The A-Z Club
Chapter Three
Warning: swearing, mentions of smoking and sex.
Arthur Kirkland didn't care about what people thought of him. That hadn't always been true. Once upon a time, he cared very, very much, but then he grew up and realised that no matter what, above all else, life was shit and so were people. So he made his way across the field and towards the main streets, not quite running but walking quickly, so to get away from school as fast as he could. He wasn't going to go home. Not yet. Besides, he wasn't in the mood for that today. Sometimes when he didn't feel like going home he'd go to the library, grab a book and find a corner. He'd usually only read a page or two, before he'd fall asleep. At closing time, the elderly librarian would come up to him and shake him awake. She was in her late sixties, now, but she'd been the first new friend he'd made when he moved to America the summer he was twelve. They recommended books to each other and she made him tea, which was Earl Grey and not his favourite but he didn't mind, because it was warm and a nice thought. She let him sleep and didn't let her fellow librarians disturb him or quick him out, which was nice.
He didn't feel like going to the library today, because the bruise on his cheek would open up questions. The weather was too cold to go to his second favourite quiet place, so he'd have to go to his third. It was only half a mile away from the school, so it didn't take long to get there at all. Francis's house was big and white and objectively quite old. He knocked twice.
"Bon jour, mon cher. But what brings you here?" Francis said, leaning against the frame.
"I thought we'd do our homework together and then I'd braid your hair, and you'd paint my nails." Arthur said.
"You're hungry, aren't you?" Francis said. Arthur nodded and smiled in a way that he hoped looked genuine.
"I suppose I'll feed you, if it will save from the horror of eating American fast food." Francis said, sighing dramatically and letting Arthur in. Arthur followed him to the kitchen, taking his coat off and folding it over his arm.
"Why didn't you eat at lunch?"
"I wasn't hungry at lunch." Arthur says. "Besides, canteen food is crap. I'll have a heart attack."
Francis rolled his eyes but didn't argue.
"Are you coming out tonight?" Arthur said.
"Non. And I don't think you should, either." Francis says. "You look exhausted."
"Don't tell me what to do." Arthur said. "I'll just call Gilbert."
"Do you want Gilbert to cook for you, too?"
Arthur pulled a face.
"Whatever, Frog." He said, but he didn't call Gilbert. Francis cooked for him, and Arthur watched closely but he knew he'd never be able to recreate it.
"When was the last time you ate?" Francis said, cutting some kind of oddly shaped vegetable that Arthur couldn't even name.
"Lunch."
"No you didn't."
"Yesterday lunch. I didn't have time for dinner and you know I hate breakfast on principle." Arthur said. He took a sip of the glass of water he'd been given. Francis had initially dared to offer him coffee, which he wouldn't drink.
"You should at least eat lunch everyday, Arthur. If it's the only guaranteed - "
"Francis." Arthur said. "Isn't it bloody enough that I have to swallow my pride and come here and eat French food? That should make you happy." He was half-joking and frowning beneath the smile on his face.
"But cher, this recipe is Italian." Francis said, smiling, and leaving the oven to walk over to Arthur.
"It's gotten worse." Francis said, quietly, even though they were the only ones present in the big house.
Arthur slid of the stool and grabbed his bag and coat.
"I knew this was a bad idea." He said. He turned to leave but Francis grabbed his wrist. "Let me go, Frog."
"Non, you are not going. You are going to sit down and eat the meal I cooked you. And then you're going to have a shower - because, no offence, Arthur, you smell like substances I'd rather not let my mother know you take. And you're going to spend the night. Comprenez vous?" Francis said, his voice was light with an underlying threat. Arthur pulled his wrist roughly out of Francis's grasp, but sat back down.
He fell into silence, staring darkly at his glass of water.
88
"Where is Kirkland?" Phillips demanded, Alfred looked up from his homework.
"He went to the bathroom like five minutes ago." Alfred said. Phillips's nostrils flared and his face went from the pinched pink to a bright, tomato red. "What's wrong sir?"
Philips was taking deep breaths, a dark purple vein was bulging in his forehead.
"Congratulations, Jones. You've earned yourself another detention!" Phillips snarled.
Alfred frowned.
"What? Why?!"
"For not coming to get me as soon as Kirkland left the room!"
"You told me to stay in my seat! I was doing as you said! I didn't realise Kirkland needed a escort to go to the bathroom!" Alfred said.
Phillips's fade darkened still.
"Detention. Tomorrow and Monday. Don't push it, Jones."
"You can't do that!" Alfred objected.
"I can and I have, Jones." Phillips said. "If I had my way you would have gotten a week for what you did in the first place!"
Alfred sighed, and relented. It wasn't worth arguing with Phillips. He'd be good as gold tomorrow, and practically platinum on Monday, to show Phillips he was a good student, and nothing like Arthur Kirkland.
"Ok, sir, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have spoken back." He said. He hoped that his would be enough.
"Just Friday after school." He said. "Forget Monday. You need to go to football practice."
Alfred grinned his million-dollar grin.
"Thanks!" He said, grabbing his back pack and homework and shooting off before Phillips could change his mind.
88
Arthur had eaten and showered and was wearing a pair of Francis's jeans and pale blue cotton shirt. They fitted quite well, maybe slightly looser than they were meant to be, but they looked fine. Francis had washed Arthur's own clothes, and now they were sat watching tv. Well, each thought the other was paying attention to the movie, but neither actually was. Francis was worrying and Arthur was plotting. Arthur wasn't sure he wanted to go to school the next day, but staying with Francis meant he'd have to. He didn't foresee Francis letting him leave, and Francis had hidden Arthur's cigarettes and stuff somewhere away from where his mother might find them. If Arthur left in the middle of the night, he'd have time to find them, but he'd have nowhere to spend the night because he no longer had a key to his own house.
"It's a home, not a hotel. You can't come and go as you please. The door locks at ten and opens at seven," his mother had said, taking his key out of his hands when he hadn't exactly been sober. If he didn't come home at the right times he had to find some where else to stay. Usually Francis or Gilbert or one of those let him, but once or twice he'd found himself on the street or in someone's bed without much recollection of what exactly had gone on.
Francis, on the other hand, was thinking about how he could get Arthur to stay. He knew Arthur wasn't happy at home. They'd known eachother forever, and a long time ago they were neighbours. It felt like a lifetime has passed since Francis's family had moved, and they assumed they'd never see each other again. He'd been happy then, Francis supposed, but most five year olds were. When, years later, Arthur reemerged in his life, he had done so with a broken family and a terrible attitude. Still, they'd caught up. Their friendly rivalry hadn't changed, and Arthur had settled in well with Francis's friends, even if he was somehow even grumpier and more prone to tantrums and outbursts as a teenager than he'd ever been as a toddler. But Arthur started going out more, getting into fights with people that weren't Francis (and he and Arthur were brothers, practically, they were supposed to fight) and it was getting worse and worse. Francis saw it. At least at first it had been a double life. He'd watch movies with Francis and his other friends, they'd play soccer in the park and even ride bikes, and then Arthur would go out and release anger. And now he was angry all the time, and Francis who could always
calm him down, even when they were the ones doing the fighting, couldn't do anything. He had to get Arthur to stay with him. All he had to do was get his mother to agree with it. Arthur's mother wouldn't care or do anything about it.
"Arthur?"
"What, Francis?" Arthur said, snappily.
"You know you can talk to me?"
"Yes." Arthur said, staring blankly at the television.
"Good." Francis said. He decided to go for a different topic. "How was detention?"
"Joyous."
"When was the last time you didn't have detention?"
"I don't know. A few months ago. It's usually a good place to nap."
"Usually?" Francis said.
"Bloody Alfred Jones."
"Ah." Francis said. "The boy that came to reprimand you at lunch?"
"Yes, him."
"He's handsome, no?"
"I suppose he is." Arthur said. "He distracts me when I could be sleeping." Arthur yawned as he spoke.
"A complete virgin." Francis said.
Arthur sat up straighter. "How do you know that?"
"I can always tell, mon cher, I can always tell."
A/N: thank you so much reading/reviewing, favouriting or following, I appreciate it so much.