Français-English:

Hé, Bien. -Well...

Arrête – Stop!

S'il te plait! - Please!

Cherche-moi – Look for me!

Sourcils - Eyebrows /I couldn't resist)

Mon amaaaaant! Dans la cuisiiiine – My love, in the kitchen!

Notting Hill Carnival_ a popular celebration in Notting Hill (London).

Dark rain

"Hé, Bien... At least our hands are clean now!" Francis said with a content smile on his bright face.

"Hands?"Asked Arthur with a puzzled look on his still wet face, reaching for two soft towels abandoned on the slippery floor. He handed one to Francis, who took it from his hands and started drying himself.

"Well, sorry, but what do you think I was doing in the bathroom?" He asked rubbing his hair.

Arthur gave a quick glance around. "Dunno... Rearranging my furniture?"

Chuckling at the answer, Francis raised himself up on his elbows as Arthur stepped out of the bath tube, offering his tended hand to his good friend. As Francis reached for it, Arthur pulled hard to lift him up, but their slippery hands divided only to let him bump on the floor.

"Ouch!"

"Aie!" Echoed Francis.

"Aie? Couldn't you say something manlier?" Arthur almost yelled as he tried to stand up again.

Snorting, Francis replied lifting himself up. "Aie is a perfect exclamation to express pain. At least I don't growl like a grumpy granny!"

"I don't growl like a granny!" Arthur complained offended, brushing some invisible dust off his doused shirt.

"Certainly not, my fair lady!" Francis dodged the soaked shirt thrown at him and went out from the bath tube, following Arthur into the mirror. The dark passage led directly to his bedroom, popping out from a picture of Arthur dressed like during the Victorian Era. Notting Hill Carnival, maybe? He knew his small house was full of this kind of tricks, but it was always quite awkward and weird to discover a new one.

"May I ask why there is a corridor connecting these two rooms?"

"Alfred."

Silence.

While Francis made himself comfortable on the crimson red armchair, Arthur opened his giant wardrobe to get some warm clothes. He didn't hear the other sighing and look sorrily at the hole behind the picture.

"Any problems in wearing a T-shirt, Mr. Fashion?" He was asked from behind the black wooden wardrobe door.

Francis, still admiring the blood-coloured room with a pleased smile on his face, shook his head slightly. "I would go around in the nude if I didn't know you could get jealous."

With a light blush creeping on his cheeks, Arthur turned to throw a random black T-shirt at his friend's grinning face.

"Stop giggling!" He growled. But Francis' giggle turned into a snicker which shifted fast to a heartedly laugh as Arthur kept on throwing clothes at him, getting redder and redder as his blood boiled. Soon the drawer was empty and his hands could feel the cold wood under his palms. Narrowing his eyes at the Frenchman doubling up with laughter, Arthur stomped forward to the armchair just to stop in front of his jolly companion with his hands arisen. A strange smirk drew his evil way on his burning face as suddenly his hands went down to tickle.

Yelping and twisting even more, Francis fell off the armchair and started rolling on the black fitted carpet to the crimson-red bed to get free from the torture. Kneeling down, Arthur followed him, shifting his wiggly fingers from his abs to his armpits and then up to his neck and then down to his chest and then down again, getting pleasure from his desperate pleas to stop. "Ahahah- Arrête! Arrête! Ahahahah! S'il te plait! S'il te plait!!" Francis begged swirling from side to side, unable to stop laughing. But Arthur was too delighted to stop and kept on moving back and forth quickly, following him as he crept under his bed.

He took a hold of his foot and pulled it hard, but Francis was already half-hidden in the dusty darkness and his hands weren't going to release their clasp on the springs. With many efforts, he pushed himself more and more into the obscure dirt until he was free like a mouse.

"Ah-ah!" His happy voice smiled from the eternal night. "You won't torture me any more, sourcils! And... Woah, what's that? Ohohoh, naughty Artie!"

Getting redder at the sound of paper unfolding, Arthur ran to the other side of the bed, knelt down and sticking his head to the floor, he raised the sheets to face his enemy, but it was too dark under there to see his face properly. "Francis-! Come here!" Rubbing his fingers together he mocked childishly. "Francis, look! I've got cheese!"

"But I've got porn! And what porn..." His voice trailed off in the dark. He couldn't see very well, but he was sure the magazines he was holding weren't much cleaner than is surroundings. And what was it? An iron case? An iron case... Ohohoh!

The Brit sighed. "What a randy little mouse you are..." Francis smiled under the bed before squeaking.

"Eek! Eek! I'm a mouse! A randy little mouse! And I've got a photo of you dressed like a Rio dancer!"

"What have you-?" Madly angry, Arthur crept under the bed himself, noticed by Francis who rolled and escaped from the other side and ran out from the bedroom to go hide himself in another room. Still blided by his rage, it wasn't too difficult for Arthur to get out of the obscure dirt under his bed, before yelling, stomping out of the room.

"Francis, you bloody frog, where are you?"

"Cherche-moi!"

Arthur growled in despair, put on a random grey T-shirt and started searching. Opening the doors with well-aimed kicks, all squeaked under his angry touch. But then he came to the end of the corridor, where an old sign was hanging, half covered with mould and loneliness. Alfred.

Arthur stopped and leaned against the nearby wall. He so hoped Francis didn't get in there. He didn't want anyone to get in there. That was his brother's room, his little brother's room, his...

"Mon amaaaaant! Dans la cuisiiiine!"

The kitchen? Oh, yes, how could he forget! The water was boiling by the time. He left sighing, giving a last glance at that closed door. It has been closed for years now. His brother was in America, probably. Yes, and he was being successful. No wonder he hadn't written in... what? Two, three years? No wonder he probably had already got married to some young sexy chick, and he was probably already working, he had an home there, he...

"Arthur, stop thinking. It's bad for you." Francis warned sweetly.

"How can it be that bad?" He raised his gaze, but Francis was too busy looking for a frying pan to pay him attention. "Francis, why does it hurt so much?" But Francis didn't answer, he took a long knife from the white drawer and placed it on the table. "Francis, please, answer me! Why? Why does it hurt so much to be alone?" Arthur begged with watery eyes, but Francis opened the fridge to take some onions and tomatoes and placed them as well in a bowl full of water on the table, reaching for a dish in the cupboard. "F-Francis..." Arthur looked down sadly.

"Here." The Frenchman handed him the knife coldly.

"W-What?" Arthur stared at the sharp blade which reflected the few drops already running down his cheeks.

"Take it." He stated seriously. Arthur obeyed and grabbed it. The shining knife made a strange impression on him. How much time had passed? Eight, ten years? Since when had he been alone? The house was so empty now, with no voices, no running of kids, no woman to chat after work, no friend to boast with. Suddenly, he felt a push behind his back and he moved forward to the table. He looked back to see Francis' icy eyes glimmering with sadness. As soon as he turned he could see all the ingredients in front of him on the table. Only Francis didn't left.

"Fran-"

Francis silenced him with a frosty glare and then started. "Now, this is a tomato." He took a tomato and placed it in the dish in front of them. Taking his hands in his own, they sliced it into two perfect halves. "Good. You've just cut a tomato in two."

Arthur bowed his head down as a faint smile appeared on his face. Then he looked up again, staring at their divided tomato.

"It looks like it's bleeding."

Francis stirred. No, it wasn't bleeding. They didn't kill it. And yet, an incredible pity took over his soul as he leaned down to embrace Arthur, to protect him, to save him. He could feel the darkness all around him, piercing through him, the loneliness slowly eating up his mind. And the silence, the protective, yet devious silence he had to live with as a selfish companion. But now their hearts were beating as fast as the rain pouring outside.

And so they hugged silently, leaning on each other's shoulder.

End Ch.3

Yes, this is the classical WTF-chapter every story has. Because we need this chapters! We hate them with passion, but we can't keep on without them! Anyway, it only purpose was to annoy you. To the next one!