A Thousand of Drops

"You spilled coffee all over my shirt!"

"Beg there's not a single drop on here or that shirt will turn red with blood!" Arthur hissed collecting the forms hurriedly, checking them quickly before making a chaotic pile out of them. He was angry, angry at the world, at Francis, at himself, so mad that he could tremble. When Francis handed him a paper that had ended up on the other side of the corridor, he grasped it violently from his hands glaring at him with pure hatred. He had lied to him. His best friend had lied to him. How could he trust him any longer?

Sneering, he clutched all the paper with his quivering hands and headed towards the elevator under everyone's surprised stare. He pressed the red button, insulted the too-slow opening doors and stomped in furiously, not noticing Francis had followed him inside.

"What the hell are you doing here? Get out!"

"No, first you tell me what's going on!"

"Get. OUT!"

"ARTHUR!" Before he had the time to protest, Arthur had already kicked him out the elevator, much to the by-standers' surprise. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU STARING AT?" He yelled noticing the small crowd peeking from the end of the corridor, before the metal doors closed in front of his wrinkled face.

As the usually ordinary, dull Arthur disappeared, everyone's eyes moved to Ludwig, whose silent dropped jaw was the insufficient answer to all their unsolved questions. Especially Francis'.

"Beilschmidt, what did you do to Arthur?" His face were burning with mad fire as his fist clenched to his sides in approaching him. His azure globes, so vivid and calm, were now lucidly flaming as an insane crave for smashing his head against the wall crept into his sick mind. Ludwig's blank expression clearly transmitted his total ignorance as well as his absolute confusion, but seeing him so clueless only made Francis more enraged. He stomped up to him, feeling his own tensed body quivering, but thankfully the left sane part of his brain forced him to keep quiet and still.

Feeling the tickling of the other policemen's eyes on them, he glared at Ludwig with such hate and disdain, that he had to lower his eyes until Francis elbowed him shoving him to the side and entered Arthur's office slamming the door with such violence, that he was afraid he might've broken it. Awkwardly, but still trying to make it look like an imposing order, Ludwig coughed. When the mixed noise of computers and murmurs filled the silence, magic vanished in the air.

Only Arthur couldn't feel the newly established atmosphere of hypocrisy and fake smiles there on the second floor, as he was too busy walking up and down the corridors of the main archive on the second underground level, looking for the A filing cabinet. He often shook his head to keep away the guilty feeling in the back of his brain threatening to take over his mind by trying to concentrate on his work. When the last catalogue was eventually closed, a sudden wave unbalanced him to the point he thought he was falling. On leaning on the cold wall next to the elevator, his mind wandered to his office upstairs, where Lily, Ludwig, and, most important of all, Francis, were waiting for him.

He wrapped an arm around his waist, feeling suddenly sick. He didn't want to meet them, he didn't want to give explanations. There, under the soil, silence was a sweet lullaby that calmed his senses with its freshness. Only the light footsteps of some soul walking up an down the floor above him kept him company, a discreet company that asked no more than to ignore him.

He slid down the wall, cold in his own embrace, as he let the small and frail part of his own self suggest him faint memories. "Why are you still alive?" He kept wondering, remembering the times where he felt real happiness. Francis and him running through the golden-coloured hills, his hair swinging in the wind, his laugh as he shouted "I'm so happy we're together!", while heading back home always too late for dinner. He used to hold my hand... Arthur thought, He used to take me to the wood... but that was before he found her. Once, they had even cancelled one of their meetings because of her. The feeling that since from the start she had had the purpose to to take Francis away from him was still persistent in his mind like an unwashable bloody stain. But now, she was gone. And Francis was... Francis was upstairs, waiting for him. "Why are you still alive?" His inner child asked him again. Everyday, he had smiled and replied "Wait. Tomorrow I'll have an answer." But tomorrow after tomorrow, the answer had never come. And alone, he had listened to his inner self sad and deceived, crying. Sick of life, absolutely sick of everything, he had just let all his strength fly out of his body and vanish in the thin air. Somehow, he now felt that was not fair. Not a single bit. He had the impression he had had many occasions in life, but he had just let them knock at someone else's door, because of his natural cowardice. He could rant on saying it was only suspiciousness, every man's best ally, but actually, always he had been too afraid of showing his real self to the others. Stupid. Arthur, you're the dumbest person on the face of Earth! Alone on the underground level, he somewhat now wished he had let Francis come down with him.

Opening his eyes with a sigh, he enjoyed the view of the grey shadows dancing rhythmically with the flickering light, before he decided it was high time to stand up and hurry. Still, humidity had covered his pearl skin with its watery blanket that kept him stuck to the wall, refusing to let him escape. With an incredible effort, he managed to tense his muscles and slowly straightened up. He still had work to do, after all.

Sliding to the elevator, he entered it shielding his eyes from the sharp light which hindered him the view of the right button, cursing the terrible music playing in the metal trap. He sighed, wondering what would happen there on the surface. A ting. Doors opening, people chatting, some stares.

He could feel the workers' eyes spying on him from behind the curtains of their offices, silent comments escaping their lips well-hidden behind a cup of coffee or tea, newspaper and magazines unfolding only to cover them up as they peeked through the pages. Hypocritical bastards. He thought on approaching his office, pretending to ignore Lily's green eyes following him behind Ludwig's mirror-glass window.

When Ludwig's heavy steps were heard behind the white door of his room, he quickened his own pace to reach the handle sooner. Being too busy escaping from Ludwig, it didn't occur to his mind that Francis was nowhere to be seen, so he was quite shocked when he met his scowling figure as soon as he entered his own luminous cage.

He quickly slammed the door, closing the world outside. A knocking Ludwig was also neutralized by turning the key and drawing the curtains. Still, Francis did not disentangle his folded arms. He kept staring at him suspiciously with a hint of eagerness in his blue orbs, which rolled up and down behind his half-lidded eyes to catch every detail of Arthur's frame.

Narrowing his gaze, he bluntly said. "You cried."

Treating him with contemptuous disregard, Arthur took a seat in front of him, noticing just now that he was occupying his place. "Of course I did. Still, if you weren't a sodding git, I probably wouldn't."

"Would you care to explain, then? Because you were already crossed when you walked through that door." They were exploring each other's figures with serious, caring eyes, looking for answers beyond those empty words. In the end, they both knew someone could've been listening to them behind that same white now-locked door.

"Only an imbecile frog like you would never miss an occasion to make assumptions on his own."

"This is not an assumption, low form of warm beer chugger. That's a matter of fact. So, would you care to give an answer?"

Arthur looked at him with challenging eyes. "No, I do not care."

Francis smirked."Perhaps because you do not dare?" There was a curious light in his eyes, even though he was truly worried about those lucid globes dyed in red. Still, he enjoyed Arthur's nervous reactions. He always managed to notice a new detail: his quivering composure, a wrinkle to the side of his mouth, his eyes trembling slightly. He could say whether he was lying by looking at his nose dilating. When he was troubled, the vein to the left of his neck tended to pulse and when embarrassed, his ears turned lightly pink. Once he enjoyed teasing him only to discover something new about the way he tortured his hands when thinking or the rhythm of his breathing when pressured, but now, now he felt all those little details meant something more. And he felt stupid, stupid, because there was something so enticing about Arthur, that he hadn't been able to see before. His eyes narrowing to a fine, golden line, while his whole body stiffened as soon as anger had drawn pink across his cheeks enthralled him tenderly. Arthur...

"What do you want?"

Francis frowned, awaking from his daydream. That wasn't the question he was expecting. Actually, he was expecting no question at all. "Nothing, but an answer."

Arthur snarled like a fire-breathing dragon ready to give battle. "Well, answer this, instead. Why didn't you tell me your train wasn't leaving?"

How would he know? Francis swallowed, feeling himself cornered. Who the hell told him about the train? When he had left him behind to look at the departure time, the time-table clearly said all trains heading to Dover would not cross the Channel that day, yet he was sure Arthur had been too absorbed in his thoughts to notice. "Who told you so?" He could only reply, insulting himself right after that for admitting the evidence.

"You, now."

Arthur's eyes didn't hide his clear disappointment. No wonder he's so mad at me! And yet, there wasn't only rage in those green globes. There was something more, something Francis couldn't decode. "I... I really didn't know." He tried lying, hoping the surprised expression on his face would make up for it.

"Lies." Arthur's anger was increasingly building up in his thin body, making his blood boil and rush up to his face, heating and reddening to the bridge of his nose to the tips of his ears. So much rage, that he could barely keep his lucid eyes open.

Francis swallowed again, feeling his mouth incredibly dry. He tried looking away, but those eyes followed him like hounds hunting a prey. His anxious heart was skipping faster, while his mind was trying to work out an answer that would satisfy both of them. Sighing, he decided the truth was the best reply. "You're right, those are all lies. But Arthur, listen, I really needed to apologize for... a lot of things. And it's not the same saying 'I'm sorry, now can I stay with you till I find a way to get back home?' and 'I don't care if my train's leaving, I needed to apologize first.'. Now, you would agree they do sound different, do you?"

Nodding encouragingly, Francis munched on his lips. Luckily, convinced by Francis' honest look, Arthur sighed lowering his gaze. Of course, he was right. Knowing himself, he would've probably questioned their friendship a lot more if he had said sorry just like that, as if they were only friends for benefits. "Then, why the kiss?" He asked suddenly, not processing the thought in his mind as he spoke and immediately regretting it once realizing it had come out too loud.

Startled, Francis quickly moved his eyes to the floor as he sucked his lips in searching for something to say. He really didn't know why he had that strange need for Arthur in his mind, but it had been torturing him for too much, that when the occasion had come, he simply had to... do something. Anything. Not that he regretted it now, but...

Peeking to the side, Francis inhaled deeply through his nostrils before tentatively say. "Maybe, there is something else you should know..."

Arthur blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice. Oh, no. He's not saying- His eyes widened at Francis' faint smile and he could only shook his head, stand up and run to the door, push the handle finding it locked, quickly turn the key in the hole and dash out elbowing a couple of by-standers to go lock himself in the restroom. There, found a comfortable stall and made it his ivory tower, away from the mess of the real world, he collapsed on the fresh floor. Absurd. This is absurd! This is completely insane! I am- Francis is- Francis! God, what the Hell am I doing now! With his head in his hands, he was failing in giving his thoughts a sense, when a well-known ringtone woke him up from his trance-like status.

The lit-up display of his mobile showed a yellow pop-up. "Text from: Francis B." He threw the mobile to the side, decided to ignore it. For five seconds, after which he grabbed it again and pressed the green button to open it.

*Sorry*

He sneered. How many times had he told him that a sentence ends with a full-stop? Still, he appreciated his apology, although it made him feel somewhat guilty. After all, he had run away without saying a thing and surely, it wasn't Francis' fault for... For what? Arthur now realized Francis actually hadn't confessed anything at all. He had just friendly smiled before he himself had, well... over-reacted. But only a little bit.

"Sorry for what?" He texted back, holding the mobile in his hands until it rang again. The idea of silencing it came to his mind, but it was soon gone as he was more attracted by the new message received.

*Dunno, thought it'd be a good start. R U OK?*

Arthur smacked his front in reading the answer. How can he be so stupid? And yet, he smiled. Francis' sincerity sounded ridiculous, even quite childish via text messages. Can't he just tell the truth by speaking? Of course not, M. Bonnefoy needs to text! Still, he didn't particularly fancy the idea of he himself facing an open-hearted conversation. Might he be doing that... for me?

"It is a good start indeed. You know you can send up to 160 letters and it'll still figure as 1 text?"

*What R U implyin by that?* Arthur snickered. He wasn't trying to be mean, but seeing all those abbreviations... By the way, where did he learn to abbreviate in English?

"You sound American."

*Still, I'm French!*

"Fuck, I'm doomed."

*Bastard. Where are you?* Arthur's smile got smaller when he realized he was still freezing his bottom sat on the floor, locked in a stall. As if I were hiding from him. Standing up to sit on the toilet, he stared at the white screen for a while. Many thoughts twirled in his brain. Some vile, some witty, some... Some saying that was an occasion to seize. He sucked in a good mouthful of air and texted. "Away from you."

He waited for a while, unsure about what the other would reply. He wanted to correspond his honesty, to let him know what he really thought of the whole situation. Yet, he felt even more confused than before. He was starting to regret his action, when the phone rang. It was getting annoying, though, so he set it on vibration before pressing the 'Open' button.

*So am I. Can I reach you?*

Arthur bit his lip, not sure about what to answer. It was all new for him, exciting but frightening at the same time, and the worst was, that on the other side of the screen, there was someone he cared too much for to lose. Yet, what was Francis trying to do?

"Why?"

What was he supposed to do? He knew. He was supposed to go back, ignore him and keep on working till the end of the day. That would be perfect, he thought. No, it isn't, you surrendering tool. When would the next occasion cross his path? Probably never again. And who knew what Francis would do if rejected! Keeping on seemed so difficult, but somehow, he felt it was the right choice to take. Francis, what are you doing to me? He was rubbing his eyes with his fingers, when the mobile sent a vibration though his hand.

*You make me feel less lonely...*

Arthur swallowed. Francis, Francis, Francis... and him. Arthur looked up to the ceiling, where the whiteness of the cerulean dye met the wet greyness of a stain of humidity. All he had been wishing for was to have someone to take care of, someone to belong to, someone to wake up next to in the morning and to say good-night before sleeping. He read the text another time, munching hungrily on his lower lip. Not a woman, but a man was offering himself to grant his wishes. Not a man, but the man he was sure would really grant all his wishes. He bit his upper lip. Could Francis be this Someone?

"You do, too."

He had already pressed the 'Send' button, when he regretted it deeply. Wait, wait! I'm not ready! Don't send, don't send, don't sen- But it was already sent. Fuck! He wasn't completely sure about what he wished to be answered. Actually, he even didn't understand too well what he was actually feeling. It was a mixture of anxiety, curiosity, sincerity, fear, wishes and expectations, which he couldn't describe with a proper name. Yet, seeing himself constantly checking the mobile, wondering what he was thinking of him, brushing his shirt to appear somewhat in order... he felt something was really changing in himself. And he didn't understand how that was possible.

What would you do if I kissed you? I would run away, he answered mentally as he remembered the events of the early afternoon. Still, he wasn't sure any more. In his mind, a colourless movie started playing. He saw himself in Francis' arms, he saw the happiness in their eyes, he saw the way he blew on his lips before touching them with his own. He felt the warmth, the joy and a slight jealousy for his own fantasy. It just seems so right. As the phone vibrated, he came back to reality, feeling the smile on his face broaden on discovering a new text on the display. Maybe, maybe next time he himself would make his fantasy jealous.

*I need you...*

Arthur slowly breathed through his nostrils. He still had many doubts about what to do with his life, with his friends, with his job and yet, he felt the void in his chest filling up. Sorry, Life, but I want to be happy. "Restroom, 3rd stall."

He had just sent the text, that the restroom door opened with a loud clacking and some fast footsteps stumbled to his stall, until a bump and a trembling of the yellowish wooden door made him jump. There was someone panting on the other side, he could hear him swallowing while catching his breathe. "A-Arthur? Arthur, are you in there?" When he heard the soft voice from the other side, he swallowed uneasily, stretching his arm out to touch the stranger behind the wooden shield. "F-Francis?" He called, almost in a whined whisper.

"Arthur! Arthur, are you okay?" Francis' concerned voice called from the other side of the the stall. He must've pressed himself against the door, as Arthur saw it tremble dangerously under his knocks.

"Yes...Yes, Francis, I'm fine." Arthur replied in placing a hand against the cold wood of the stall. He was there, he was on the other side, he came for him. But 'He' was no more the Francis who'd entered his house the day before. No, he was someone else, someone different, someone he knew and yet didn't, someone he cared for much more than he expected. It was a new Francis, a Francis he wanted to accept, respect, love. "And you? Are you alright?"

"No, Arthur, no! I can't be alright with you closed in there! Now open this door, will you? Please! Please, let me enter!" The door trembled again. Was he trying to kick it down? "Arthur, I promise! Everything will be fine, everything! We'll forget about this and-"

"Move aside, you idiotic fat git, how can I open it if you don't stop punching?" Francis turned silent and stepped back. As the cold metal of the handle brushed his fingers, Arthur looked down to it. The last door, and they would be together. But, did he really want to let him walk into his life? He straightened up, sucked in air, turned the handle. Yes.

When he opened the door, he found a flustered Francis rushing in to hug him. God, I already regret it. He backed a little to let him in, locked the door again and turned to have enough space to wrap his arms around him himself. His hands drew long circle on his back as he tried to calm him down. Desolé desolé desolé... He kept on chanting in holding him between his arms, until Arthur advised him to move his arse aside or he would kick him out of the Francis in front of him, Arthur could easily catch sight of his golden hair, the blue of his eyes, the awkwardness of his smile, his too long stub. He smiled sweetly. "You're better than I remembered."

"Uh?" Francis frowned in confusion. What was up with Arthur? He was so mad just a minute before, that he thought they would have shouted at each other's face before eventually settling down and have a cup of coffee together. Yet, the honey smile he was wearing melted him on the spot. He was ready for a fight, not for his gleaming eyes.

"Francis, you're a wanker. In a million years, you'll still be a wanker. Probably, you're the dumbest form of cheese-eating monkey on the face of Earth and..."

"You really take pride in insulting me..."

"Shut up, I'm not done. ...and you really know how to get on my nerves."

Francis kept silent. Arthur was lecturing him -lecturing? Scolding? Insulting?-, but there was neither anger in his words, nor hardness in his insults, nor resentment in his tone. Instead of a wrinkle of disdain, a faint smile danced on his lips. Maybe was he enjoying himself?

"Francis, you surely remember the 'something else' you mentioned before, don't you?" Arthur murmured softly, now quite worried someone might hear them. He still wasn't sure about what to say to the others, actually, he hadn't considered their reactions yet, and yet now, now he was sure about what to say to the man next to him.

"I-I do, Arthur. But as I told you-"

"Francis, look at me." With Arthur so close in that restricted space, his eyes could easily roam on that trim body. He let them inspect every detail, every curve, every shadow under the white shirt of his uniform, as apparently Arthur didn't mind the attention. He blinked. Surely, Arthur was the furthest thing to Beauty in the world and yet, yet there was something incredibly attracting in him. Maybe the eyes? The lips, the neck, his frame, his hips...? Francis swallowed, as Arthur's smile turned into an unknown smirk. An absurdly enticing smirk. "Arthur..." As the other raised his eyebrows -Dieu, if he's not plucking them, I'm going to shave them off completely!-, he felt the words refusing to come to his mouth.

"That's right, Francis. I'm not pretty, not even pleasant. I'm a noisy bastard, a lazy drunkard, a sarcastic commoner whose head is too often in the clouds."

"That's not true..."

"That is and you know that. I tend to be violent towards furniture, to shout when not understood, to drink industrial amounts of tea, to enjoy idiotic things such as cartoons, to be punctual and stand in queue as if my life depended on it." A glance. A breathe. "I love well-tailored suits and well-tailored dresses, I'm too fond of beer to give up alcohol, I used to smoke and not only cigarettes -don't look at me like that, you also did!- and I can't stand any culture at all, the French one being the least favourite of the list."

"Arthur, I can't see-"

"Yet, you've always accepted me for what I am. Or, at least, that's what you've always said." Silence fell between the two like an iron curtain, which let Arthur explore Francis' expression with inquisitive eyes, noticing his utter confusion at his speech. His heart truly smiled, when Francis muttered a "Because that's true...", trying to look away from those staring globes full of hope and expectancy.

"Then, Francis, if that was true, answer me." He felt the Englishman's cold hands take his own, as he came closer with the same sincere earnestness in his eyes. Only now he heard the sound of his own heart racing faster and faster against his ribcage, while a wide-spread warmth travelled along his body. Yet, he soon realized his heart wasn't the only one beating fast. Arthur... "Francis, could I ever make you happy?"

"YES!" He shouted, scaring Arthur that jumped back a little, surprised at the reaction. "Sorry..." He said immediately afterwards, circling the other with his hands not to let him run away. Still, Arthur's smile foresaw that he had no intention to run.

"Really?" Was his incredulous reply. Francis nodded eagerly. "Yes, Arthur. I've never judged you and I'm not going to start now. I-I just want you to be happy. And..."

Arthur nodded encouragingly in straightening up his back, munching his lips like crisps.

"Arthur, I want you to be happy... with me."

-End Ch.16

NB: I'm answering all of you personally, so please, don't lose hope. Consider yourself as special, because that's the way I see you. That's also why I take so long to reply: everyone of you needs an answer composed only for himself. Not only would it be too easy and less satisfactory to send an already-made text every time, but also disrespectful, as you took your time to read and comment and as an Author I appreciate that a lot. So, here you are my humble Thank you and a wish: May you be happy and find the strength to tackle every difficulty. Sincerely Yours,

-Zanteh