Chapter 16
Matthew was dressed impeccably, in a soft baby blue dress shirt he'd purchased while shopping with Francis, who had said he looked angelic in it. He hoped, prayed really, that Francis would show up at the ball willing to reconcile. He stood by the punch bowl, one of the first people there, and waited, watching the doors.
"Hey teddy bear," a familiar, annoying voice heckled. Matthew glanced to his side sharply to see Gilbert Beilschmidt crawling out from under the punch bowl table. It startled him, and he jumped slightly.
"What are you—" Matthew's question proved unnecessary as Gilbert swiftly ducked behind him and the sounds of liquid pouring into the punch bowl could be heard.
"I have to get more creative each time. That crazy bitch Emily has me on her radar now," Gilbert commented.
"You r-really shouldn't do that. W-what if someone got really sick because of it?" Matthew asked, shielding the other boy all the same. Gilbert chuckled darkly.
"Fuck if I care. God, teddy bear, your goody-two-shoe routine is a total drag on my awesome-ness."
"What?" Matthew asked, not even able to understand the fast talking German boy.
"I said you're lame, asshat," Gilbert insulted. Matthew flushed with color and frowned primly.
"What did you call me?" he asked. Gilbert seemed to have already forgotten. Matthew finally got a good look at him and frowned in disapproval. He was wearing a T-shirt styled to look like a tuxedo, with baggy jeans that draped dangerously low on his hips, revealing black and neon yellow plaid boxers. He wore a big iron ring on one hand that featured a thick cross, and his brown eyes were a little red, as if he were high on something. Matthew considered the boy's stupid grin, rumpled clothing, and disheveled hair. Yes, he was most certainly smoking or snorting something.
"There's a dress code for this dance," Matthew said reprovingly. The topic made his thoughts drift to Francis, and he wondered what he would be wearing. Probably something designer, and he'd no doubt catch everyone's attention. It looked as if Gilbert would, too, but for entirely different reasons.
"I know. That's why I'm wearin' my tux—like a boss I might add."
"Half the time, I don't understand what you're saying, Gilbert," Matthew replied, sparing the class clown a worried look.
"It's because you don't speak awesome. Alright, my gay quota is full for the day. Catch ya later, butt muncher," Gilbert said, before pulling out ear buds and stuffing them into his ears. Even when he was a few steps away, Matthew could hear the heavy death metal pouring out of the buds. Matthew shook his head. Gilbert was certainly a unique boy.
"I feel sorry for your parents, Gilbert," he commented softly before resuming waiting. He almost reached for a glass of punch, and then remembered what Gilbert had just done. He stood nervously for a few more moments and then poured himself a glass, nearly chugging it.
He waited some more.
USUK
Arthur passed Francis the nearly empty wine bottle and sobbed.
"He's never going to n-n-notice me! He doesn't even…sniff…he doesn't…hic…I need to smell his sheets."
Francis (who was merely tipsy) shot his friend a weird look.
"Maybe the wine was a bad idea," he mused. Still, he'd felt guilty about taking Arthur's first kiss when it obviously meant so much to the stressed boy, and he didn't know how else to comfort him aside from taking another first—which would have, no doubt, sent him totally off the deep end. Moving with surprising speed, Arthur was up and stumbling towards Alfred's bed. Francis's eyes went wide in alarm as Arthur tripped over some of Alfred's dirty clothes and face planted into Alfred's bed, where he started to wallow about.
A mean little voice in Francis's subconscious chuckled and goaded him into snapping some pictures. Nobly, Francis resisted the urge…though it was tempting.
"You know, Arthur, I should be very angry with you. You are supposed to be my revenge on Matthew. He'll hardly be jealous of you now," Francis said with a sigh, leaning against the wall a bit glumly. Arthur twisted towards his own bed and spied the unicorn. Francis winced as the Brit rolled out of the bed energetically and thumped hard against the floor.
"I love this unicorn. Do you hear me? I love you, Alfred-unicorn. I'm going to keep you forever, and I'll brush your mane, and bake you tasty treats, and I'll love you so bloody much it makes your pink, fluffy heart fuckin' explode."
Francis arched a slender brow. He felt like he should be videotaping this. He pulled out his phone—just to check his messages, of course—but somehow his finger found its way to the video button.
"You and I will be best friends forever!" Alfred-unicorn said. Arthur exploded into a new round of sobbing.
"I want to be more than just your best friend, you stupid, bloody wanker! I want you to kiss me under the fucking mistletoe! I want you to…to…hold me, and touch me, and…and…"
"Ride you?" Francis suggested with a desperate attempt to hold in his laughter. The camera phone shook a little in his hand.
"Fuck yeah. But…but you just don't get it."
"Because he is a unicorn?" Francis goaded. Arthur sniffled into the toy's soft fur.
"Exactly. Because you'll always just be a unicorn," England half-sobbed, as if he were making perfect sense. Francis stopped the recording and tucked the phone back into his pocket.
"Come on, mon licorne. Let's go to the dance and make fools of ourselves. You are cheering me up already," Francis said with a laugh.
"Alfred and Patty will be there, dancing, falling for each other," Arthur moaned. Francis rolled his eyes.
"I somehow doubt that."
"No. He loves her! I've always sus…suspect…"
"Suspected?" Francis offered.
"Suspected what?" Arthur replied, finally stumbling to his feet, looking confused and rumpled. He was totally hammered. A part of Francis knew they shouldn't go anywhere, but the tipsy part of him decided it didn't sound like an entirely bad idea.
"Come with me," Francis said, extending his hand. Arthur took it, and together they half-stumbled out of the room. Francis whacked his arm on the doorframe and started laughing like a lunatic, causing Arthur to join in.
"That's what you get, you French bastard!" Arthur said, between chuckles.
"Hey! That is no way to talk to your boyfriend," Francis replied.
"My what?" Arthur said.
"You and I are a couple now. Francis and Arthur. Fran and Art. Fart!" Francis snorted with laughter.
"But…but…I don't want my couple name to be fart. And you dress better than me! I'll always look sloppy next to you."
"This is very true," Francis replied. "And you are so short! I feel like a pedophile."
"Did you just call me a pedophile?" Arthur roared.
"No, you unicorn-fucker," Francis replied. Arthur seemed appeased.
"Oh, jolly good then. Fran…Franny…I want…I really need some pudding."
"We do not need your nasty British pudding," Francis replied, steering them towards the ballroom.
"Let's go to the cooking room and make pudding!" Arthur begged.
"Gross. Is that what you homos call it these days?" Gilbert commented. He'd been kicked out of the dance, and now he was wandering back towards the dorm room he shared with Roderich.
"Ugh, go away you ugly little stoner," Francis said. Gilbert scowled and flicked him off, continuing on his way.
"Are we at the ball yet? I'm a prince. I should be at the ball," Arthur slurred drunkenly.
"Yes, I will get you there long before midnight," Francis said jokingly. "Otherwise you might turn into a squat little pumpkin with furry vines for eyebrows."
"Hardy har har har. You're not a very nice boyfriend," Arthur chided.
"So far, we've spent our entire relationship drunk," Francis mused.
"It's the only way it's bearable. Are you the one grabbing my arse or is that someone else?" Arthur asked, leaning more heavily into Francis's side.
"Of course it is me. No one else is in this hall except the stoner," Francis replied.
"Nu-uh. There's the little green bunny…with the wings…and…and…that gnome chap with such a lovely smile. I should have known he wouldn't grab my bum."
"Are you really seeing things? That's not good. We should go to the nurse," Francis said. It was the first intelligent thing he'd said all evening. Unfortunately, however, they'd reached the doors of the ballroom.
Before they could go in, however, Alfred came out—Matthew on his heels. Matthew froze, his eyes blinking widely at the sight of his boyfriend draped all over Arthur, both of them tipsy, Francis's hand massaging a rather intimate area.
For a moment, there was total silence. Then Francis gave Matthew a heartbreakingly bitter look.
"What? It doesn't mean anything. He has just decided he's gay and I'm only helping him to pop his cherry, since his vulgar little roommate thinks he is such a disgusting faggot," Francis said.
Matthew swallowed thickly and realized he was going to have to handle the situation, since Alfred was still furious and Francis and Arthur were clearly intoxicated.
"I'm sorry, Francis. I'm sorry I've put you in this shape. The dance is nearly over now. Will you come back to the dorm with me?" Matthew asked quietly. He hoped they could get them to cooperate before the majority of the students began leaving. Luckily, Francis looked tired and needy. He dropped Arthur like a sack of potatoes and stumbled towards Matthew.
"I'm dumping you. You broke my heart," Francis accused.
"Okay, Francis. We'll talk about it in the morning," Matthew soothed. Alfred, meanwhile, had indignantly gone to Arthur's side, scowling at Francis.
"You just dropped him, you asshole!"
"Alfred, just let it go. Get Arthur safely in bed, okay? I'll take care of Francis," Matthew said. Seeing as he'd been angry for nearly two hours, Alfred's temper was finely beginning to wear down.
"Arthur…Arty…are you okay?" Alfred asked. Arthur seemed to have fallen asleep in the middle of the hallway. Alfred gently tapped his cheek. A pair of brilliant green eyes struggled to focus on him.
"Unicorn?" Arthur asked. Alfred flashed a confused expression before bearing the brunt of Arthur's weight and pulling him to his feet. It took some maneuvering, but he managed to get Arthur draped over his back, his legs entangled around Alfred's hips.
From further down the hallway, Matthew glanced backwards.
"Got him, Alfred?"
"Yeah," Alfred grunted. At least Arthur seemed happy about being held. He hugged Alfred tightly and burrowed his face into his neck.
"Home?" he asked.
"Yeah, I'm taking you home," Alfred answered. He was surprised to realize Arthur was crying against his neck.
"'M sorry, Alfie," Arthur mumbled. Alfred felt his heart clench with guilt over the words he'd so harshly thrown at his roommate earlier in the night.
"No, I'm the one who should be apologizing. Just close your eyes and rest, Artie. I'll get you into bed," Alfred soothed.
"Sleep with me?" Arthur asked pitifully. Alfred swallowed thickly, hitching Arthur up a little higher on his back, and continued trudging down the hallway.
"Sure, Artie, if you want," he said.
"And Pinky?" Arthur bargained.
"Him too," Alfred agreed, a small smile finally twisting his lips. 'Arthur is really cute when he's drunk,' Alfred thought fondly. Barely had that thought registered when Arthur burped loudly in his ear…and promptly vomited down the back of his suit.
"Oh…that did not sound good," Matthew said from further up ahead. Alfred nearly gagged, shaking his head a bit in revulsion.
"No…not good, Mattie. No more booze for Arthur. I actually liked this suit. Damn," Alfred said. On his back, Arthur had managed to fall asleep in his own vomit, the tears drying on his cheeks.
Finally, they reached their dorms without passing any faculty or upperclassmen. It was a minor miracle, really. Alfred had never been so grateful in his life to see the inside of their dorm room. His back was aching. For a little guy, Arthur certainly wasn't a light weight.
Deciding he would be taking his suit to the dry cleaners anyway, and might as well dirty his sheets instead of Arthur's, Alfred unloaded the smaller boy on his own curiously disheveled bed.
"If I find out you and Francis made out in my bed…" Alfred trailed off dangerously, but Arthur merely hiccupped innocently in his sleep. With a sigh, Alfred stripped off his soiled suit and took a hasty shower. He returned with a damp cloth and wiped Arthur down as best he could. He didn't hesitate at all to unbutton the other boy's shirt and strip his pants off. When he was clad in only his soft, cotton briefs, Alfred lifted him once more (bridal style this time) and lugged him to his own bed. With an exaggerated grunt, he dropped him onto the mattress, marveling at how it was possible for such a small package to weigh so much.
"You gotta lay off the scones, buddy," Alfred groused, only because he knew Arthur could not hear him. Feeling a little silly, Alfred placed the large unicorn at the foot of the bed, where it would not be in the way, and crawled into the extra space beside Arthur. The royal mumbled something in his sleep and curled into Alfred's torso. Fighting with his own blush and the covers, Alfred managed to get them tucked in and settled, at long last.
In blissful relief, he closed his eyes…and blinked them open what felt like only minutes later to an insistent knocking on their door.
Only one thought raced through his mind, with his roommate practically naked and draped over him, a ridiculous unicorn in bed with them, their room a mess, and his sheets and his good suit smelling of stale vomit across the room.
'Shit! Mom!'
Arthur, heavy sleeper that he was, barely grunted as Alfred flung himself out of bed and tucked the sheets around Arthur up to his chin. He made a mad dash for the soiled suit and bed sheet, which he balled up and raced about with for a few moments before chunking them into the bathtub. All the while, a furious mantra of 'Shit, shit, shit, shit!' raced through his mind.
The knocking grew a little louder.
"Alfred? Darling?" his mother's voice called quietly. A quick glance at the window told Alfred it had to be early still. Her flight must have come in sooner than they expected. Of all the luck!
Still trying to be quiet, Alfred shoved things under his bed as hastily as he could manage, and tried to make it look less obvious that he didn't have a fitted sheet on his bed. Lastly, to block the piles of dirty laundry, wadded up paper balls, and various other things, Alfred stuffed Pinky under the gap between his bed and the floor, forcing it all in deep and obscuring the mess. He took a moment to breathe in deeply and then ran nervous hands through his too-long hair. He'd meant to get a haircut. Too late now.
He opened the door, making the 'shh' gesture as he did so.
"Arthur's still asleep," he said. Despite the long plane ride, and the ridiculously early hour, his mother looked immaculate as always.
"Oh, honey, what have you done to yourself?" his mother said by way of greeting, entering the room and flicking on the light to better inspect his oily skin. He pulled away in irritation, scowling at her lightly.
"Give me a break, Mom! It's six in the morning! I haven't exactly had time to shower and rinse my face," Alfred grumbled. Helen Jones made a 'tsk' noise and glanced about the room, eyeing Arthur's messy hair poking out from the blanket with unveiled interest.
"Well, it certainly smells like two boys live in here. Don't they send a maid around, darling?"
"Hi mom," Alfred finally said, ignoring her question in favor of smiling. Despite her nitpicking, he truly was excited to see her. Alfred loved his parents, and getting to see them after they'd been gone for weeks at a time as a child was always special. His mother finally seemed to settle into the room slightly and really looked at him. She smiled, and opened her arms. Alfred hugged her happily, closing his eyes as he smelled her perfume—his favorite.
"You're taller!" she said in surprise. Alfred smiled bashfully.
"Not by much," he said.
"Yes so by much—at least an inch or two," she insisted. Alfred was surprised to realize she was right. He'd always come up to his mother's collar bone, and now he found himself staring at her neck. That was saying something, as his mother was tall even for a model.
"Ha, Arthur's gonna accuse me of stealing his growth," he said. His mother released him and sent him to fetch her luggage from the hallway. Meanwhile, she settled on the couch, really studying their room. Her eyes landed on his rugby jacket, slung proudly over his desk. Returning to the room, Alfred hurried to show it off. He brought it over for her inspection proudly, his chest puffed up, like a cat presenting a mouse to its owner.
"It's lovely, Alfred. Your father is so proud you made the team," she said. Clearly the separation had made her a little nicer. Alfred could tell that she had missed him, as much as a woman like herself was able to miss someone. Such kind words would have made him tear up in the past, but Alfred managed to keep it together. He smiled broadly instead, and tried on the jacket to show her how it fit. Unfortunately, smiling was the wrong thing to do in front of his mother, whose eye for imperfections was as sharp as that of a sniper eyeing a target.
"I'm gonna get more patches just as soon as we—"
"Alfred, you're not going to like this, but I think you need braces," she said.
"Aww, mom!" Alfred whined, seeming to deflate inside his jacket. His mother, however, had already made up her mind.
"Now don't start with that tone, Alfred. I noticed it last summer, but I hoped they wouldn't crowd up so noticeably as your wisdom teeth came in. There's no denying it though—" she reached up and pushed at his lip a bit. "Your teeth have definitely gotten more crooked. I think I have an old contact here in London that can give us the name of a reputable orthodontist. Of course, I never needed braces. You get that from your father's father. He's got teeth like a…well…like something with ugly teeth."
Alfred merely glared sullen-faced. His mother patted his cheek affectionately…then wiped her hand noticeably on his blanket.
"You're oily, dear. Don't let me stop you from your morning routine. I've brought a good book. I'll just wait out here," she said cheerily. Sad that he hadn't gotten to show off his jacket anymore, Alfred carefully took it back to the desk and followed his mother's orders, disappearing into the bathroom.
Finally, Arthur stirred under the mound of blankets. Not realizing they had a guest, he swung them off, revealing how close to nudity he was to Alfred's mother. Amused, she smoothly crossed her legs, and waited for the teenager to notice her. He didn't. He yawned hugely, wincing at the mysterious pain in his back and shoulders, and scratched a bit at his wild hair. He waltzed right past the First Lady, banged once on the bathroom door, and entered just as Alfred was brushing his apparently crooked teeth.
"Errr…Arfur…ma maum ish her," he said. Alfred waved him off, as if swatting at an annoying fly, and tugged at his briefs so he could take a piss. Eyes widening in alarm, Alfred hastily lunged to close the door. Outside, his mother was snickering. Alfred spat into the sink, hurriedly washing his mouth. He emerged quickly from the bathroom, sliding out of the door so as to open it as little as possible. They heard the sounds of the shower behind him.
"He..err…had a late night. Not much of a morning person. I better get him some clothes," Alfred said. He grabbed Arthur's beloved khakis, a fresh pair of underwear, and a sweater and tossed the pile into the bathroom. "Sorry about that!" he said sheepishly. His mother just shrugged.
"It doesn't bother me. It gets pretty crazy backstage during a runway show, you know," she said with a wink. Alfred just smiled awkwardly.
"So…" he said, at the same time his mother did. They shared a laugh.
"How's Ellie?" Alfred asked, finally settling near his mother on his bed.
"She's…well…actually, I can't say that I've seen her. I assume the housekeeper is still feeding her. I haven't been home hardly at all since you left. First I had to do a series of business meetings with your grandfather for the hotels, and then I had to travel with your father on his tour of the universities."
"Oh…well I hope she's okay," Alfred said worriedly. His mother brushed it off.
"I'm sure she's fine. Your father was home. He usually tends to her if she yowls loudly enough."
"Yeah," Alfred agreed, scratching idly at his arm.
"Well, how has it been with Prince Arthur?" his mother asked. For some reason, Alfred hadn't really talked about Arthur to his parents aside from a few random comments here and there. It was almost as though his friendship with Arthur felt too special and private to share with an outsider like his mother.
And that was strange, because before, Alfred had never wanted to hide anything from her—especially something she might approve of or praise. Alfred settled on a casual shrug.
"Fine, I suppose. We're pretty good friends."
"And will I get to meet this Matthew you've mentioned?" she asked.
"Mattie? Oh yeah, he'll be hanging out with us. He's staying here for the break, too. I think his parents are pretty well off, but they don't want to pay to fly him home."
"Makes sense. Airfare is so overpriced these days. You wouldn't believe how many frequent flier miles I've racked up these past few months. God, can you really believe it's been nearly six months?" she asked. Alfred laughed a bit and shook his head. It really was hard to believe. His life had changed so much, and he hadn't realized it until his mother was sitting in his dorm room. She seemed so out of place, as if his home life and his school life were two worlds that were never meant to collide with each other.
Yet there she was, criticizing his oily skin and telling him he needed braces. It was more than a little jarring.
"How's dad? Alfred asked.
"Oh, you know your father. Busy busy. He's been doing quite a bit of lecturing—trying to improve his ratings with the younger crowd. So far it's worked well. That's no surprise though. Your father could charm the pants off a nun," she said. Alfred grinned.
"Do nuns even wear pants?" he asked. His mother laughed, revealing her perfect white teeth, big, beautiful blue eyes twinkling happily.
"Well if they did, he could do it. Speaking of charm, how about this girlfriend of yours? I admit I couldn't believe it…but seeing you now…you've changed, son. This school has been good for you," she said in a pleased tone. Alfred smiled happily.
"Oh, that didn't really work out, but I'm pretty close with this girl named Patricia," Alfred said. The bathroom door had opened, and Arthur emerged just to hear the tail end of their conversation. His eyes widened in embarrassment to see someone sitting in their dorm room, and there was no question who she was. Of course, he'd seen her photograph, but it didn't really do her justice. Alfred's mother looked like an angel. For a moment, Arthur could only stare, and blink stupidly.
"Err…hello, Mrs. Jones," Arthur greeted.
"Ah, your royal highness, Prince Arthur. It's a pleasure. I'm sorry for intruding on you boys so early this morning," she said smoothly. He extended his hand automatically and she shook it, inclining her head slightly as she did so. For a jarring moment, Arthur flashed back to the first impression Alfred had made on him, and marveled that he and this woman shared D.N.A.
"The pleasure is mine," Arthur replied, somewhat stiffly. He glanced about the room, his cheeks tinged with pink. "I apologize for the mess. It's been rather hectic what with exams," he said. Alfred's mother waved off his comment with a graceful hand motion. Arthur wanted to snub her, because of how poorly he knew she treated Alfred, but when she was actually standing in the room with him, he couldn't manage it. Hell, he was gay and even he found her distracting. It was rare to see a person in real life that was so inhumanly perfect. It was almost a bit intimidating.
'Gods, how did Alfred grow up with this?' Arthur wondered, thinking of his own rather homely mother with her thick eyebrows and his short, balding father. In contrast, Helen Jones looked like she'd just walked off a runway in Paris. She was positively dripping money, elegance, and refinery.
"Well, Alfred, you and I have a very busy day ahead of us. We're expected in the principal's office shortly. Hurry up and get dressed, dear. Have you kept that green dress shirt in good condition?"
"Yes, Mom," Alfred replied, going dutifully to the closet to fetch it. At least Helen's presence explained the mystery of why all the dirty, soiled things had been crammed in the bathtub. No doubt Alfred had done some hasty damage control. Arthur's head was pounding, and as he watched his roommate follow his mother's gentle orders like a well-trained soldier, he burned with the desire to somehow kick her out and find out what had happened the previous night.
Alfred was acting like nothing was wrong, but Arthur didn't want to play that game again. This time, they were going to talk about what had happened. He was determined, even if it meant locking Helen up in a janitor's closet somewhere along the "tour" of the school.
For the moment, though, retreat seemed like the wisest option. He hesitated over where to go, but then he remembered that he was supposedly dating Francis. He could go to his room.
"I'll give you two some time to catch up. I've just got to step down the hall for a bit," Arthur said. After politely excusing himself, he hurriedly left the room in search of Francis. Maybe he knew what had happened last night. He knocked on Francis's door a good ten minutes before a sleepy-eyed Matthew finally opened it.
"O-oh! Arthur! Didn't expect you so early. Err, come on in," Matthew said awkwardly. Arthur had honestly forgotten all about Matthew, who probably hated him now if he'd heard the news. It was too late to back down now, though. Arthur entered the room, feeling foolish. Francis was still sleeping like a baby, carefully tended to and lovingly tucked in bed.
"Hey! Wake up, you arse! What the bloody hell happened last night?" Arthur said, focusing his annoyance on Francis. The French boy began to curse, and weakly chunked a pillow at him. Arthur chunked it right back, and then pulled off the blankets.
"Stop, stop! You annoying pest!" Francis half-shouted. Smiling a bit disbelievingly at them (were they seriously claiming to be dating each other?), Matthew moved to his own bed and began to neatly make it up. If Francis had picked anyone—absolutely anyone—else, Matthew would have been devastated…but somehow he just couldn't take the idea of Francis with Arthur seriously. In fact, it was almost downright humorous. He sat on his straightened blanket, clutching his favorite teddy bear in his lap, and watched them.
"Francis, I said get the fuck up!" Arthur roared, finally resorting to pulling Francis's hair.
"Ow, you beastly little gnome! Let go of my hair!" Francis yelled. He was naked except for the silky little blue briefs he loved so much. Truth be told, Matthew probably loved them more than Francis did. Somehow, they covered everything, but just barely.
"I need to know everything that you remember from last night. I remember the wine…and…and the awful things Alfred said…but he carried me back to the dorm, didn't he? I don't know who I should be angry at," Arthur blustered.
"Why do you automatically assume it is me?" Francis retorted, sensitively massaging his scalp. Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and scowled.
"I'm pretty sure it was your wine I got sloshed on, Francis," he accused.
"At your own request! Are you going to barge in here every morning at the crack of dawn bossing me around and yelling at me? No wonder Alfred has stayed in the closet! He's probably afraid if he comes out you'll eat his balls! Calm down, you angry little British person!" Francis insisted. Arthur scowled, one of his impressive eyebrows twitching menacingly.
"Explain," he demanded. Surprisingly, it was Matthew that spoke up.
"Alfred said Francis came to pick you up for the dance, and that he was surprised by it and upset and said some things he probably shouldn't have, and then came to find me at the dance to warn me. He found me, and we waited for the two of you to show up, but you didn't come. I thought…for a moment…that maybe the two of you…so we decided to come back to our dorms but found you both in the hallway, pretty hammered, thankfully clothed," Matthew said.
Arthur blushed in embarrassment. Francis pulled the blankets around his shoulders, looking very much like a shame-faced little boy.
"I admit…it's a little hard to take you seriously as a couple," here Matthew smiled, as if he knew Francis was acting a fool, "but I guess congratulations are in order. It would have been more polite to officially break up with me first, though, Francis," Matthew said good naturedly.
He was handling it all remarkably well, but Arthur got the distinct impression the two of them had somehow become a joke overnight. Truth be told, Arthur felt like a joke, so it made sense.
"Yes, well, thank you. I suspect we'll be very happy together," Arthur said, just to be defiant. Matthew actually giggled into the fur of his bear. Arthur and Francis exchanged embarrassed looks. This wasn't how they'd pictured this going at all. Alfred was just as oblivious as ever, and Matthew clearly thought the whole thing was laughable.
Finally, Francis snapped. He roughly grabbed Arthur's sweater and tugged him downwards, slanting his lips over his. When the harsh kiss ended (and Arthur was wincing at Francis's morning breath) Francis gave him a haughty look and the reproach, "That is how you wake up a lover."
Matthew wasn't laughing then, but he still didn't appear angry. He merely blushed a bit and fetched his bag.
"I'll…umm…g-give you two some privacy then. I'm going to get breakfast." Then, just because he could, he turned back to Francis with a mysterious smile. "Oh, and don't worry, Francis. The secret you told me last night is safe. I won't tell anyone, Arthur and Alfred included."
After he left, Francis screwed up his brow in thought. "Secret? I have no idea what he is talking about," he said. Arthur flopped angrily onto the edge of his bed, working himself up into a good sulk.
"This whole situation is rubbish," he complained. "And you shouldn't kiss someone until you've properly brushed your teeth. That was just gross, Francis," Arthur scolded. Francis rolled his eyes, pulling the covers back up over his head.
"Wake me up when this nightmare is over," he groaned. Arthur snorted unhappily.
"It's not a nightmare—it's our new life as a happy couple. We will be happy. You've already screwed up my first kiss. The least you can do now is be a decent first boyfriend," Arthur grumbled. He couldn't be sure, but he got the distinct impression Francis was mocking him under the covers. He punched him, just in case.
"Ouch!" Francis whined.
"Don't mock me," he said primly. Francis remained silent. Arthur frowned. "Don't ignore me either! Aren't you going to walk with me to breakfast? That is what a boyfriend should do."
"Matthew brings me breakfast in bed on the weekends," he replied. Arthur snorted again, this time in amusement.
"Too bad you're not dating Matthew anymore. Get your lazy ass up, frog. I want breakfast."
"It is too early. Can't you go eat with Alfred?" Francis complained. Arthur's scowl deepened.
"His mother is here now. I don't like her."
"Of course you don't," Francis replied, in a smart ass tone.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he snapped. Francis grinned, and Arthur could practically hear the expression in his voice when he replied.
"Isn't it obvious? You do not want her moving in on your turf," Francis said. Arthur smiled sweetly, as if the joke hadn't offended him at all. He stood up calmly, and walked to the restroom. Feeling victorious now that he'd finally been left alone, Francis curled up with his pillow once more, relaxing into the soft warmth.
Splash!
Francis struggled out of his sheets swearing hotly in French, the ice-cold water dripping down his hair and face, causing goosebumps to rise on his arms and chest.
"You little shit!" he roared, lunging blindly out of bed and wielding his wet pillow as a weapon, swinging with all his might at Arthur's agile form.
"Next time I tell you to get out of bed, I mean it! You might as well get used to the idea now—I'm wearing the pants in this relationship," Arthur declared. Wet and shivering, Francis scowled, realizing he'd been defeated for the moment. Arthur smirked at him smugly.
"You are the worst boyfriend I have ever had," Francis said. Arthur flashed him another sweet smile.
"Aww, poppet, I love you, too. Now put on some bloody clothes. Those knickers you have on are practically indecent. Are they even men's underwear?" Arthur asked.
From outside the door, Matthew suppressed another giggle and shook his head. He didn't know why he suddenly found the whole situation so humorous instead of heartbreaking, but he just couldn't help it. Francis and Arthur together, in a relationship, was just about the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard or seen. It would be a Christmas miracle if they survived the winter break without killing each other, much less with their relationship intact.
As he walked towards the cafeteria, humming a little tune, Matthew considered it in a new light.
'Maybe it's a good thing for us to take a break and see other people. I mean, if Francis wasn't the only person I've ever dated, I wouldn't feel so insecure with him all the time. He's been with so many people before me that I can't help but feel inadequate,' Matthew thought. He frowned a bit sadly, but his good mood still didn't falter. In the light of a new morning, he suddenly felt that a little time apart was just what he and Francis needed.
A/N: lol, I'm having so much fun with Francis and Arthur in this chapter and the last one. Those two are such crazy fun characters. I'm glad the focus finally shifted a little off Alfred and Matthew and these two finally get their chance to take center stage, even if it's only for some laughs. I tried writing them all serious and angsty—it was even in the outline—but I just couldn't do it in the end. Plus, this is probably a little more realistic. It always goes that you think a situation is just gonna go absolutely crazy, and then nothing really happens how you expect it will, and all the tension and drama just kind of fizzles out.
I hope drunk!Arthur was worth the wait. XD