For the next couple of weeks things were quiet and the two hardly ever saw each other. Occasionally they would meet on their balconies, too stubborn to go away before the other; Arthur watering his plants or drinking tea, Francis smoking his cigarettes. When the wind was from the Frenchman's side, however, the Brit would always leave, not tolerating the smell of the scented tobacco anymore.
It was during the third week when Arthur started noticing the sudden changes going on around the apartment building. People with families and by only themselves came to see Francis' flat almost every day and many times Arthur would notice big moving trucks in front of their condo, moving the furniture he knew too well to it and driving off.
On a Thursday evening when the Brit was coming home from work, he noticed Francis and their landlord chat before his neighboring door. He cursed himself for not finding keys out early and while he searched for them from his bag, he couldn't help but to overhear their discussion.
"It's a real shame, Mr. Bonnefoy, you were one of my favorite tenants!" the short Indian man said and closed Francis' door, locking it. "You're really sure about leaving England?" "Oui, there's... there's nothing left for me here," the Frenchman answered, looking at Arthur who had stopped mid-way unlocking his front door. "Anyway, I thought to give London one last look before I head to the airport which is why I'm leaving so early." "Oh yes, I remember now, you're supposed to go on the 1 o'clock flight, right? Man, sucks to be traveling in the night," the owner said and turned to Arthur, only now noticing him. "Oh, Mr. Kirkland!" "I payed my rent, didn't I, Mr. Raheej?" he asked bluntly, looking at him, cursing him for spilling out such details of the Frenchman's leave. Francis noticed his red eyes; he felt his stomach clench when he though how much the Brit must've cried. "Ah, yes, indeed, you did. Did you hear, though? Your neighbor is leaving, aren't you going to-" "I bid him a safe flight," Arthur interrupted him and went to his apartment, banging the door behind him. He slid against the closed door, sitting down and burying his face to his hands. He never thought it would be that hard and the more he hurt the more he understood how much he still cared for him, not knowing whether it was love or just an obsession of not being alone anymore. Sure, he still had his family, Kiku, Alfred and others, but they weren't Francis. No one would ever be.
"What's going on with him lately?" Mr. Raheej grumbled to himself. "Going out at strange times to run, coming home drunk... I've been getting complaints from the people downstairs." "I just hope he will try to fix whatever he has broken," Francis muttered, looking at the closed door. "For I'm not allowed." With a sad smile he gave the manager the keys to his flat and left for the elevator, dragging his suitcase behind him.
Arthur passed the next few hours in his bed and his bath. The last ones, though, were spent on the phone with his mother. He tried to sound strong, but knew that Margaret didn't believe any of that. "How I wish I could just mend things," he whispered, holding back his tears. "But you can, honey!" his mother encouraged him on the other side of the line. "You still have time until 1 o'clock, don't you?" Arthur looked at the alarm clock next to his bed show 11:56 PM. "I can try," he said before hanging up and springing in search of some decent clothes, not knowing what to say or what to do when he reaches the airport.
In the mean time, Francis was at the end of the check-in line. He had deliberately stayed last in order to see whether Arthur would come or not. "Sir?" the woman at the metal detector called out to him when it was finally his turn. Sighing and giving the main gate one final broken look, he turned to step through the detector. Soon enough he was at the G-terminal, sitting at the small cafe. "The coffee still tastes like shit, just like it did in December," he thought to himself, when he drank the murky liquid. He kept looking at the entrance of the terminal, expecting Arthur to run through it to him, just like he had seen in those many movies that used to run on the television during Sunday nights. He and the Brit usually spent the Sunday evenings just relaxing, their feet on the coffee table, drinking tea, eating cake and watching chick flicks. "Not watching, though," Francis thought to himself and smiled. Usually they would just laugh at the immense plot holes in them and disagreeing at the point the movies usually made: love is never that easy and never will be. The speaker in the ceiling called out to board the flight FR-36837, it taking off in 20 minutes. Heavily, Francis stood up and left to the boarding gates.
Arthur hastily parked his car alongside the road next to the airport and dashed in, in search of the notification boards. After having found it, he spurt to the gate leading to the G-terminal, desperately trying to make it in time. "Sir, your boarding pass, please!" the young woman said, standing between the gate and him. "I don't have time for that, I need to - someone important to me is going to leave if I don't get there!" he yelled, shaking her shoulders. Taking pity on him, she asked where was that person going to fly. "Paris," he huffed, "flight FR-36-something-something. Can't you call the plane to wait or something?" "I could if the plane would still be at the terminal," the young assistant said, watching how all the emotikon stole away from the man's face. "What?" he whispered, not believing what the woman was saying. "Yes, I'm sorry, the plane left 10 minutes ago." "Ten minutes," he repeated, and turned around, feeling numb. He went to the nearest bench and sat down, still not comprehensible enough to understand what had just happened. He had been so close; to be honest, he was almost already laughing during his drive there, thinking he could - even if it was just a maybe - still fix things. For three more hours he sat on the bench, hoping the attendant had been wrong or that Francis had decided not to go on the flight and come out of the gate any second.