THANK YOU to all of you who kept on reading, supporting and giving advices to this stupid lazy bum. I do appreciate every single word you wrote. Thank you.

WARNING: This chapter is extremely sad. Hey, these characters are going to walk a long path together, but my wild imagination says that a dive in the past isn't too bad. Boring? Long? It's their past. Everyone has a past, not everyone a future.

Pouring Rain

With a loud huff Arthur let his body drop on the empty half of his dark sofa, not minding the squeaking sound coming soon after. Resting his head on the arm, he retreated on his cushion, gazing at the colorful singing screen. Peeking from the corner of his eyes, Francis let a small smile appear on his face as soon as a slight sigh escaped his lips. Then the jingling monitor caught his attention once again.

Noticing he was no more spied, Arthur adjusted his position, planting his white socks in the Frenchman's lap. Frowning, but still trapped into the many advertisements, Francis merely pushed the other's feet away with the palm of his hand. Smirking, the Brit not only placed his cotton socks in his lap again, but he also turned completely to enjoy the sight of his annoyed friend. He was so hilarious, lifting his limps by catching his toes between his finger and thumb. And the way he sighed! He wasn't really bothered, quite amused, actually, but the determination in his eyes was the real reason why Arthur wouldn't stop being a nuisance.

When Francis turned, there was little anger on his face. It wasn't a threat, nor an intimidation the reason for the sparkling in his eyes. No, it was a well-known glimpse. He was tasting the bittersweet pleasure of the challenge, bit after bit. His malicious smile told Arthur so. Yet, Arthur just smirked back and reaching for a pillow, throw it against his enemy, who protected himself readily and attacked back. He balked on, pillow in hand, and pushed it hard on his foe's face.

They were in the middle of a furious struggle, when the light suddenly went off.

Jumping each one to one side of the couch, they listened to the pouring rain outside. When did it start to rain? That didn't matter, they perfectly know the weather in England was quite awful. But then, the violent brightness of a lightning entered the windows.

The lamps went on an off randomly, the TV rattled incoherently, the phone started shaking furiously and a thick smoke escape from the receiver. Outside, the rain whipped the windows hastily, while inside there was no more than madness.

Widening his eyes, Francis dug his nails into the soft pillow before screaming madly. Arthur shifted to him fast as he pressed the silk shield to his face to muffle his cries into its softness. Leaving him to run to the window, Arthur was shocked by the terrifying display of the lamppost falling to the ground like a dead puppet, along with some broken black strings. On the dark asphalt, the obscure cables started a wild dance, electricity sparkling in the night creating a devilish sight.

Scared for their lives, Arthur reached for his friend's hand and dragged him to the stairs and down, took their coats, his wallet, his mobile, the keys and out, into the car, and off, down the road, away from danger.

As soon as he felt safer, he called the police. Who would care if he was driving, it was an emergency. But the police disappointed him once again. "Electricity? That's not our problem. Contact the owner." Stupid privatization of resources. His house was about to be on fire! But of course, it was his house not theirs. Glancing to the seat next to him, he could see the weak frame of his friend being consumed by tragic memories. He swallowed hard, but it was like his throat had been pierced with thousands of needles. Trying to concentrate on the road in front of him, he couldn't but peek to the side from time to time. Yet, all he could see was the broken frame of a lonesome empty soul.

Do you remember when we used to be happy?

When was it? Many and many years ago, that's right. Right after our marriages. You used to shine with glee and joy and your bright smile never left your joyous face. You were truly happy back then, weren't you? I hadn't been so lucky, but you, you were sincerely happy with her.

Oh, I remember the times when we used to meet all together at your place. The way you whispered sweet love into her ears and how you could be the living soul of our parties. There was always a light on at yours', because you couldn't but share the immense gaiety that blessed your life. You had me meet your friends and to all of them said: "This is my lover, Arthur. He's quite rough and a bit of a bastard, but he's not too bad. He's worse.".

Old good times. The delicate perfume of your house, the voices eternally sweet, the company than never left. And your adorable wife, the woman you loved above all.

Until the night took her away.

It was in Normandy or Bretagne? I don't remember. We never recall such things. She was driving on the highway to get to you, as fast as she could. The lights at her sides, the night pitch dark, the rain on the windows, the lightening and she ran, she ran to her death as fast as she could. She pressed her foot on the accelerator despite the violent wind. She missed you, you had been away for days and she missed your soft voice, the heat of your breath, the touch of your skin. But her hopes faded away as the wheels slipped on the wet highway.

Your house was silent from that day on.

Parking the car in front of the hotel, Arthur put on his coat and covered the other's shoulders with his jacket. He was trembling, staring into emptiness with a blank expression on his emotionless face. Biting his lips, the younger blond distanced their bodies, but as soon as he reached for the handle, he heard the other's cold voice faltering a "Please, don't leave me alone."

Swallowing back tears, Arthur opened the door, but he felt the other grimacing in pain. Covering his head with his coat, he quickly ran to the other side of the car to help the other walk. They stumbled together into the warm hall of the hotel, limping to a receptionist.

The young men offering his services looked at them with utter disbelief -and clear disgust. But as soon as Arthur showed him money, he treated them with much more kindness. They talked briefly, exchanged keys, swapped money, a sign on a book and some information. The storm was getting increasingly violent and lots of people had decided to leave their houses to their destiny and look for serenity in the countryside just outside the town. Trees falling, power cuts, flooding were seen as normal consequences of such a furious weather.

Holding Francis' arm, which was still firmly gripping the silk pillow now covered in rain and tears, Arthur quickly walked to their rooms. Inserting the plastic card, he opened the light brown door and pressed the white switch on the wall to light up the room. He dragged his friend to the near bathroom, not caring when the jacket or pillow fell on the carpeted floor, before letting cold water stream out of the tap. He placed Francis' hands under the low-temperature liquid, before slowly turning the handle to make it get hotter.

He didn't look up, he wanted to, but he was afraid he would watch into two empty globes. The thought he would find his own opaque reflection into those lifeless orbs scared him too much. For now, he just wanted to stop the trembling. Once the water was warmer, he left his hands in the sink and went out of the room. His clothes weren't too wet, he could use them to sleep. Maybe not the trousers, for they had some stains that needed drying, but he still had his coat to cover his crumpled T-shirt in the morning. He glanced at his friend, noticing now that he was barefoot. He sighed as he didn't have the courage to watch at his own bunny slippers.

Leaving his coat hanging to the side of a chair, he took off his trousers and folded them neatly before placing them at the end of his chosen bed. He then walked to collect his friend's jacket and pillow, which were treated with the same kindness and carefully put next to his own clothes.

By the time he finished tidying up the room, Francis had left the bathroom to sit at the edge of the bed. Scratching his own shoulders, his elbows shielded him from the dull reality. Arthur headed to the bed, sitting next to him. Passing a hand behind his back, he slowly massaged his shoulders, looking into his void misty eyes. The kind contact relaxed the older blond, as his shield loosened and his hands fell between his legs. His eyes were still staring at blank spaces in front of them, but he seemed more relaxed now. Probably, because the rumble of the storm wasn't so noisy in that clean room, Arthur thought. He would never dare say it was his merit for anything.

Everybody left.

Some had problems at home, some couldn't because of work, some didn't have the money. In the end, Francis was left alone.

Arthur was the last to know. Being only a sad acquaintance, the news came to him too late. So late, that he missed the funeral. He had had another quarrel that day. His marriage was in the middle of a serious crisis and his wife threatened to leave him if he didn't change. Change what? He kept on asking. But she never answered.

She had just shouted she was ready to pack her bags and leave that "rotten gutter", the day the news arrived. When he saw her baggage prepared, he didn't say a word. Arthur never spoke too much. Words ruined everything. They spent a long, everlasting minute scrutinizing each other's eyes, when she finally asked. "Going to France, I suppose."

When she closed the last suitcase, Arthur shut the door behind his back.

There he found Francis, knelt down in front of his wife's grave. Tears were running down the cold tombstone as he scratched it with his bleeding fingers. He had been there for two days, they said, sobbing and crying in front of his love's corpse. No noise escaped his lips, no sound produced his crimson fingers, but the dreadful spectacle of his unhappiness could clench the heart of the marble statues surrounding him.

Love more than courage helped Arthur decide. He walked slowly but sternly towards the gravestone, stopping only in front of Francis. There, he posed a bouquet of white lilies and chrysanthemums, bowing to pray for the dead. Yet, he could see a more awful cadaver refusing to live leaning on that same tombstone.

He also knelt down on the small white rocks. They were cold and humid, kind of wet, but he didn't care. He breathed slowly, staring at the tragic show in front of him. Their chosen ones were now separated from them. Forever. They could no more love or hate them, just remember how beautiful it was when happiness blessed them with cheerful joy. But now there came the night. And so they spent their first evening crying miserably on their lonely grave.

Francis' head rested on his shoulder for infinite minutes. Many thoughts were racing in his head, some good, some bad, some serious, some dreadful. He thought of death. Oh, it was not unusual for him to think of Death. When he was young, he imagined it as something very far from reality, as it would not touch him until he was near the fatal hour himself. Unfortunately, he soon discovered that Death concerned him, too, as people he loved might die. He often wondered who would miss him, if he died. The only one he thought would was now a corpse herself. He was alone, then? Nobody would care if he disappeared. Nobody would cry on his tombstone, or bring flowers, or say a prayer, or remember him. More often he had imagined how he would die. Suicide was his first idea, because why living, when you've got nothing? And so he had thought of death before the "accident", as everyone sadistically enjoyed calling it.

Alone on that gravestone he had wished to die so many times, mixing his blood and his tears on his face. No-one would stop to comfort him, for the burden of his pain was too heavy. But then came Arthur. He knelt there and watched. He knew the small rocks were piercing through the flesh of his knees, yet he didn't move. He kept on staring at him, as he was waiting for something. He wasn't judging him or being merciful. He was just waiting.

Arthur was always a ghostly presence at their meetings. The woman he had married was no longer welcome into his house, for she had remarked evilly on their hospitality. But overall, she had always been nothing more than a pain to everyone. She hated his own wife, Francis always reminded himself, that's why he wasn't supposed to show her any affection or compassion. But Arthur, Arthur was always welcome. He had always suffered, poor soul. First his family, then his wife, then his friends, they all betrayed him some way. He had grown sad and scared, always suspicious, always alone. He talked little, but he always remarked brilliantly. It seemed to him to have some kind of elder brother's duty towards him, that's why he never left him alone in his house for too long, but he enjoyed taking him around. But now that he was looking at him so horribly disfigured by sufferance, how could he claim to be a Big Brother?

Only Arthur came to witness his pain.

As the night fell, he approached him, dried his tears with the hem of his shirt and covered him with his own coat, before helping him stand up and walk. He didn't say anything, Francis recalled. Just in his eyes there was a profound sadness and a small glowing hope. He drove them home, he remembered, and he also felt again the same miserable knife he could not take out of his ribs at the time.

Sounds. Luggage packing, shirts flowing, cluttering of glasses, zip closing echoed in his house. He didn't care what was going on, he didn't care at all. Now he was alone, without his love, without his heart, how could he keep on living? But Arthur forced him out of the house, closed the door behind his back and took him to London.

He was alone at home, but Francis didn't notice at first. Also Arthur didn't seem to notice. On the first day, Arthur had managed to have them sleep in the same room. Someone once told him that familiar loss might cause trauma or suicidal feelings, that's why he never wanted Francis to be on his own for too much time. A thing Francis discovered by reading his "Sent messages" once Arthur forgot to turn off his mobile. Francis just spent his day staring at the ceiling. He didn't move, he just stared at the yellowish paint, letting thousands of thoughts pervade his sombre mind.

At first, he refused eating. He wanted to die and eating seemed to him just a way to keep on suffering. All he wanted was to have his love back. He wanted to love again, but he could only see pain and destruction all around him. But this also hindered him the view of the efforts Arthur was making for him. He worked all day trying to be always there for him, trying to comfort him in any possible way. Arthur didn't cook for him, though. It was a young Chinese living nearby who offered to help them in exchange for little favors and financial help who had this task. When he was at work, Arthur used to phone him once or twice every hour. Sometimes Francis didn't answer, so he merely left a message in the answering machine. He didn't let the phone ring more than thrice, anyway. In the evening, he would sit next to him and read some novel or poetry, British and French, and he would always wait for him to fall asleep before laying himself, even though he was horribly tired. Francis couldn't see all this efforts, for his mind was caged into a web of lies. But one day it decided to open up a bit, as only loneliness would let its sickness develop.

It was a serene evening, the light wasn't too stingy or the temperature too low. Arthur was placing his plate in front of him, when Francis turned to look into his eyes. Arthur jumped back, but then let a small smile creep on his face. He needed to reassure him, not to scare him. The older blond put the warm blanket around his waist and sat composedly at the table, staring into his plate. Arthur offered him a spoon, which he immediately accepted. Silently, he allowed himself a spoonful of steaming-hot good soup.

It was strange, really. The warm liquid was so good even if so simple. When was the last time I ate? He wondered. He soon realized he hadn't thanked Arthur for all his bother, but he could not let the words out of his throat. Yet, he found the courage to look up.

That evening, he noticed something new, something he had never seen before on Arthur's white face. He had true joy in his glowing green eyes. And that, that was the reason for him to keep on.

End Ch. 7

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