I'm so, so, so, so, so, so sorry that I needed so long for this chapter but I had some major problems with it and I am still not satisfied with it, but oh well. No Alfred in this chapter, but a little more insight in Arthur's and Scott's relationship.
Thank you so much for all your lovely comments and favs, they made me very, very happy 3
Enjoy!
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Chapter Seven
When Arthur comes home, Scott waits for him, even though other people probably would not think he does. But Arthur knows Scott, knows him so, so well and doesn't understand him at the same time, and maybe this is why what is between them hurts so much sometimes.
He doesn't bother changing out of the costume, just shrugs off the jacket and tosses the hat away; it lands on the lamppost and Arthur silently congratulates himself for his good aim before wandering into the living room.
Scott stands in front of the window, playing the violin, and it's beautiful, it always is. Arthur resists the urge to sink down to his feet and listen to him like he did when he was a child. Instead, he drops onto the couch, places his boots on the arm rest of the couch and watches him, watches Scott's strong, carefully measured motions, the way his shoulders move when he strikes the bow across the violin. It's Arthur's instrument, actually, but Scott hasn't played the violin for a long, long time and so Arthur says nothing. He recognizes the composition very well, the sweet softness of it that always reminds him of his sister singing a lullaby for them every night.
The play ends and Scott lets the bow sink. Neither of them moves for a moment, then Scott turns around- he's always been braver, bolder than Arthur could ever be and there are moments he hates him for that- and looks at him.
"Remember when I taught you how to play?" He asks with a voice that is even rougher than usual and holds up the bow and the violin. Arthurs nods and frowns because he has no idea where Scott tries to go with that remark.
"You were awful in the beginning," Scott says with a grin and Arthur resists the urge to smash his face, but then Scott's expression almost invisibly changes into something softer and Arthur's breath inevitably goes faster because god damn, he loves this smile. "But then you got the hang out of it and now you're one of the most fucking talented musicians I've ever seen. It's a pity you don't wanna earn money with it, seriously."
"I like being in the family business," Arthur says and it doesn't quite come out as sarcastic as intended. Scott sighs and sits down on the edge of the sofa, facing him.
"Don't always run away whenever shit hits the fan between us, Arthur," Scott says and he has that crease between his brows that tells Arthur that he is serious. "You're not a child anymore and I'm sick and tired of it. What we need is to trust each other, that's pretty essential for every relationship, and trust also includes talking shit out instead of just vanishing into the fucking night without a word. Okay?"
"Okay," Arthur says and hates how quiet he sounds, hates it so much that he fumbles for a cigarette and lights it at once, taking a slow drag from it. Scott watches him silently for a moment, then he shakes his head and asks, "I guess it's pretty pointless to ask you where you've been?"
"Bars, more bars, costume shop, another bar, Francis, pissed off the damn frog, passed out on his carpet and came back," Arthur mutters and closes his eyes. "Play for me again?"
He can hear Scott's sigh, but then he starts to play the violin again and Arthur almost, almost feels at ease with his own life.
/
Francois starts searching at the club, because where else should he, where else could he begin? For a moment he realizes that he knows next to nothing about Alfred. He knows his smile, of course, the different shades of blue his eyes can have, the way his muscles move beneath his clothes, the way he moves when he is comfortable and the way he moves when he works, but he doesn't know where he lives, what he likes, what he doesn't like, what he does when he's not working or in Francois's atelier.
And suddenly, he wants to know these things.
But first of all, he wants to apologize for Arthur's insult and his own, quite lacking reaction where he should have defended Alfred in an instant, so he takes a deep breath and walks into the club.
In the cold light of day, the club looks quite unfamiliar. Where Francois remembered bright lights and crowded space are now empty spaces in the half-light and only one or two staff members. One of them notices him and walks over to him. Francois recognizes the young woman from his last visit and puts on his most charming smile.
"Good day, mademoiselle," He greets, still smiling. "I was hoping you could help me find someone."
"Someone?" She repeats and frowns a little, so Francois elaborates, "I was hoping you could help me find Alfred, to be precise."
"He only works in the evenings," She tells him and smiles apologetically before she adds, "And we don't give out the address of our boys and girls. I'm sorry."
"Look, it is really important," Francois says and tries not to sound impatient, still keeping up his smile. "I need to tell him something and it can't wait."
"Well, but it seems as if it has to wait," She says and there is steel underneath her sweet, soft voice that reminds him of Monique. "I'm sorry, but we have a certain policy here, I'm sure you understand."
"Yes," Francois answers tonelessly and straightens his shoulders. He knows when he has lost a battle and is wiser than trying to fight his way through. He is fairly sure that this would only result in making the staff even more reluctant to help him. "Yes, I do. Thank you for your time."
"You're welcome, sir," She answers. He almost believes her.
/
"Tell me," Monique demands while putting on new lipstick that turns her lips into a fiery red color. "Tell me why this means so much to you. This is not Moulin Rouge, Francois, you cannot fall in love with a prostitute and expect him to love you back."
"In Moulin Rouge, the prostitute dies in the end," Francois reminds her and brushes her hair, smoothing down a particularly stubborn curl and pressing a kiss on the top of her head. Monique smiles at him through the mirror and takes a sip from the glass of wine he poured her.
"Exactly," She says, "So what do we learn from that? Stop dreaming something into this situation, Francois. You pay him for a certain service. I'm pretty sure he is used to being insulted and he didn't take what Arthur said that hard. It would surprise me if he hasn't heard much worse before."
"That is not the point," Francois protests and suddenly feels infuriated. "The point is that no matter what he does for a living, Arthur was very rude and I didn't do much to defend him and that wasn't right. I want to tell him that he is special to me, Monique. What is wrong with that?"
Monique sighs and takes another sip from her wine. "I worry for you," She finally says, "This whole story will bring you pain, hear my words."