino. He scooped up his phone and yawned. "Coming, Berwald?"
"Yeah," said the Swede, and he and Tino left. Mathias waved.
When they were gone, Arthur sat down. The drummer waited patiently as Arthur got his thoughts together.
"Well, not too long ago," he began, "you—I—I mean, Gilbert and I walked in on you—er, well—we saw you—you know. You know. Um."
"Smoking pot?" offered Mathias.
"Yeah. And you know, I got really angry because, you know, of Rhys doing and all of that. And well, I feel like a total and complete idiot now because—I did a gig with Jager and Sadik recently and, well I sort of—ended up doing pot because they were… they were."
Mathias didn't say anything. He simply kept watching Arthur with clear blue eyes, so Arthur kept talking.
"And, well, I just wanted to say I'm sorr—"
He didn't get to finish his sentence, because then Mathias had enveloped him in a huge hug.
"Oh, Arthur," the Dane choked out. "I love you so much, man."
Arthur hadn't been expecting this. He also hadn't been expecting to have to resist the urge to laugh. He bit his lip. "Yeah, I love you too."
Mathias only tightened his embrace and… oh god, was he sniffling?
"Too long, Mattie, too long," said Arthur, still straining not to laugh.
"Oh, Christ, I'm sorry," said Mathias. He let go. "So—you? Taking drugs? Smoking? I mean, I know people in my hall who do but I would've never thought that you…."
"I wouldn't either," said Arthur quickly, looking down at his callused hands. The raised lines on his fingertips were rough and white now. "But Sadik sort of pressured me to."
"He's really quite persuasive," agreed Mathias. "Son of a bitch."
"It wasn't just that," said Arthur, slightly miffed. "I kind of thought that… that I'd play better with it…"
"Oh. Well he never said anything like that to me," grumbled Mathias. "But was he right? Did it make your playing better?"
Arthur thought. And honestly he couldn't remember much of what happened that night. The texts in his phone were a bit of a clue, he supposed, but the only things he remembered from last night were sensations. A lack of control. A sort of vulnerability, his perceptions twisted into something, different, more fascinating and brighter and sharper and maybe, just maybe better. It was like slipping into a different world, where everything was just so much more than it was without it, and he vaguely remembered the amount of power and brilliance flooding his veins. The music and the lights and faces and sensations of touch and laughter…
But he almost—as much as he had been absolutely transfixed by the brilliance—didn't like it. No, he didn't like it. It was too much; too much work, too much to deal with, too much burning in his throat and itchiness and lungs, and it took him forever to get properly high, so long it wasn't worth it. He didn't like the loss of control, the twisting of sensations, because the world was plenty confusing enough without anything else to dement it. And simply the smell brought Rhys's face to mind and made Arthur's stomach churn awfully.
"No. No, it didn't," he said truthfully. "I didn't really like it at all."
"Neither did I!" said Mathias, his eyes shining with relief. "I swear, it took me forever to actually get high and it was so bloody unpleasant, too—hey, what're you laughing at?"
Arthur shook his head, grinning. It was good to talk to Mathias again. Arthur was, quite frankly, tired of dealing with Gilbert's antics and annoyances all the time, and the Dane was a welcome change.
"Nothing," he told Mathias. "Go on."
.
"It's really great that we're back together again," said Gilbert the next day while they were heading from their dorm to their usual place to practise. "I was starting to think that we'd be all split up forever and never get anywhere and then die forever alone."
Arthur simply snorted. "Like I'm going to let that happen. We've still got to get famous."
"I forgot about that," said Gilbert, laughing.
Arthur stopped walking. "You forgot about getting famous?"
Gilbert turned pink. "That's not what I meant!"
"All right; I just thought that you of all people would want to be in the band mostly to get famous." Arthur shrugged.
"That's not true," protested Gilbert. "The band gave me everything. Bros to depend on, a girlfriend, something to do instead of homework…"
"Ugh, homework," groaned Arthur. "I keep forgetting about that. I reckon I'm making C's right now because I haven't turned in any of the set assignments…"
Gilbert laughed, and after a moment, so did Arthur. They really couldn't resist feeling giddy and happy. Not when everything around them was decorated for Christmas. Lights dangled everywhere, mistletoe blossomed over doorways and evergreen branches hung on the walls. There was a great big Christmas tree in the Eckland common room and nowadays the drink of choice was either eggnog or hot chocolate. And of course, there was always gingerbread with icing arranged on plates.
This year there were a great number of students staying at SPQR instead of going home to their families (Arthur wasn't even aware schools did that still—let students stay for the holidays—but perhaps their school was special) and they mulled around, some running around in the few inches of snow that had fallen in the past week. Others opted to curl up in the common rooms or in the dorms and gossip. There was a festive mood on campus and it was contagious. Arthur couldn't help a smile as they turned into the festive arts building, angels and candles and all sorts of other things dotting the corridors. But when they reached the practice room his smile slid off faster than he could say "bloody hell."
Standing in the room and among the amps and toms was a lot of people. Arthur could pick out Francis and Bella and Elizaveta and Antonio and Alfred and basically everyone from his classes and maybe some of the—some of the upperclassmen, holy fuck. They were all sort of just standing there, drinking sodas and eating crisps. Mathias was already sitting at his drum kit, and when he saw them he waved to them cheerfully.
Arthur stormed over to him immediately.
"What—did—you—do?" he growled through clenched teeth.
"It's nearly the winter holidays, and I just thought we should spread some of the Christmas cheer." Mathias looked slightly hurt at Arthur's rage. "It's just a jam session…"
"A jam sessi—"
"Cool it! People are watching!" Gilbert shoved Arthur. His reddish eyes flickered over to the crowd of people, and Arthur followed his gaze. Shit, were those upper sixths standing in the corner?
"Oh, all right," he grumbled. "But what were we gonna play? Did you think of that?"
"Oh, yeah!" Mathias perked up. "Yeah, I've been thinking about that! And I've got the perfect song—'Sexy and I Know It'!"
Gilbert and Arthur stared. (Well, Arthur stared. Gilbert slapped a palm over his face and tried to hold in laughter.)
"You've got to be kidding me," said Arthur loudly.
"No, that's—" Gilbert choked. "That's actually not a bad idea."
Arthur stared at his dorm-mate.
"Think about it. You can just improvise on the guitar, I could just sing, and Mathias does the beat. And I know all the words too, it's perfect. And I gots swag," he added in a damn near-perfect American accent.
It was Mathias's turn to stare, but that quickly dissolved into laughter. "Oh, I've missed this," he sighed happily.
"How'd you learn to do an American accent?" demanded Arthur.
Gilbert smirked. "That's for me to know and for you to dot, dot, dot…"
Mathias rubbed his chin. "I feel like that's from somewhere, but I don't know where…"
"Oy, when're you gonna start?" asked an outdoorsy boy with an Australian and accent that Arthur recognised from his hall.
"Ahh, sorry, lad," Gilbert said, smiling. "Come on."
Arthur took out his guitar, tuned it quickly and threw his cord out so he could walk. "All right, let's do this."
Mathias grinned. "One, two, three, four!"
And before he knew it, Arthur's fingers were flying and he didn't even understand what he was doing, exactly, but it sounded brilliant and Gilbert was dancing to it. He was really getting into it. Maybe too much.
"When I walk on by, girls be lookin' like 'damn he fly'
I pimp to the beat, walking on the street in my new lafreak, yeah
This is how I roll, animal print pants out of control
It's Redfoo with the big afro
and like Bruce Lee yeah I got the glow…"
He reeled Elizaveta in, who giggled and began shaking her hips to the beat with him.
"Girl look at that body! Girl look at that body! Girl look at that body!" and he pointed to the crowd and they all yelled, "Ah—I work out!"
Three and a half minutes of Gilbert's pelvic thrusts and flat American accent and Arthur was breathing heavily.
"That wasn't bad," he panted. "That wasn't bad at all."
"Don't ever doubt the Dane," Mathias smirked. Arthur wiped his forehead and laughed. Gilbert had Elizaveta dipped down in full-frontal snog.
Arthur just laughed. It was a fantastic holiday and there were cheers and laughter around and he was best mates with Mathias and Gilbert again.
The crowd kept cheering.
.
Christmas passed without a mishap—not too many, but it was one of the more eventful Christmas he'd had. It soon turned to New Year's Eve, where he woke up surprisingly toasty and comfortable.
Gilbert was still asleep, which was unusual because the German usually functioned on much less sleep than he did. Arthur took advantage of the moment by getting dressed in privacy and grabbing his guitar. Then he went upstairs to the roof and got it out, thankful for his new hat to protect his ears from the biting cold. Much to his disappointment, the snow that had arrived over Christmas was nearly already gone, leaving great big patches of concrete and grass on the grounds of the quad.
He sighed slightly, his breath frosting in the air, and put his shivering fingers on the fingerboard and stroked the guitar strings. The perfectly tuned fourths hummed in the still air and faded into the morning cold. He took out his iTouch and tapped 'Record.'
He shifted his fingers—he wanted something brighter today, quirky and eccentric and something like a tertiary coloured-key. E-flat would do, nicely, he thought, maybe…
Without realising how exactly it happened, the music came, and he hummed and sang nonsense words and the chords flowed smoothly into one another, and the solos and melodies ran their course and he was a little relieved that he was recording himself, because if he tried to stop and write it down, the music wouldn't let him and it just kept going and going…
When Mathias finally came up to the roof to get him, it was about noon.
"Artie, hey," he said. "What're you doing up here?"
Arthur switched his iTouch off and shoved it in his pocket. "Writing. What's up?"
"Oh, okay," said Mathias. "Well, for one, it's past noon and you must be starving."
Arthur's stomach growled. He frowned slightly.
"And second," continued the Dane, "some of the teachers staying over holiday were thinking about taking a whole lot of us to London to watch the fireworks."
"You mean like, off the London Eye?" Arthur raised an eyebrow.
Mathias rolled his eyes. "No, they're coming off Mars. Of course off the Eye."
"Like they have on BBC?"
"Like they have on BBC."
"Okay. Do I have to go?"
The Dane shrugged. "Only if you want to."
Arthur considered it and shrugged. "Eh, why no. Haven't got anything else better to do."
"Sounds good, then," said Mathias. "Do you want to get something to eat, though? Because you honestly look like you could use some food."
"How do I look like I need food?" complained Arthur.
"Oy!" yelled another voice behind them. They turned to see Gilbert shivering at the door. "What are you lot doing here; it's freezing!"
"Says the man in his jim-jams," remarked Arthur dryly.
Gilbert crossed his arms. "Shut up!"
"Go put on a jumper if you're so cold," said Mathias.
"Can't be bothered," said Gilbert quickly. "Seriously, though, come on. Come in already, you two are mental to be here."
"Mental yourself, to come up in your jim-jams," snorted Mathias.
Arthur, meanwhile, had gone off to scrape together the last bits of remaining snow into a ball. And then while Gilbert yelled "SHUT UP, MATHIAS" he seized the opportunity to lob the hastily-made snowball at his band-mate.
"Oh my GOD!" Gilbert screamed so loud that Arthur wouldn't have been so surprised if he'd woken up the whole of Greater London. "ARTHUR—YOU TOSSER—BLOODY HELL I'M WET—"
Mathias burst out laughing as Gilbert started running after Arthur, only to have the Brit duck slyly past him and fly through the door to the staircase.
"SON OF A—"
.
At 23.00 they met around the school's front gates, and the teachers lectured them about precautions and not to wander off and all that. Mathias, Gilbert, and Arthur merely stood in the back and snickered the entire time, while the naïve underclassmen listened attentively.
Then they piled onto the buses (which Arthur thought smelled a bit funny and looked a bit dodgy) and drove through the darkness to Central London. The streetlights burned into Arthur's eyes with a sort of familiarity of long nights of raucous shouting and laughter, of the rush of performing and holding a guitar in his hands.
The bus stopped and they all hopped off at a spot by the Thames. People were there already, filling the streets and crowding the squares and standing in every place they could find. They crowd was lively though it was late, and Arthur felt like a live wire, breathing in the cold air with deep, energizing lungfuls. He laughed, suddenly, shouting up at the sky, and his bandmates laughed with him. There was music playing, people dancing and singing, loving life. It was New Year's Eve. Nothing could possibly go wrong. He was in one of the most unique, enigmatic, wonderful places in the world, with the people he trusted most in the world on the most hopeful days of the year. His mind was buzzing. There was nothing to but enjoy the moment.
They waited, looking up at the Eye occasionally and back at the glowing Big Ben tower.
"So, anyone got any resolutions?" asked Mathias.
"Don't smoke pot again," said Arthur, and Mathias laughed.
"Shag Lizzie before the year ends," said Gilbert.
"Serious?" groaned Arthur, while Mathias doubled over in more laughter. "Shag?"
"Shh, don't tell her I told you!" Gilbert shoved the pair of them, glancing over his shoulder to check that his girlfriend hadn't heard.
"Too late," sang Mathias, and he ducked to avoid a punch.
"Ladies, ladies, let's stop this cat-fighting, yeah?" said a new voice, and Arthur felt a twinge of something intense. Hatred, it was hatred.
"Oy, Francis," Gilbert laughed. "Got any resolutions?"
"I'm not allowed to say," replied the French boy, grinning, "or they won't come true."
"Idioten, those are wishes," said Gilbert, but Arthur didn't really hear him; he'd just gotten a peculiar feeling in his stomach.
"You all right, Artie?" asked Mathias. Arthur managed a smile.
"I'm fine."
Elizaveta then showed up with hot chocolates for everyone, and they all stood around, laughing and joking and bantering and sipping their hot chocolates.
Then—it happened all so quickly—the crowd was shouting, counting down the seconds, ticking away—
"Ten! Nine! Eight!"
In the rush of lights and faces Arthur caught a movement at the corner of his eyes, movement of a fair face and darkish blond hair—
"Six! Five! Four!"
And then Francis was there, his blue eyes burning into Arthur's green ones—
"Two! One!"
The roar that went up around Arthur was nothing, because Francis was on his mouth and holding him and he (Arthur) didn't feel cold now, not like this, because he could taste chocolate and butter and he moved his lips, wanting more, and what was he doing, letting this happen—
A chorus of voices rose, as everyone began to join hands and sing:
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
and never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot
and auld lang syne?
Arthur didn't hear them. He'd opened his eyes, and saw that blur of hair, turning and running through the people. He let go of Francis and ran after her.
"BELLA!" he yelled, but he couldn't even hear himself; the singing was far too loud…
And surely ye'll buy your pint-cup!
and surely I'll buy mine!
And we'll take a cup o'kindness yet
for auld lang syne.
He caught up to her, in a narrow alley somewhere not far off and grabbed her shoulder. She threw him off, pushed him away.
"I don't want to talk to you," she spat bitterly.
"Bella, I'm—" he faltered, the words stuck in his throat. What would he have said?
"What?" she sneered. "What are you going to say? That you're sorry? I doubt you are."
He didn't say anything.
We two have run about the slopes
and picked the daisies fine
but we've wandered many a weary foot
since auld lang syne
After a moment of trying to gain self-composure, he spoke.
"Just, let me explain—"
"Why should I let you explain?" She scoffed, a short, dry chuckle, void of any humour. "What is there to explain?"
He found himself without words again, and the singing flooded the silence between them.
We two have paddled in the stream
from morning sun til' dine
but seas between us broad have roared
since auld lang syne
"Why are you so upset?" said Arthur quietly, desperately. Why am I so upset?
"Because," she screamed. "Because I've had a fucking crush on you all this term, and now I found out you're gay?"
He buckled under the weight of her words. "I'm not—"
"—Not gay?" Her eyes burned too, but not like Francis's had. They burned with fury. "Oh, no you couldn't be, not with the way you were snogging him!"
"No, you've got it all wrong," said Arthur with a nervous laugh. Why am I laughing?
"You were kissing back," insisted Bella. "God—you know, I've had enough of you, you're just—so fucking dense and I hate you!"
I hate you!
She pushed past him back into the crowd, still laughing and singing.
And there's a hand my trust friend!
And give us a hand o' thine!
And we'll take a right good-will draught
for auld lang syne
For auld lang syne, my dear
for auld lang syne,
we'll take a cup of kindness yet
for auld lang syne
.
author's note
Wow I have not updated in FOREVER and oh my gosh I am so sorry and thank you all so much for being so patient with me and not sending me hate mail and the like ahhhh. /deepbreath
For those of you who don't ship FrUK, I'm sorry, but there are other England pairings (namelyUSUK) coming so you can something to look forward to :3
annnnnnd I'm out because I have to go to an orchestra concert but I hope you liked it and you can definitely look forward to more; this baby isn't ending anytime soon, whelp