Loosely based upon Shakespeare's tragedy, Romeo and Juliet.
I Am A Montague, And Capulet Are You
Everything began with a phone call, the day of Feliciano's birthday party.
"–they're dead and you couldn't even think to call to tell us? My dear sister... she's gone and you never told us. I should– No, wait. I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I know this has been hard for you, I know. Still, dear heart, you should have called. We would have helped... but now we will–"
She knew how this was? She knew? That was such a laugh! She did not know anything. How close was she with his mother? Not! They were not terrible people, true, but he had his reasons for not calling them.
This was one of them.
It was not the time, neither was it the place to discuss this. "Will you listen to me?" Francis still asked Arthur. Arthur glared at him, but turned his expression into something more passive as he looked away.
"Make it good this time," Arthur responded, pretending to go back to his book. Francis could tell he was only pretending because his eyes did not move, they were simply burning a hole into the left page. Francis sat down next to him, leaning against the school building.
"You are the first person I will tell."
"Mhm?" Arthur prompted him. Francis tried his best to swallow around the lump in his throat.
"I may... have to return to France."
'May' was a very strange word in English. It was also a lie in this case. His aunt did not sound as if it were a may at all. It was almost to be a decree. Perhaps it was his own fault, not telling her what had happened to his own parents. Afraid for this very case, none of his family knew that they had died, that he was still here, that he was here on his own. Francis did not want to leave here, however, and he knew what would happen. None of the rest of his family would want to leave France. They would want him there. And though he loved the country, the nation... He loved Hearth more.
More particularly, he loved a certain few people who lived in Hearth.
Arthur looked up at him, the shock not fake or sarcastic. "France?" Arthur exclaimed quietly. "But why?"
"Mon cher, I thought you have always told me to return to my country as it would put adequate space between us," Francis smirked. Arthur looked like he was going to slap him and that would have likely started another brawl between them.
Arthur did not though. "Shut up!" he hissed, grabbing Francis' collar. He looked like he was about to cry. Francis was not certain whether he had expected that or not, or whether it meant what he thought it did. "Why? You can't just leave!"
"Well I never said it was my own choice!" Francis retorted, pushing Arthur's hand away from him. "I'd prefer to stay here! Antonio and Gilbert live here! Elizaveta! Feliciano! The people I want to be with!"
"Then don't go!" Arthur spat back. "If you'll miss them so much!"
"If it were my choice–!" Francis repeated, shoving at Arthur's shoulder. The book the English boy (man? They were adults now, were they not?) had been reading fell off his lap.
"Don't push me!"
"Then don't grab at me!"
"Dammit, Francis!" Arthur stood up. Before Arthur could leave him though, Francis reached and wrapped his arms around him to keep him there. And surely a hand might have landed... ah, there, but it was no place his hand had not been before! "F–" Arthur hissed out between his teeth as Francis pulled him back down and into his lap.
"I don't want to leave you," he muttered into Arthur's ear as Arthur began to struggle. "I don't want to leave you. Merde, I want to stay with you, mon amour. Please understand, I love you."
"But you just said you didn't on Friday!" Arthur snarled at him. Francis buried his face into Arthur's chest so he did not have to look at him. So that Arthur could not look at him. So maybe he could fool him that he was not about to cry.
It is not 'may'. I will have to go. I will have to and what can I do? I am too old for this, I should not have to be told what to do by them anymore. So I will have to fend for myself for now on.
"I love you. I want you. I so love you. Je t'aime. Je t'aime, t'aime tellement. I love you."
Arthur stopped struggling. "Bloody hell, Francis," he sighed. "I don't understand you at all. I can't understand. Stop that, I just don't. Please stop that..."
Against his will Francis found that Arthur had his hands on his face, pulling him up so that Francis had to look at him.
"Forget your family," Arthur said, softly but firmly. "You will stay here. Understand? You are going to stay here. I won't let you leave."
Francis could not help but laugh at that. "Won't let me? Like you have any say over me..."
Arthur kissed him then, lips pressed gently against his. "You just gave me say," Arthur responded, something he probably got from those books he was always reading. "We're not children anymore, Francis. You even sooner than most. You do not have to do anything they say. And by God, if you can at least keep me from hating you every week as you pride yourself in doing, I will help you with this. Will you let me help you with this?"
The funny part was when Francis used those words on Arthur, Arthur still would shoot him down. Then again, he did not want to be considered as stubborn as any of the people in that family.
Francis pulled Arthur closer again for another kiss. They kept that up until their teacher came out to tell them that was not appropriate and that they were supposed to be back in class as lunch was over.
He almost told her to shove it, but thankfully Arthur stopped him.
To hell if Arthur be known as more polite of the two of them!
If Francis was making any of this up, Arthur would kill him. Still, out of everything, Arthur did not think that Francis could or even would make up something so drastic in order to make a fool out of him. Not that he had not in the past, but this was a bit more then that. And they were older. Old enough not to make mistakes? No, just old enough not to make the same ones.
And Arthur had no one to talk about this with. Not that he could, even if he did, which he did not want to. It was not his place to say. Still, he had offered his help. He had offered a bit more then that, but Francis probably had not noticed. Francis always missed the obvious gestures and caught all of the subtle nuances. Or he did not. Or he did.
How had it come to this?
Arthur wanted to refuse it all, wanted to help Francis as a friend would because it would make this simpler. But... Francis had not told anyone else. The people he actually called his friends were left out of this development as of yet. Out of everyone, why had Francis told him?
Bloody hell, he's made me fall for him all over again and he likely knows it.
Arthur knew he had plenty of issues, but he had been hoping that he could try and cut this particular situation off. He and Francis could barely stay around each other without getting into some sort of fight.
...but Francis leaving? Not just him, but all of Hearth? Where Arthur might never see him again? That would be going too far.
"All right, spill it," Elizaveta said to him from out in the hallway where they had moved off to do their work. Arthur fiddled with the stud in his lip, looking down at the book in his lap.
"Spill?" he asked Elizaveta, hoping that being confused about it would make her think she was mistaken. Or, maybe, she was wondering what he and Francis were doing out there. God, it was as if she were trying to treat him like a girl. Talking about it was not really what he wanted to do. He wanted advice, but not to talk about it. Damn.
"My Shakespearean informed friend has yet to be able to fill out even a single question of a worksheet about one of his plays?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"
Arthur nodded, rubbing his fingers up the spine of his copy of the play. "It's... not my place to say."
"Francis?"
With slight hesitation, Arthur nodded. "But not like you think!" he added immediately, before her mind could go off in that specific way she tended to go in.
"...right," she agreed slowly, uncertainly. Arthur tried to focus back on his work, despite his mind refusing to multi task. Elizaveta did not appear to have that same problem, though not as quick at answering these questions as Arthur was certain he could have been if he could have pulled his mind away from what Francis had just told him.
"I don't want to leave you. I don't want to leave you. Merde, I want to stay with you, mon amour. Please understand, I love you."
Whether I believe it or not is not the question, not the problem. I can think about all of that later, after I know that he is going to stay... well, maybe not stay in Hearth. As long as he does not go all the way to France...
"Men are pigs."
Elizaveta stared at him, lips twitching upward. Arthur rolled his eyes.
"You were probably thinking it and I am more qualified to say it than you are. We all are terrible beasts. Women are much more..."
"Simpler?" Elizaveta prompted. Arthur shook his head.
"Emotionally easier to understand?" he tried. Elizaveta was snickering now. Arthur sighed. "Never mind, forget about it."
"May I suggest something, Arthur?" she asked. Arthur shrugged. He was not certain he wanted to hear it, but it was better than fighting her off. "My father bounces psychoanalysis off on me all the time, so these are probably his words in my head. It is not the fault of men. In many cultures men are not allowed to open up their emotions as much, the habit of doing otherwise is taught from birth."
"Because of society, right?" Arthur finally opened his book. "Society tells us to teach our children this way, so we do so, and they become the new members of society. A downward spiral."
"Well... not precisely..." Elizaveta frowned, as if she was trying to think what her father would suggest. "Still, that is not always the case."
"That explains me at the least," Arthur looked up at the ceiling, letting his head roll back on his shoulders before he diverted his eyes toward Elizaveta. "I was raised by my brothers. Roy and Brian would have probably beat the crap out of me if I was anything less than... erm, whatever they call it. Roy keeps telling me we're Scottish, Brian tells me we're Irish, I only remember London until I was seven, and Erin says that mum was half Irish half Scottish and dad was half Welsh half English and we are just confusing... But they think... if I was anything less than a man, I suppose."
"I don't know about that," Elizaveta said thoughtfully. "You make perfect sense to me, Arthur."
It was unnerving to hear so, but Arthur did not comment. Still, it helped him strengthen his resolve. He would help Francis, but only as a friend. Whatever was there between them could wait. Or go away. Or something.
"...'Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast'..." Elizaveta recited the words.
Arthur paid no attention to those words.
Arthur stuck around with Elizaveta after class, as she waited for him to pack up so they could head over to the Vargas residency. She had shown him both of the presents she had gotten for the brothers, each chosen with such care Arthur almost wanted to set the presents he got aside and just leave because it made him feel as if he had not spent much time thinking about it.
Which was true, he had not. Elizaveta unknowingly rubbing it in his face was not helping though.
Still, Feliciano was ecstatic when they arrived. He was ecstatic when everyone arrived and Arthur wondered when his energy would run out, if not today then at which point in his life would he suddenly have no energy to speak of.
Arthur left Elizaveta to hug Feliciano, the both of them bouncing energy off of each other, and heading over to where Ludwig appeared to be trying to melt out of existence.
"Long day?" he asked.
"You hafe no idea," Ludwig responded, looking bored.
Arthur wondered where Ludwig and Feliciano had any similarities and why they were such good friends. Oh well.
It took thirty minutes for the room to become crowded. Arthur spoke a bit with Mister Vargas, though not for too long as he appeared to be busy trying to blackmail Mister Beilschmidt with something and Arthur figured he was probably in the way.
He spoke for a bit with Tino as well before Arthur decided he would find himself a corner which best to watch the humour unroll. Feliciano's parties were always hilarious and it always seemed to end with Ludwig wanting to vanish for one reason or another (either because of Feliciano or because Gilbert did something which made him want to pretend not to be related to him, though with that Arthur could empathize).
Which was when someone grabbed his hand.
"'If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss'."
Arthur stared at Francis, rather surprised he had it memorized. Despite himself, he found himself smirking. "'Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this. For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss'."
Francis paused, probably not expecting Arthur to respond so quickly. Then again, what did he expect? Arthur knew this play inside and out. And he knew where Francis was heading with this. "'Have not... saints lips, and holy palmers too?'"
Arthur was trying very hard not to laugh now. He should stop before this got too far. Nevertheless, he continued. "'Aye, pilgrim, lips that they must use'–"
Francis cut him off with a kiss. He protested for a moment, but realized he was more irritated that he had been cut off than the fact the other was kissing him. When Francis pulled away, Arthur glared at him. Francis smiled. "'Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged'."
"You skipped four lines," Arthur pointed out.
"True," Francis nodded. "I think Romeo and Juliet wasted a lot of time."
"Please Francis," Arthur shook his head. "I'm still... still thrown off from what you told me earlier."
"I noticed. I wanted to apologize. Maybe I shouldn't have–"
"Have what?" Arthur hissed. "Told me? Too late!" Not to say also that Arthur would not want Francis to take that back. He wanted to know this, he did not want to have been left out of this. "...how have you managed up until now?"
His question was tentative. Francis had managed to live on his own without his parents in the same place he had been living when they were alive. Still living in Hearth would not be a surprise, but in that house? No job?
Francis stayed quiet for a while and when he spoke the words were barely given a voice. "I took maman's clients on e-mail. They think I am her."
"What?" Arthur nearly exclaimed, but quieted himself instantly. "Francis! You can't just pretend to be a lawyer!" The other fidgeted. "You are old enough that... you know how long you could be put away for?"
"I know," Francis responded stiffly. "It's why I'm not going to keep it up forever. It always was temporary, Arthur. I'm not an idiot."
"I beg to differ!" Arthur shot back.
They glared at each other, which was when Gilbert came in, asking for Mister Vargas to convince Antonio to come down and not kill himself. Francis went right after Gilbert (and plenty of others), leaving Arthur to try and cool his temper.
He was not concerned about Antonio. Antonio, Gilbert, and Francis always did things that would likely kill themselves when they thought they were being cool. It was the simple things... those were the times when they began complaining that something was wrong. Like children, honestly.
Inside... there are still children. We are still children. The innocent children beneath the shells our caregivers gave us at birth.
The part of them still unaffected by society.
But Francis... His mind retreated back to the subject, trying to mold it into something so that Arthur would have control once again. So that there would be nothing to worry about. Arthur hated having no control.
I am going to have to ask Roy and Brian.
Francis did not want to tell them.
There were plenty of reasons why, but as he did not have to explain himself to anyone there was no point in considering each of the reasons. He did not have to think beyond the fact that he did not want to worry them. He needed help, yes, but the less amount of people who knew about what was going on the better. This would work out somehow.
Yet he found himself zoning out of Antonio's long ramble about Lovino and Gilbert's responses, trying to considering what he had done to himself just to stay here with them. And should he have told Arthur? Why had he told Arthur? Out of all people...
"Did you have fun at the party, Francis?" Antonio asked. It was his name finally being said that made Francis look over toward the both of them.
He needed to act better than this. In not telling them, they would begin to worry anyway! Francis did not want that to happen. "I suppose," he responded. "I'm sorry, I'm just tired. I should stop butchering your fun, oui?"
"Dude, you are a dead veight," Gilbert retorted. Francis smiled wryly at him. You have no idea my friend, no idea at all.
It was best he leave right now. "Give my apologies to your grandmother, Antonio," Francis said as he stood up, waving at the both of them before excusing himself.
"Get some rest!" Francis heard Antonio call after him.
Just his luck though, he was not going home to rest, but to finish getting rid of all the evidence of the forgery he had committed since his parents' deaths. It was all he could do before to make everything seem normal, to lie to the authorities about his representation and ability to stay where he was, but now...
Francis' head swam. He was not aware when he had gotten this deep, but there was no way out now. What had he done? Just to stay in Hearth?
I don't know. Oh I do not know. The last thing I wanted then was change. But now... now! What do I want? What should I do?
And the two people he confided most everything else in... he had told nothing. And Arthur, the one person he had probably lied to the most, told the truth to the most, done everything to... he had practically told everything to the other day. Everything he had kept from him, from everyone, for two years.
"My dear sister... she's gone and you never told us. I should–"
Should what, tante? What?
Francis spent hours pondering the question, elbow deep in paperwork that had nothing to do with studying for finals. Midnight was when he had finally changed his focus. He still had to graduate, he had to do well enough for that. He had to... had to...
I can't think! I can't think!
He was too tired to even burst into tears. Rubbing his eyes, he flipped through to the end of his literature book and wondered why he had even cared to take this class in the first place.
The doorbell rang.
Francis did not even consider having pretended to already have gone to bed. The thought crossed his mind after he had reached the door and had begun to open it, but not a moment before.
"Arthur?"
"I've been an idiot," Arthur said, the words near biting from his lips. He looked behind him, then at the ground. "I... can I speak with you?"
Francis stood there for a while, unable to think of anything to say, before he finally waved Arthur inward. Arthur came in, dropping his coat over the back of a chair as Francis closed the door. When he had done that, he turned to see Arthur looking at him with distress.
"My brothers know."
That did register. "What?" he asked, trying to keep his anger in check. Arthur bit at his lower lip, the metal there clicking against his teeth.
"Brian and Roy were very young when they brought Erin and I here! I thought that they would be able to help, at least tell me how they had managed while having to take care of the two of us! I didn't even bring you up, but Roy could tell. I don't know... he just knew it was about you. I didn't say anything! Please believe me!"
Francis was either too tired currently or of the entire situation to be angry. He sat down in a chair, rubbing at his forehead. "I was asking for it by telling you in the first place, I suppose."
"You 'suppose'?" Arthur hissed at him, though he hesitated instead of continuing to retort. "Francis, I just want to help you. I thought I could get something out of them if I simply acted curious to them. But..."
"How did they react?" Francis smirked, rather interested. By Arthur's current mood he assumed they did not take it well.
"Brian started yelling... and Roy..." Arthur stopped, shrugging helplessly. "He doesn't want me having anything more to do with you."
"Brian started yelling?" He would have thought it to be the other way around. Then again, he could never quite tell with those two.
"I don't think he ever got over walking in and seeing you shagging me," Arthur responded, voice stiff. Francis grinned
"You were very loud, you know!"
"What?" Arthur scoffed, shaking his head. "You were the loud one! Pervert!"
Francis laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. Arthur did not say anything more and Francis noted that he was likely waiting for Francis' response. He was no longer as tired as he had been. Sitting forward, he leaned his arms on to his legs. "It's all right, Arthur. What will they do? Likely contact my aunt. I'm already trying to figure out what to do about her, so there is no change there. I believe I do not have to worry about that until after exams."
"Don't worry about it...?" Arthur said, voice quiet. "Damn you. Of course I worry. You know I do, you made it so, so don't you dare tell me not to!"
What had he done? "Very well. In either case, you should still go home."
Arthur did not move, still looking at him with those angry eyes. Francis stood up and walked up to Arthur, pressing him against the wall gently.
"Go home, Arthur. 'Tempt not a desperate man'."
Arthur blinked, anger dissipating. "That isn't the correct usage, unless you are about to kill me."
"I hate this play and you know it," Francis snorted, kissing him. Arthur kissed him back without any hesitation. "Come to bed with me?"
"Who's tempting who?" Arthur asked, eyebrow raised. "That's not what I–"
Francis kissed him again.
"You just asked me to go home."
"You argued with Roy over me... he'll know you are here," Francis pointed out. Arthur looked surprised.
"Why... How would he know I am here?"
"Because you are stubborn," Francis commented, pressing kisses down his neck. "If you defied him, then why not go all the way? That is why you came here..." And Roy likely knew it. "Either prove him wrong and leave, or make the most out of his finding you here."
Arthur rested his forehead against the side of Francis' face. "I came here to tell you what happened, nothing more. Not only because I hate being told what to do."
"In that way... we are alike, both hating being told what we should do," Francis responded as he placed his hand on Arthur's hip.
"...I'm not protesting," Arthur smirked.
"I know. It's why we are only standing here, throwing words at each other."
"I know. It's what keeps my tongue in check."
There was something terribly wrong with this and Francis wondered if Arthur was as addicted to this game of run-around as he was. Even now that no one else was involved in their games, they still had them. This was how in love he was, so he would bend himself in half for Arthur's amusement.
At the very least he knew that Arthur did not want him to leave.
"I'm going home," Arthur said. So Francis did not let him leave.
Why do I lie?
"Vhat's going on? You'fe been out of it for a vhile Francis. You sick?"
Perhaps Francis was not as good at pretending as he prided himself on being. Or perhaps he had simply reached his limit, played the same roll for too long. Trying to appease all parties at the same time so that he could have what he wanted behind all of their backs.
It was almost funny, what it dwindled down to him wanting. At first he had hidden everything for himself. Now he hid everything in hopes he could keep Arthur this time, somehow.
"I've been studying for exams, which you should be doing," Francis pointed out, shoving the eraser of his pencil into Gilbert's ear. Gilbert scoffed, pulling his head away from the intrusion.
"I hafe! Ant who do you go to for help vith your math, huh? Who?"
"Actually, I have been doing that all on my own," Francis said slyly, appraising Gilbert's response. "You're only good at angles, degrees... that sort of things. What about derivatives?"
"Who vill efer use dose dings?" Gilbert asked, taking Francis' history book a flipping through the pages. "Paper still on de Var of de Roses?"
"Your paper still on Fredrick I?" Francis retorted, with a nod on the correctness of Gilbert's question.
"Vhy vould I change it? Dere are fascinating people in history after all!"
"Then I don't see why having an event with many people would be bad."
Gilbert did not say anything immediately and Francis went back to his work. "You're avoiding de question."
"What question?" Francis asked, absentmindedly.
"I'm not a complete idiot," Gilbert grabbed the pencil out of his hand. Francis quickly looked up toward him. "Vhat is vrong?"
I don't want you to know. "Nothing," Francis shrugged, letting confusion rise to his expression. "Is something supposed to be... Gilbert?"
"N... nah. Noding. Nefer mind." Gilbert handed him back his pencil.
How long can I keep this up?
"Ready for our literature exam?"
"Is that what is next?" Francis asked in shock, glancing up from his chemistry book at Antonio. Antonio nodded and Francis scrambled for his play book.
"We already had chemistry," Antonio reminded him, picking the science book up. Francis thought about it, then realized that he had. He had thought he had done rather well at that exam too. Then they had the practical and Berwald had come in with the supplies their teacher had sent for, surprising Elizaveta and causing her station to catch on fire.
How had he forgotten that?
"Are you really stressing out about this so much?" Antonio asked. "You shouldn't be! You know you do well at tests! This is the last things we have to do for this school, but that does not make it far more important than everything else we've done this year~!"
"Yes... yes. Of course," Francis nodded, staring at words which were not making too much sense to him. "I don't know, 'Toni. I suppose I'm over analyzing the importance of it..."
"Not that it isn't important," Antonio went on to say. Francis let gravity drop his book in his lap as he glared at his friend. "Being stressed over it just isn't going to help! Neither is last minute studying! I heard that–"
"Thanks, but I don't want to hear what you've heard," Francis retorted. "I'd rather get back to my last minute studying."
"Okay~" Antonio smiled, sitting next to him. Francis looked back at his notes as Antonio said more. "Do you really think I got the point of that last math lecture? I don't–"
"Antonio!" Francis shouted, staring at him with surprise. "I thought you said stressing over any of this was unhelpful?"
"But it's math!" Antonio exclaimed. "Math hates me!"
"Math can't hate you, it's a concept." Francis rolled his eyes before he focused them downward. "Bother Gilbert if you're worried about your math, I think he wants to show off how much he 'gets it' this year."
He perused Romeo's death twice before Antonio spoke again.
"We worry about you."
Francis patted him on the shoulder. "I'll be sure to tell you when there's something to worry about, mon ami."
He was tired, but this would be solved. There would be nothing to worry about.
The one thing Francis could say for certain was that he would never return to France by someone else's will.
I'm so tired...
"Are ye doin' yer 'omework?"
"What do you think?" Arthur retorted harshly. Which he should not have done, admittedly. Talking back to his brothers never seemed to get him anywhere. "You don't have to watch me like a hawk, Roy. What do you think I'm going to do?"
"Somethin' stupid," Roy admitted, bringing over a chair and sitting next to him. Arthur focused more on his work, trying to give an air of concentration that would make him go away. "Lemme give ye some advice, Arthur. Listen o' ignore at yer own discretion."
"Advice about what?" Arthur asked absently. "You've never worried about my grades before, but I can promise ye I'll be passing everythin' with flying colours. I only have history an' mathematics left."
"This isn't 'bout school."
Damn. I knew it.
"Look a' me."
Keeping a stiff upper lip, Arthur set down his pencil, turning to look at his brother. "Yes?" he asked as gently as he could. If this was about Francis... he did not need to hear it. It was his own fault, yes, but he did not need to hear it. If only he had not complained about the other previously, if only his brothers had not found out about any of their many relationships...
"Stop sneakin' off ta Francis."
"What do ye–"
"Dunnae treat me like an ejiit!" Roy snapped. Arthur snapped his jaw shut. "Ai know yer goin', don't bo'er ta lie 'bout it."
"Thank ye fer the advice," Arthur responded, turning back to his desk. It was all he could do to not say anything else, not shake with anger. He knew better now. This was his life. He did not need Roy telling him what he should or should not do. Roy rested a hand on his shoulder.
"This'll end in 'eartbreak, Arthur. Ye're gonna fall apart. Ai cannae let ye do this."
And he left. Arthur stared at the wall.
But you're wrong. I love him. I know this now. He had not told Francis this yet, but he supposed there was time for that, right? He did not want to rush through this, not like before when he had thought it was a mistake and... and...
Just because it hasn't worked before doesn't mean... it doesn't mean... I just was not ready! I'm ready now! I'm not a child anymore!
"Oh... I told him... not to bother you..." Erin's voice came from the doorway. Arthur kept his head down on the desk where he had hit it, feeling Erin's light grip rubbing his shoulders.
"I dunnae understand," Arthur muttered. "I should know what I want. I should know, not him. Why does 'e think tha' I cannae make my own decision?"
"He doesn't... think that," Erin responded, forehead resting against the back of Arthur's neck. "He jist... has had more life experience. So... he is lending you some o' his knowledge... He loves you. We all do."
"An' this is wha' he thinks is right?"
"Only with... as open as you've been... with him..." Erin nodded, pulling away. Arthur remembered the day he was oh so honest with all of them. They were the people he would return to for anything.
Was what Roy was telling him right?
No!
"'Then I defy you, stars!'" Arthur whispered to himself.
He did not know what he was going to do next, but he knew it was going to be his decision. No one else. Not his brothers', not Francis'. His.
Arthur was sitting outside of the store, opening up some packaged food. Francis did not go to him immediately, simply watched him. The sense of relief that Francis thought he would feel by the start of summer had not come. His aunt had called him again and once more he had let it go to the message machine. Throughout the week of exams Francis had not seen much of anyone else. Not that no one else was busy, they all were studying. So was he. Plus other things.
"How did your tests go?" Francis asked Arthur, collapsing next to him. "I did well, I... I haven't seen you in a few days." There he had it, Francis could not pretend to be talking about anything else. Arthur looked up at him, pressing a chocolate to his lips. Francis opened them, letting Arthur place it on his tongue.
"I've been thinking. Looking."
"Thinking? You?" Francis smirked, speaking around the chocolate which was melting like heaven on his tongue. Arthur returned the look, not bothered by the teasing words.
Arthur placed another chocolate against his lips, not putting it in his mouth. "I needed space to think. I still need space to think."
Francis swallowed to keep from choking on his chocolate. "Quoi?"
"From my brothers," Arthur continued, licking at the chocolate with the tip of his tongue. Francis tried his best to keep all of his attention on what Arthur was saying, but it was difficult with the other doing that with the sweet in his hand. "They want what's best for me, I know... but they don't know what's best for me. And for as long as I stay around them I don't think I will either."
Now Francis could not pay attention to Arthur's tongue for the life of him. "You're leaving Hearth." It was not a question, it was simply what Francis realized Arthur meant. Arthur stuck the chocolate in his mouth, chewed and swallowed before speaking again.
"I'm going to go to college. I've been wondering lately what to do with myself, but now that I think about it I remember what I've wanted to be for such a long time. A teacher! I will teach children, I will teach them anything! My mind will be open, so open, and they will learn everything that I couldn't, everything that my brothers made certain I could never understand!"
"You're leaving Hearth," Francis repeated helplessly. Arthur looked toward him sadly, then took his hand.
"I'll keep in touch."
"You're leaving."
Arthur sighed, pressing the back of Francis' hand to his cheek. "I do love you, Francis. I do. But I need to become something first. I need to do these things for myself. I'll come back a better person."
No, he would come back a different person. Whether better or not... Francis did not know, could not say. Neither could Arthur. Arthur wanted to leave. Francis could not fault him for wanting to take his own life in his hands, that was what Francis had been doing for a while now himself, but with more illegality.
Arthur needed to do this. Francis understood.
But Francis needed Arthur.
"I'll come with you."
Arthur startled. "Francis, you have your own problems to deal with! You can't just pile on me with them!"
Francis brushed Arthur's hair back from his ear and pressed his lips against it, whispering. "Nonsense, mon cher. I have completed my lies to my mother's clients, they are safely on their way. The problem I have to deal with is simply that of my family who refuse to leave me alone though I am old enough to be where I would like. If we keep quiet where we are going, they will not have to know and I will be through with them!"
"But Brian and Roy..." Arthur began as Francis kissed him. Arthur either sighed and moaned into his mouth before pulling away. "If you go with me, they will tell."
"Then I'll deal with it," Francis shook his head. Honestly, it was as if Arthur was trying to get rid of him! But Francis knew better. The hold Arthur had on his wrist told him that Arthur did not want to be rid of him. Not one bit.
"Unless I don't tell them."
Now it was Francis who was startled. "Arthur..."
"If I tell them I am going it will take months before they decide I am ready to go," Arthur retorted, stiffening. "I go on my own terms!"
"Of course you do."
"When I want!"
"Always."
"...I will choose!"
"Meet me tonight near the station." Arthur did not speak again, simply staring at him. Francis leaned into him once more, pressing kisses against his neck. "We will go, won't look back."
"But..." Arthur swallowed, the motion with Francis' lips against it nearly driving him wild. "Hearth. You wanted to stay here. Gilbert, Antonio, Feliciano, Eliza..."
"Mon Dieu, Arthur. What do I have to do to prove myself to you?"
"This is proving yourself to me?" Arthur squawked, pushing Francis' face away from his neck. "We've gone through this! Bloody hell, Francis!"
"I am sick and tired of playing this game," Francis spoke, pushing Arthur on to his back. Arthur gaped at him, the bag of his chocolates falling to the ground. "We'll start from scratch! Right now, you and I! No more referring to the past, to what has not worked! I will go with you and you will go to school and become a teacher and I will make certain you can do it!"
Arthur stared up at him, almost in what Francis thought was awe.
"...Arthur?"
"Kiss me."
Francis kissed him.
That was a yes. Francis would not accept anything else.
Arthur's heart pounded in his chest, his adrenaline keeping him awake from that moment until two days later where he and Francis lay in bed in a hotel and the rush finally leaving him.
We thought this through well enough... didn't we?
They had to have... it was such a big decision.
There is no looking back now. We'll make it. We will.
"This day's black fate on more days doth depend:
This but begins the woe others must end."
Notes:
For anyone who thinks they have found their soul mate and will do anything to be with them, please remember your family and friends. They may not understand it as you want them to (though you should still try!), but it does not mean they do not care.
Again, a story very, very loosely based on something else. Obviously this was not about two teenagers who marry each other less than twenty four hours after they meet, by their own whims. It is just about two teenagers. Who eventually marry. There is a party in there and a night scene where one person is at another's house when they should not be. Actually, I believe this one is much more closely based on the play than any of the other's I have used as titles for Hearth stories. Imagine that!
Teenagers are really emotional. I guess that is why it is the teenage population which is known for running off from their responsibilities. Then again, who states what is a responsibility to whom? Then again, this was probably a decision Francis should not have made until he had rested well, or a decision that Arthur should have made until he had relaxed. Then again, most decision are made spur of the moment. It is how people live.
My heart nearly broke when I wrote that Francis loved Hearth. It is sad how quickly that changed.
And yes, Arthur has a lip piercing. Along with a few other piercings. Terrible, is it not? It makes me laugh.
Arthur also tended to slip into a different sort of accent while talking with his siblings back in the day. That was a habit he hammered out of himself quite efficiently while he was away.