Hey, Canadaslighter here. I am so sorry for the long break. I've had a lot of exams and university prep meetings and I really don't deal with stress well. And I'm sorry this is so short. I've changed a few plot parts for the future, but I will finish this. Sorry again. Really sorry :( Well, I hope you enjoy :)
"I bet you're happy now, frog," Arthur growled, head in hands on the bar the three men sat at. Francis, a glass of the finest wine in this fine establishment in his hand, just raised an eyebrow at his (current) friend.
"What on earth are you talking about, Angleterre?"
"Matthew, what else you twat?"
The difference in the postures was noticeable immediately, both Francis and Gilbert stiffening as they took in the sight of the drunk man before them. He was literally drowning his sorrows, blond hair dishevelled and dark circles under his eyes. He was a wreck. The pair couldn't help but feel some glee at the sight but they pushed it down with concern for the boy.
"Matthew?"
They both had a feeling what Arthur would say next.
"He's independent. He-We signed the papers this morning," the Brit buried his head into his arms, shaking slightly. "He was so happy. God he was so happy. So fucking happy to be rid of me."
Gilbert could see Francis smiling, a light of hope sparking up in his eyes. His son was finally free. He stood, the stool he sat on clattering to the ground. All eyes in the bar turned to the trio. Not that they cared.
"Mon Mattieu…"
With that, Francis left, his blue cape flying behind. Gilbert rubbed his hand over the fine tweed jacket of the miserable man. It had been a while since he had seen him in a state like this.
"Just leave. I know you want to."
"Art-"
"Everyone does. They all do."
"I kno-"
"Fuck off."
And so Gilbert did.