Later that same day, Francis was sitting on his dirty, stained couch writing on a small piece of paper with a glass within easy reach of his fingers, when his doorbell rang; the sound old and distressed from a few years of disrepair.
Heaving himself up, he quickly slipped the paper behind some books before he dragged himself over to the door, feet slipping a little from both the motion on the wood floor and the man's tired mind.
"H-Hello?" he asked as he pulled the door open. Seeing the person on his front step made his eyes widen and his mind reel, there was no way his eyes were telling the truth. "A-Arthur…? Is that really you?" Reaching forward slowly, scared to make the apparition disappear, he gently touched the other's arm. "What are you doing here?"
The younger man simply stared at the other, mouth open slightly. There was no way that the man in front of him was really Francis; simply no way. Francis was cheerful, flirty, always the best dressed and manicured person in the room but the person in front of him was not the same at all. He would have said, 'Excuse me I seem to have the wrong house' except for the fact that he knew he was in the right place; he had spent too many wonderful days and nights in this beautiful home with its sprawling lawns and gardens to ever forget it. "F-Francis…?" he asked nervously, trying to make sure it was him. The older man nodded slowly, still shocked that the man was in his country, let alone here.
Arthur continued to stare. He knew that Antonio had said that Francis was in rough shape but he had never assumed it was this bad. The man's hair was greasy and full of knots and tangles, along with dozens of split ends, his beard was wildly overgrown, reaching far past his shoulders and there were large, dark circles under his eyes. Even his clothes weren't spared. They were stained, torn, and definitely out of style.
This wasn't Francis. Not the Francis he knew.
The Francis he knew would never be caught dead looking like this. Even when he knew that he was going to be at home all day, not seeing anyone, he would far better than Arthur did on any normal day.
"Francis…what…what has happened to you?"
Honestly, he was almost scared to hear the answer.
"I was heartbroken."
Arthur took a step back in shock.
"B-But…b-but that was four years ago…did you not move on?"
The older man shook his head.
"No. I was in love. It is not easy to move on from something like that." As the other was fidgeting on his step, Francis asked again, "Why are you here, Arthur?"
"O-Oh…w-well…Antonio came to see me this morning and told me that you were not doing well. He wanted me to come talk to you."
"Then do you want to come in?"
He pushed the door open and stepped to the side.
The Englishman nodded.
"Yes please."
The two entered the house and again Arthur was amazed by all the changes. The furniture wasn't immaculate, far from it actually with several stains and springs popping out of cushions. The walls were all stained and some of the wallpaper was torn or missing pieces. Everything was covered in dust. Surely things weren't this bad for the older man, right?
He followed the man to the living room and sat on a chair across from him while the other took the couch and grabbed his small glass he had left there.
"Still drinking, I see?" Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Is that why you look so bad?"
He regretted his choice of words as soon as he saw the older's face fall.
"No. I am not." He held the glass out for the other to smell. "It is just grape juice. I have not had any alcohol in years. This juice is the closest I have gotten."
Taking a sniff proved the drink to be just as he said; just simple juice.
"You haven't been drinking? But I thought you and Antonio went to the bar every week."
Francis shook his head.
"No. I only go if he drags me there to get me out of the house and I only drink water when we are there."
"When was the last time you had any alcohol?"
"The day you threw me out."
Arthur's eyes widened.
"So your collection has just been sitting in your basement untouched?"
"No. I removed it. I did not want to be tempted to drink any of it."
Arthur's jaw dropped.
"What?! All of your rare and expensive wines are gone?! You sold them?!"
"I did not sell them all." The younger man sighed in relief. "I gave some of it away for free to get rid of it as soon as possible."
The man gaped at him.
"You…what…you…you…"
He couldn't find the words he wanted and just opened and closed his mouth for a few more moments.
"Arthur, will you answer a question I have had for a while now?"
Giving a quick shake of his head to get back to himself, Arthur nodded. "Yeah. Sure."
Francis took a deep breath and looked down at the dirty carpet under his mismatched socks.
"You told me that the reason you threw me out was because I smoked too much, drank too much, and was too flirty but I do not believe those to be the real reasons. I threw my last pack of cigarettes in your trash before I walked to the train station in the rain with no shoes or umbrella. As much as I have wanted to light up to calm my nerves, I have refrained. I have not touched a bottle of any alcohol since that same night when I dragged myself to my favorite bar, deciding to get water instead. It has been difficult and I have been nearly desperate for a mere sip but none has been near me. I was never unfaithful to you. You know my job is make sure that people feel good about themselves and brighten their day; I only ever tossed a compliment or two at them and nothing more. Since you left me, I have done nothing remotely sexual, whether by myself or with another. And not only that, but you said that you hated my national language and my accent, so I stopped using it completely. Only English comes out of my mouth and my accent is gone altogether. If I was to visit your country or Alfred's I would fit in without question." He sighed sadly and looked up to lock eyes with the man he still loved dearly. "I have changed so much for you, even though I did not believe those to be the real reasons, and you still ignore me, push me away, and go off with your new love. You said you would answer my question and I desperately want to know the truth so please do not hold back this time. Arthur please, why did you break up with me? Honestly."
Arthur let out a breath in a hiss and looked away guiltily.
"I cannot." He didn't look at the other as he heard a choked sob come from the other, standing up instead. "Not now. I have to go figure something out. When I have everything sorted, I will be back, I promise."
He headed for the door, grabbed the knob, and paused.
A sheet of paper that had obviously been hidden in a hurry was sitting on a bookshelf. Though he couldn't see all of the words, he knew what the message meant.
"Francis…" he started slowly, turning around with the paper in his hand. "What is this?"
AN: Okay so the REAL reason I was keeping the chapters short was because of the timeskips in the first few chapters. And to lead up to this. This really long chapter is also the reason it took so long to be posted. I wanted to make sure that Francis' speech was absolutely perfect.
But yes, Francis is so different. No smoking, no drinking, no flirting, no French. None of that for four years. And he doesn't even care about his appearance anymore! He's so heartbroken and Arthur won't even tell him the ONE thing he wants to know.
Maybe he will next time.
Oh and why was Francis hiding a piece of paper? Why was it so important that Arthur not see it?
