Seven Days of Rain (4/7?) Part 1
Title: Seven Days of Rain
Author: mslavender
Characters: AU!France, AU!England, AU!Hungary, AU!Alfred, AU!Gilbert, AU!Antonio and mentions of AU!Allistor
Pairing: FrUK <3
Rating: T
Summary: Seven days of rain, seven days of innocent romance.
Arthur watched the raindrops trail along down his bedroom window. London was almost always rainy this time of the year and, although Arthur was used to it, he couldn't help but still feel disappointed because he did want to go out and play. There was nothing much to do at home for a kid his age after all, and if he went out that door, he was sure to see his brothers and they would just call him 'stupid' and a 'dumbass' and make fun of him again. He may be young but he perfectly understood whatever names they were calling him, having read all about them in his father's books in all of the time that he had spent alone in the house when his brothers were at school and his parents were at work. As young as Arthur was, he knew just as well as they did that they weren't proper things to say at all, much less to their own younger brother. Numerous times he had thought about telling parents about his brothers' use of profanities but that wouldn't do any good; his siblings would just call him a wuss and the tormenting would only get worse.
Sighing, he wondered when his mother and father would come back home again. They were usually gone for days on end, but it didn't usually last for more than two weeks. The feeling at the pit of his stomach when they were gone was becoming unbearable recently, and if he didn't see them soon, he was sure to throw a fit even if he rarely did so. That would be trouble for the sole maid taking care of all of them and the house-and then he remembered that he didn't want that. He didn't want to be a burden.
Just when he had decided to give up on the raindrops forming strange little shapes on his window, he saw an unfamiliar black car and a huge moving van park in front of the uninhabited house across theirs. Come to think of it, the sign that used to say 'For Lease' was now crossed out and instead, was replaced with the word 'Leased'.
(Arthur remembered that sign well: A year ago, he immediately grabbed his father's dictionary and looked up the word 'lease' when an old man had put out the sign on the lawn. When his father had gone home that weekend, young Arthur told him that he had learned what the sign on the house across from theirs meant, and his father did something he rarely did after a long day of work: He picked him up and hugged him, his arm strangely warm around the small body of the young Englishman.
"Good boy," he said, smiling and looking fondly at his son despite the tired look in his eyes. "I'm proud of you, son.")
Arthur ran as fast his little feet could carry him downstairs, ignoring Allistor's (his older brother by two years) yelp of surprise, and hurried out the front door. The porch was soaking wet, but he didn't mind; knowing that he was going to have new neighbors was much more important than soggy old creaking wood.
"Hey!" he called out to the figures huddling underneath the umbrella. When they turned to look at him, Arthur had seemed to forgotten at least half of his manners when he gasped at the young girl who snuggled closer to her parents. Her short wavy golden locks and boyish clothes were slightly damp, but this didn't dull the shine of her light blue eyes and the slight pink of her cheeks as she smiled.
"Maman, regard! C'est un garçon Anglais mignon. Est-ce que je peux devenir des amis avec lui?"
Arthur's head tilted to the side as he heard the chirpy nasally accentuated voice of the girl. Her parents replied to her in the same way she did and Arthur didn't understand a thing. Were they speaking another language perhaps? He'd have to look into it in one of his father's books later.
"'Ey!" she called back, her smile starting to falter as she tried to think of what to say in a language foreign to her. "Uh, uhm-ah! Friends! Friends, yes?"
Arthur could feel the warmth spreading on his cheeks when she had smiled brightly at him once again. It took him a few more seconds to reply, "Ah-y-yes! Yes, we're friends!" before he quickly waved a clumsy goodbye and went back into the warmth of his house and slammed the door close, face still unusually warm and insides all tingly.
When Arthur's eyes fluttered open, the first thing he saw was a blinding sea of blue. It felt familiar though, and strangely comforting, like he had already seen it before. Maybe in his dream? What did he dream about anyway? Whatever it was, Arthur couldn't really think straight at the moment. His head was throbbing badly and his eyes were only just adjusting to the sudden burst of bright colors. So he shielded his face with his arm and glanced over to the window where the morning light was coming from. Groaning, he sat up and glanced around the unfamiliar room, still groggy and hungover from last night's wine session.
Wait... wine?
It took a few more seconds for Arthur to realize that he was not wearing his pants nor was he in his own room. He panicked as he tried to remember what happened last night but failed miserably. Everything was a clear blank. Did he do something embarrassing? Was he raped while he was asleep? Or worse, was he the one who raped someone while they were asleep? Arthur covered his face in frustration, calming himself down and did his best to think rationally. Who was he with last night? The person that popped into his head was Francis, and the entire dinner suddenly came back to him up until the part where he was knocked out on Francis shoulder.
Arthur felt himself fall into shock. Did anything happen to them while he was out? Did Francis do something to him? Did he do something to Francis? Why would he do anything to him anyway?
"Shit!" Arthur cursed aloud. He jumped when a groan was heard from the desk on the other side of the room as a familiar slumped-over silhouette shifted slightly, mumbling, "Cinq minutes de plus, maman..."
"Wh-F-Francis!" Arthur called frantically, head whipping around the room for his pants. Instead of finding pants however, the clock on the bedside table caught his attention. It read 6:30AM-he was going to be late. There was no way he was going to allow himself to be tardy just because of a stupid hangover caused by a stupid Frenchman, rape or no rape.
Jumping out of the bed, Arthur finally spotted his pants draped on the chair Francis was on and tugged it free from the still-sleeping Frenchman. He pulled them on with hurried ease, and when he was done, he slapped Francis' on the back of his head and hissed, "Francis, wake the fuck up, we-you're going to be late for school!"
Arthur refused to lump himself with the irresponsible bastard, and so without even caring to answer Francis' What the hell was that for?!, he left the room, grabbed his shoes from the side of the hallway, and ran as fast as he could to his house to collect his bag, then immediately bolted for school.
----------------------------------------------------
"Dude, you reek of-wait, is that wine, man?" Alfred eyed him incredulously as they walked to their lockers and took another shameless sniff. "Since when do you drink wine?"
"Shut up, git. None of your business." Arthur threw a lazy but irritated arm at the American to push him away but failed; his throbbing head had slowed whatever brain function he had. He even barely made it through History class as they discussed the Anglo-French wars. As much as he wanted to participate and show just how annoying the French could be, his body wasn't taking the hangover well, and it would only be embarrassing if he fell off his chair in the middle of class just because he wanted to bash the French. It wasn't really worth the trouble anyway, seeing as Francis didn't turn up for school (which he expected, by the way). Not that he actually needed Francis to be there to be able to show the world just how stupid the French are. After all, Francis himself was the walking example in the school.
"Oh, I see," Alfred snickered at the smirk that Arthur wore, mistaking it for a smile. "You had a date last night."
Arthur stopped in the middle of the hallway, his face reddening at the insinuation. He could hear people complaining behind him at the abrupt stop, but it had seemed distant as Arthur's uncomfortable thoughts swirled around his head.
Last night with Francis wasn't a date, was it? No, it wasn't. For it to be a date, both parties had to agree that it was. No one even said anything about a date, just dinner. Date and dinner-two completely different things. And so when Arthur reached that conclusion, and Alfred was already pushing the Brit to the side to allow the people behind them to continue on their way, Arthur pointed triumphantly at the American, looking as if he had won some serious debate in court. "It was not a date!"
There was silence as Alfred looked to and fro at Arthur's shaky finger and to his smug-but-in-denial face-he knew that face well. It was the same face Arthur made when he baked cookies for his first crush and she just threw it on the floor after the first bite and left. Arthur tried to convince himself, saying that it was just too good, she couldn't take it. But they both knew the truth, and Alfred had to stay after class to calm the broken-hearted Englishman.
Realizing this quickly, Alfred gasped, "So it was!" before he laughed and put an arm around the horrified Englishman. "So who was the lucky girl? Was it Lili? Or no no no, better yet, was it Elizaveta? I'm right, aren't I?! I knew you guys had a thing for each other! You're always so close-"
"Who is close with who, mon ami?"
Arthur grew stiff at the sound of that French accent. From the corner of his eye, he saw Alfred beside him give Francis one of those American hand-shake-shoulder-bumping greetings, saying cheerfully, "Francis! How 'ya been, bro?!" Arthur felt his brow twitch slightly. Since when were they this close?
"I am tres bien, Alfred," grinned Francis. "I hope you're the same as well." He barely gave Alfred any time to reply as he looked over at the quiet Englishman behind him and smirked. "And I see Arthur is just as stoic as ever."
"Shut your trap, frog. It's your fault my head bloody hurts," Arthur scowled, his foul mood returning. Was he even supposed to be bothered that they were close?
"Well, good morning to you, too," Francis smiled sweetly as if he was already expecting such a rude greeting and was fine with it. "At least the wine last night was to your liking, oui?"
Arthur grimaced and glared at the Frenchman. "Not at a-"
"W-wait, time out!" Alfred put his hand in the middle of the bickering couple, and gave them both a look of disbelief as they turned their attention to him. With all of the exaggerated emphasis he could muster, he jabbed at Francis' arm, completely ignoring the glare he got in return. "It was you who went out to dinner with Arthur last night?"
Arthur's eyes widened as he realized his mistake of mentioning this in front of Alfred. He may have been the closest thing to a friend Arthur had since he transferred schools but that didn't mean he was privy to just anything in Arthur's life, especially anything involving pony-tailed Frenchmen and their delicious dinners. Knowing Alfred as well as he does, Arthur was also very certain he'd only end up embarrassing himself-Alfred was just too obnoxious and teasing, and him knowing Arthur as well, he wouldn't just let go of something so new to the Englishman at all.
Sensing the dangers he was going to face, Arthur quickly smothered Francis' face with his backpack just as the Frenchman was about to open his mouth and blabber, and smiled nervously at Alfred. "N-no, uh, Francis just came by to the house for a few minutes, th-that's all," Arthur hardened his grip and push on his backpack as Francis squirmed beneath it. "H-he didn't really come in, y'see, I, uh, he just dropped by to give some wine. Yeah, that's it! And I, uh, I d-drank it all l-last night." He tried to smile confidently, hoping Alfred wouldn't notice the stuttering and the small beads of sweat that had started to form on his brow.
Arthur could feel Alfred eyeing him doubtfully as he released Francis from the evil that was his Backpack of Heavy Books. He felt a murderous glare shot his way which the Englishman returned just as nastily, smirking when he'd noticed the Frenchman carefully massaging a still-healing cheek. And when a few seconds of quiet anger had passed and their mouths had both opened to spew out any nonsensical argument filled with swearing and intended negativities, Alfred finally spoke up, feigning understanding despite his arousing suspicions.
"Hm, I see," Alfred glanced knowingly at Francis, who returned it with a bewildered shrug, then smiled widely and put each of his arms on the shoulders of both men. "Well, if you guys are finally friends, then how about the party tomorrow eve-"
"Arthur!"
Arthur barely had time to turn around and nervously greet the Hungarian when she pulled him off of Alfred's grip.
"Wha-hey!"
"Sorry, Alfred," Elizaveta smiled apologetically, hand grasped firmly on Arthur's wrist as she walked away and dragged a horrified Arthur with her. "Got to borrow your best friend first."
"He is not my best friend!" Arthur flailed in a last attempt to run away from Elizaveta but failed anyway.
Elizaveta only chuckled, and when she saw Francis, she waved and gave him a hasty thumbs up, "Good work, by the way, Bonnefoy!"
"Merci," called back an amused Frenchman.
"W-wait, what do you mean 'good work'?! L-let go of me, woman!" was Arthur's last words as he faded farther away into the hall, the incessant scolding of the Hungarian already blending well with the chattering of crowds.
Francis let out a small chuckle, staring off into the distance where Elizaveta and Arthur had disappeared. He knew what was coming, and knowing Arthur, he'd greatly anticipate the reaction. Satisfied with the turn of events, he turned his attention back to Alfred, but instead of coming back to the cheery bright smile of the American, he was cornered by an inquiring and accusing look that suddenly made the Frenchman nervous.
"I know when Arthur's lying," started the American, The Look still blatantly plastered on his face. "It's not at all hard to tell, you know."
"So I noticed," Francis replied calmly, doing his best not to falter under Alfred's strong gaze. He still wanted to respect Arthur's decision of keeping the dinner a secret (even though it would be amusing to see Arthur beating up Alfred every day for his stubborn inquiries), knowing how incredibly overbearing and loud this American can be. Besides, it was also his ass on the line as well if he had said anything.
Alfred's eyebrow rose dangerously on his forehead as he crossed his arms and shifted his weight to his other foot, a rare sight to see from the carefree American. This must mean business then, Francis thought.
"Talk, Francis," demanded Alfred, blue eye still glinting with apparent scrutiny. "Did you guys have dinner last night?"
Francis' secretive smile was starting to fail him. At the moment, he only had two possible options that would work for him: running away or telling him the truth. But if he was going to be realistic about this, Francis knew he only actually had one. There was obviously no use running away-the American's willpower to pursue his goals was incredible. There were a lot of rumors circulating about the successful attempt of a Mecha-inspired school festival, and Francis didn't want to be a target of said willpower.
"Not exactly out, per se," said Francis thoughtfully. "I cooked him dinner-"
"You cooked him dinner?!" Alfred exclaimed in the hallway. People looked his way for a bit, and when they saw that it was only the infamous loud and exaggerating Alfred, they continued on with their business, knowing fully that it was how Alfred was and there was no stopping him.
"-at my house-"
"You invited him to your house and he said yes?!"
"-and then he got drunk and passed out-"
"He got drunk?! Since when-"
"-and he slept on my bed."
"-he slept on your what?!" Alfred was already hysterical with disbelief at this time, his bag falling off his shoulders as he tried to make sense of what the Frenchman had just told him.
Francis gave Alfred an impatient look and scoffed, "Really, Alfred, you should listen to people when they talk. I said-"
"Dude, Francis," Alfred closed in on Francis, hands gripping tightly on the wrists of the surprised Frenchman. "You've got to teach me how you did that."
Francis could only raise an eyebrow in his confusion. "Did what, exactly?"
"You should realize by now that Arthur just doesn't say yes to anyone, yeah?" Alfred babbled, hope rising with every word. "And you both never really talked to each other before, so I'm guessing you just met." Before Francis could confirm, Alfred had already continued, "Well, what more to people he doesn't really know! Dude, you were able to invite him to dinner, convinced him to drink wine even if he hates that stuff, and you got him drunk! Drunk!" Alfred laughed as he patted Francis on the arm. "Heck, I'm his best friend and he rarely even says yes to my invitations-"
Francis took his time taking this in (even with the talking speed Alfred was going) as he nodded and muttered, "Is that so..."
"-so going back to the point, man, teach me your-"
"Alfred." A menacing grip had suddenly found its way on the American's shoulder, jerking him away from a terrified Francis who immediately knew where the dangerous aura was coming from. "Go to class, Alfred."
"Wha-" Alfred whipped his head towards the direction of the voice, and when he saw that it was only Arthur, he made another pouting face, completely disregarding the danger he was in. "But, dude-"
"I said," growled Arthur with a meanness that not even the oblivious Alfred could deflect. "Go to class. I need to talk to Francis."
Francis could only hide a horrified squirm in his head as a frantic Alfred quickly nodded his goodbyes to both him and Arthur. For a split second, not at all imaginary to Francis, he unmistakably saw that hidden Good Luck look on the American's face which did not help his over-imaginative mind at all. If not even his best friend can do something about this Arthur, what more the irritating Frenchman acquaintance that Arthur declaredly hates? Nevertheless, Francis never backed down from a fight, and if this fight involved Arthur, the terrible English gentleman, then so be it; he wanted to befriend this cold loner of a man, then he had to endure the pain that came with it.
And so, with his usual charming smile, Francis himself approached Arthur just as Alfred had turned around to leave, and asked with as much ease and calm he could muster, "What seems to be the problem, Arthur?"
Arthur immediately thumped the rolled up papers in his trembling fist on Francis' chest. "This, Francis, this is the problem. Why did you even have this in the first place? I thought you didn't want to do the papers!" Arthur's eyes flared with anger as he willed himself to calm down, his voice getting louder with every word he managed to spit at the Frenchman.
Francis, slightly bewildered at the sudden outburst of the Englishman, held his hands in front of his chest defensively, and gently cooed, "Calm down, Arthur. I didn't mean to take anything from your files-"
"That's not the problem here, Francis!" huffed Arthur, hands tightly clenched and still trembling. The papers were now hopelessly crumpled, but that seemed to be the least of Arthur's worries as he took another jab at the Frenchman's chest. "You could have at least told me you were going to work on it, not do everything by yourself. We were supposed to work together as a team-"
"And we did, Arthur! I only got those papers from your bags; you already had them prepared-"
"I did, but it was for the both of us to talk about and to work on-"
"-and all I did was add bits of my work and ideas and edit everything-"
"-not for you to just selfishly take on the whole project in one night-"
"-I was only doing my job-"
"-You're such an arrogant bastard-"
"-Will you just listen-"
"-Selfish prick, insensitive asshole-"
At this time, Francis was starting to get desperate. Any hopes of calming down the angered Englishman seemed to diminish as he ran out of words to deliver and patience to spend. The people in the hallway had slowly disappeared; classes were already resuming, but that didn't bother the Frenchman one bit, the Englishman in front of him much more important than anything else. And so, with the resolve of the strength in his blood, Francis tried to start over, even against Arthur's childish name-calling.
"You've got it all wrong-"
"-French twat-"
"-Arthur-" A gentle touch to the arm.
"-Fuck off, Francis-" Short quick footsteps signaled Arthur moving away.
"-Please-" A slight grasp, a bit forceful this time.
"-No! Let go-" Arthur roughly pulled his arm from the grip, turning around in a brisk walk away from the Frenchman. "I've had enough!"
"Arthur, please, we can talk about this," Francis hurried after Arthur, trying to match his hastened steps with his. "You're misunderstanding the whole thing-"
"I do not know what is there to misunderstand about this, Francis," Arthur took a few short seconds to slow down and shove the crumpled papers to Francis arms before turning back around and heading straight to the classrooms. "Don't put the blame on me-"
"I am not putting any blame on you!" exclaimed Francis, finally exhausted from putting up with Arthur's nonsensical arguments. Before he could purposefully grab Arthur in the arm, however, Antonio and Gilbert had appeared around the corner of the hallway, immediately taking notice of the two distressed men going their way. Arthur, surprised by the sudden appearance of Francis' friends, abruptly stopped in his tracks, suddenly too self-conscious to move or face any of them.
"Oh, hey, Francis, we were just looking for you," Gilbert called rather cheerfully, failing to notice the upsetting atmosphere between the two. "We were thinking about cutting class and just chilling at the usual-hey!"
Gilbert was cut off when Arthur rushed past the two friends around and into the hallway they just came from, unintentionally bumping into the albino's shoulders as he went. The German's red eyes flickered angrily at Arthur's hurried form as he disappeared into the corridor, but Francis was faster than him; he broke into a semi sprint, all the while calling for Arthur, but Antonio readily put his arms around his best friend and struggled to put him to a stop.
"Calm down, Francis," grunted Antonio. "If you chase him now, you'll only anger him even more."
At the words of his friend, Francis stopped his struggling and stood still for a moment, figure slumped and clothes disheveled. The crumpled papers in his arms felt heavy all of a sudden, but he could not find it in himself to throw them away, no matter how upset he was at the situation and at Arthur. Slowly, he pulled himself away from Antonio's loosening embrace, and bundled up the papers then rolled them in place, holding them tightly in his hand as it swung uselessly at his side.
This was the first time he'd ever fought so badly against a friend, and, as the thought dawned on him, he was at a complete loss at what to do. He had always been friends with everyone, easily making them comfortable with his amicable presence and irresistible charm; always dazzling them with graceful motions and his contagious smiles and laughter. Why was it that Arthur could not see that? Why is he not affected? Is there something Francis had done to make Arthur dislike him so much?
"Yo, Francis," Gilbert's quiet voice rang through the empty hallway, his cold hand unusually reassuring on his shoulder. "As I said, I still have those free coupons for McDonalds. Still want to chill?"
The only reply the German received was a silent nod, followed by the shuffling of footsteps as they both led the downhearted Frenchman into the hallway and, cautiously, out the school.
----------------------------------------------------
Author's Note: So, life caught up with me recently, and now that it has kicked me back into dark alleyways and left me for dead, I decided to finally go back to writing! Haha. I do apologize for the lack of updates and the really long hiatus. Nevertheless, I do plan to see this story to the end, no matter how long it takes. I already have Part 2's intro done and might have everything out and posted next week. Thanks for your patience!
Translations:
Maman, regard! C'est un garçon Anglais mignon. Est-ce que je peux devenir des amis avec lui?
- Mom, look! It's a cute English boy. May I become friends with him?
Cinq minutes de plus, maman...
- Five more minutes, Mom...
Author: mslavender
Characters: AU!France, AU!England, AU!Hungary, AU!Alfred, AU!Gilbert, AU!Antonio and mentions of AU!Allistor
Pairing: FrUK <3
Rating: T
Summary: Seven days of rain, seven days of innocent romance.
Arthur watched the raindrops trail along down his bedroom window. London was almost always rainy this time of the year and, although Arthur was used to it, he couldn't help but still feel disappointed because he did want to go out and play. There was nothing much to do at home for a kid his age after all, and if he went out that door, he was sure to see his brothers and they would just call him 'stupid' and a 'dumbass' and make fun of him again. He may be young but he perfectly understood whatever names they were calling him, having read all about them in his father's books in all of the time that he had spent alone in the house when his brothers were at school and his parents were at work. As young as Arthur was, he knew just as well as they did that they weren't proper things to say at all, much less to their own younger brother. Numerous times he had thought about telling parents about his brothers' use of profanities but that wouldn't do any good; his siblings would just call him a wuss and the tormenting would only get worse.
Sighing, he wondered when his mother and father would come back home again. They were usually gone for days on end, but it didn't usually last for more than two weeks. The feeling at the pit of his stomach when they were gone was becoming unbearable recently, and if he didn't see them soon, he was sure to throw a fit even if he rarely did so. That would be trouble for the sole maid taking care of all of them and the house-and then he remembered that he didn't want that. He didn't want to be a burden.
Just when he had decided to give up on the raindrops forming strange little shapes on his window, he saw an unfamiliar black car and a huge moving van park in front of the uninhabited house across theirs. Come to think of it, the sign that used to say 'For Lease' was now crossed out and instead, was replaced with the word 'Leased'.
(Arthur remembered that sign well: A year ago, he immediately grabbed his father's dictionary and looked up the word 'lease' when an old man had put out the sign on the lawn. When his father had gone home that weekend, young Arthur told him that he had learned what the sign on the house across from theirs meant, and his father did something he rarely did after a long day of work: He picked him up and hugged him, his arm strangely warm around the small body of the young Englishman.
"Good boy," he said, smiling and looking fondly at his son despite the tired look in his eyes. "I'm proud of you, son.")
Arthur ran as fast his little feet could carry him downstairs, ignoring Allistor's (his older brother by two years) yelp of surprise, and hurried out the front door. The porch was soaking wet, but he didn't mind; knowing that he was going to have new neighbors was much more important than soggy old creaking wood.
"Hey!" he called out to the figures huddling underneath the umbrella. When they turned to look at him, Arthur had seemed to forgotten at least half of his manners when he gasped at the young girl who snuggled closer to her parents. Her short wavy golden locks and boyish clothes were slightly damp, but this didn't dull the shine of her light blue eyes and the slight pink of her cheeks as she smiled.
"Maman, regard! C'est un garçon Anglais mignon. Est-ce que je peux devenir des amis avec lui?"
Arthur's head tilted to the side as he heard the chirpy nasally accentuated voice of the girl. Her parents replied to her in the same way she did and Arthur didn't understand a thing. Were they speaking another language perhaps? He'd have to look into it in one of his father's books later.
"'Ey!" she called back, her smile starting to falter as she tried to think of what to say in a language foreign to her. "Uh, uhm-ah! Friends! Friends, yes?"
Arthur could feel the warmth spreading on his cheeks when she had smiled brightly at him once again. It took him a few more seconds to reply, "Ah-y-yes! Yes, we're friends!" before he quickly waved a clumsy goodbye and went back into the warmth of his house and slammed the door close, face still unusually warm and insides all tingly.
When Arthur's eyes fluttered open, the first thing he saw was a blinding sea of blue. It felt familiar though, and strangely comforting, like he had already seen it before. Maybe in his dream? What did he dream about anyway? Whatever it was, Arthur couldn't really think straight at the moment. His head was throbbing badly and his eyes were only just adjusting to the sudden burst of bright colors. So he shielded his face with his arm and glanced over to the window where the morning light was coming from. Groaning, he sat up and glanced around the unfamiliar room, still groggy and hungover from last night's wine session.
Wait... wine?
It took a few more seconds for Arthur to realize that he was not wearing his pants nor was he in his own room. He panicked as he tried to remember what happened last night but failed miserably. Everything was a clear blank. Did he do something embarrassing? Was he raped while he was asleep? Or worse, was he the one who raped someone while they were asleep? Arthur covered his face in frustration, calming himself down and did his best to think rationally. Who was he with last night? The person that popped into his head was Francis, and the entire dinner suddenly came back to him up until the part where he was knocked out on Francis shoulder.
Arthur felt himself fall into shock. Did anything happen to them while he was out? Did Francis do something to him? Did he do something to Francis? Why would he do anything to him anyway?
"Shit!" Arthur cursed aloud. He jumped when a groan was heard from the desk on the other side of the room as a familiar slumped-over silhouette shifted slightly, mumbling, "Cinq minutes de plus, maman..."
"Wh-F-Francis!" Arthur called frantically, head whipping around the room for his pants. Instead of finding pants however, the clock on the bedside table caught his attention. It read 6:30AM-he was going to be late. There was no way he was going to allow himself to be tardy just because of a stupid hangover caused by a stupid Frenchman, rape or no rape.
Jumping out of the bed, Arthur finally spotted his pants draped on the chair Francis was on and tugged it free from the still-sleeping Frenchman. He pulled them on with hurried ease, and when he was done, he slapped Francis' on the back of his head and hissed, "Francis, wake the fuck up, we-you're going to be late for school!"
Arthur refused to lump himself with the irresponsible bastard, and so without even caring to answer Francis' What the hell was that for?!, he left the room, grabbed his shoes from the side of the hallway, and ran as fast as he could to his house to collect his bag, then immediately bolted for school.
----------------------------------------------------
"Dude, you reek of-wait, is that wine, man?" Alfred eyed him incredulously as they walked to their lockers and took another shameless sniff. "Since when do you drink wine?"
"Shut up, git. None of your business." Arthur threw a lazy but irritated arm at the American to push him away but failed; his throbbing head had slowed whatever brain function he had. He even barely made it through History class as they discussed the Anglo-French wars. As much as he wanted to participate and show just how annoying the French could be, his body wasn't taking the hangover well, and it would only be embarrassing if he fell off his chair in the middle of class just because he wanted to bash the French. It wasn't really worth the trouble anyway, seeing as Francis didn't turn up for school (which he expected, by the way). Not that he actually needed Francis to be there to be able to show the world just how stupid the French are. After all, Francis himself was the walking example in the school.
"Oh, I see," Alfred snickered at the smirk that Arthur wore, mistaking it for a smile. "You had a date last night."
Arthur stopped in the middle of the hallway, his face reddening at the insinuation. He could hear people complaining behind him at the abrupt stop, but it had seemed distant as Arthur's uncomfortable thoughts swirled around his head.
Last night with Francis wasn't a date, was it? No, it wasn't. For it to be a date, both parties had to agree that it was. No one even said anything about a date, just dinner. Date and dinner-two completely different things. And so when Arthur reached that conclusion, and Alfred was already pushing the Brit to the side to allow the people behind them to continue on their way, Arthur pointed triumphantly at the American, looking as if he had won some serious debate in court. "It was not a date!"
There was silence as Alfred looked to and fro at Arthur's shaky finger and to his smug-but-in-denial face-he knew that face well. It was the same face Arthur made when he baked cookies for his first crush and she just threw it on the floor after the first bite and left. Arthur tried to convince himself, saying that it was just too good, she couldn't take it. But they both knew the truth, and Alfred had to stay after class to calm the broken-hearted Englishman.
Realizing this quickly, Alfred gasped, "So it was!" before he laughed and put an arm around the horrified Englishman. "So who was the lucky girl? Was it Lili? Or no no no, better yet, was it Elizaveta? I'm right, aren't I?! I knew you guys had a thing for each other! You're always so close-"
"Who is close with who, mon ami?"
Arthur grew stiff at the sound of that French accent. From the corner of his eye, he saw Alfred beside him give Francis one of those American hand-shake-shoulder-bumping greetings, saying cheerfully, "Francis! How 'ya been, bro?!" Arthur felt his brow twitch slightly. Since when were they this close?
"I am tres bien, Alfred," grinned Francis. "I hope you're the same as well." He barely gave Alfred any time to reply as he looked over at the quiet Englishman behind him and smirked. "And I see Arthur is just as stoic as ever."
"Shut your trap, frog. It's your fault my head bloody hurts," Arthur scowled, his foul mood returning. Was he even supposed to be bothered that they were close?
"Well, good morning to you, too," Francis smiled sweetly as if he was already expecting such a rude greeting and was fine with it. "At least the wine last night was to your liking, oui?"
Arthur grimaced and glared at the Frenchman. "Not at a-"
"W-wait, time out!" Alfred put his hand in the middle of the bickering couple, and gave them both a look of disbelief as they turned their attention to him. With all of the exaggerated emphasis he could muster, he jabbed at Francis' arm, completely ignoring the glare he got in return. "It was you who went out to dinner with Arthur last night?"
Arthur's eyes widened as he realized his mistake of mentioning this in front of Alfred. He may have been the closest thing to a friend Arthur had since he transferred schools but that didn't mean he was privy to just anything in Arthur's life, especially anything involving pony-tailed Frenchmen and their delicious dinners. Knowing Alfred as well as he does, Arthur was also very certain he'd only end up embarrassing himself-Alfred was just too obnoxious and teasing, and him knowing Arthur as well, he wouldn't just let go of something so new to the Englishman at all.
Sensing the dangers he was going to face, Arthur quickly smothered Francis' face with his backpack just as the Frenchman was about to open his mouth and blabber, and smiled nervously at Alfred. "N-no, uh, Francis just came by to the house for a few minutes, th-that's all," Arthur hardened his grip and push on his backpack as Francis squirmed beneath it. "H-he didn't really come in, y'see, I, uh, he just dropped by to give some wine. Yeah, that's it! And I, uh, I d-drank it all l-last night." He tried to smile confidently, hoping Alfred wouldn't notice the stuttering and the small beads of sweat that had started to form on his brow.
Arthur could feel Alfred eyeing him doubtfully as he released Francis from the evil that was his Backpack of Heavy Books. He felt a murderous glare shot his way which the Englishman returned just as nastily, smirking when he'd noticed the Frenchman carefully massaging a still-healing cheek. And when a few seconds of quiet anger had passed and their mouths had both opened to spew out any nonsensical argument filled with swearing and intended negativities, Alfred finally spoke up, feigning understanding despite his arousing suspicions.
"Hm, I see," Alfred glanced knowingly at Francis, who returned it with a bewildered shrug, then smiled widely and put each of his arms on the shoulders of both men. "Well, if you guys are finally friends, then how about the party tomorrow eve-"
"Arthur!"
Arthur barely had time to turn around and nervously greet the Hungarian when she pulled him off of Alfred's grip.
"Wha-hey!"
"Sorry, Alfred," Elizaveta smiled apologetically, hand grasped firmly on Arthur's wrist as she walked away and dragged a horrified Arthur with her. "Got to borrow your best friend first."
"He is not my best friend!" Arthur flailed in a last attempt to run away from Elizaveta but failed anyway.
Elizaveta only chuckled, and when she saw Francis, she waved and gave him a hasty thumbs up, "Good work, by the way, Bonnefoy!"
"Merci," called back an amused Frenchman.
"W-wait, what do you mean 'good work'?! L-let go of me, woman!" was Arthur's last words as he faded farther away into the hall, the incessant scolding of the Hungarian already blending well with the chattering of crowds.
Francis let out a small chuckle, staring off into the distance where Elizaveta and Arthur had disappeared. He knew what was coming, and knowing Arthur, he'd greatly anticipate the reaction. Satisfied with the turn of events, he turned his attention back to Alfred, but instead of coming back to the cheery bright smile of the American, he was cornered by an inquiring and accusing look that suddenly made the Frenchman nervous.
"I know when Arthur's lying," started the American, The Look still blatantly plastered on his face. "It's not at all hard to tell, you know."
"So I noticed," Francis replied calmly, doing his best not to falter under Alfred's strong gaze. He still wanted to respect Arthur's decision of keeping the dinner a secret (even though it would be amusing to see Arthur beating up Alfred every day for his stubborn inquiries), knowing how incredibly overbearing and loud this American can be. Besides, it was also his ass on the line as well if he had said anything.
Alfred's eyebrow rose dangerously on his forehead as he crossed his arms and shifted his weight to his other foot, a rare sight to see from the carefree American. This must mean business then, Francis thought.
"Talk, Francis," demanded Alfred, blue eye still glinting with apparent scrutiny. "Did you guys have dinner last night?"
Francis' secretive smile was starting to fail him. At the moment, he only had two possible options that would work for him: running away or telling him the truth. But if he was going to be realistic about this, Francis knew he only actually had one. There was obviously no use running away-the American's willpower to pursue his goals was incredible. There were a lot of rumors circulating about the successful attempt of a Mecha-inspired school festival, and Francis didn't want to be a target of said willpower.
"Not exactly out, per se," said Francis thoughtfully. "I cooked him dinner-"
"You cooked him dinner?!" Alfred exclaimed in the hallway. People looked his way for a bit, and when they saw that it was only the infamous loud and exaggerating Alfred, they continued on with their business, knowing fully that it was how Alfred was and there was no stopping him.
"-at my house-"
"You invited him to your house and he said yes?!"
"-and then he got drunk and passed out-"
"He got drunk?! Since when-"
"-and he slept on my bed."
"-he slept on your what?!" Alfred was already hysterical with disbelief at this time, his bag falling off his shoulders as he tried to make sense of what the Frenchman had just told him.
Francis gave Alfred an impatient look and scoffed, "Really, Alfred, you should listen to people when they talk. I said-"
"Dude, Francis," Alfred closed in on Francis, hands gripping tightly on the wrists of the surprised Frenchman. "You've got to teach me how you did that."
Francis could only raise an eyebrow in his confusion. "Did what, exactly?"
"You should realize by now that Arthur just doesn't say yes to anyone, yeah?" Alfred babbled, hope rising with every word. "And you both never really talked to each other before, so I'm guessing you just met." Before Francis could confirm, Alfred had already continued, "Well, what more to people he doesn't really know! Dude, you were able to invite him to dinner, convinced him to drink wine even if he hates that stuff, and you got him drunk! Drunk!" Alfred laughed as he patted Francis on the arm. "Heck, I'm his best friend and he rarely even says yes to my invitations-"
Francis took his time taking this in (even with the talking speed Alfred was going) as he nodded and muttered, "Is that so..."
"-so going back to the point, man, teach me your-"
"Alfred." A menacing grip had suddenly found its way on the American's shoulder, jerking him away from a terrified Francis who immediately knew where the dangerous aura was coming from. "Go to class, Alfred."
"Wha-" Alfred whipped his head towards the direction of the voice, and when he saw that it was only Arthur, he made another pouting face, completely disregarding the danger he was in. "But, dude-"
"I said," growled Arthur with a meanness that not even the oblivious Alfred could deflect. "Go to class. I need to talk to Francis."
Francis could only hide a horrified squirm in his head as a frantic Alfred quickly nodded his goodbyes to both him and Arthur. For a split second, not at all imaginary to Francis, he unmistakably saw that hidden Good Luck look on the American's face which did not help his over-imaginative mind at all. If not even his best friend can do something about this Arthur, what more the irritating Frenchman acquaintance that Arthur declaredly hates? Nevertheless, Francis never backed down from a fight, and if this fight involved Arthur, the terrible English gentleman, then so be it; he wanted to befriend this cold loner of a man, then he had to endure the pain that came with it.
And so, with his usual charming smile, Francis himself approached Arthur just as Alfred had turned around to leave, and asked with as much ease and calm he could muster, "What seems to be the problem, Arthur?"
Arthur immediately thumped the rolled up papers in his trembling fist on Francis' chest. "This, Francis, this is the problem. Why did you even have this in the first place? I thought you didn't want to do the papers!" Arthur's eyes flared with anger as he willed himself to calm down, his voice getting louder with every word he managed to spit at the Frenchman.
Francis, slightly bewildered at the sudden outburst of the Englishman, held his hands in front of his chest defensively, and gently cooed, "Calm down, Arthur. I didn't mean to take anything from your files-"
"That's not the problem here, Francis!" huffed Arthur, hands tightly clenched and still trembling. The papers were now hopelessly crumpled, but that seemed to be the least of Arthur's worries as he took another jab at the Frenchman's chest. "You could have at least told me you were going to work on it, not do everything by yourself. We were supposed to work together as a team-"
"And we did, Arthur! I only got those papers from your bags; you already had them prepared-"
"I did, but it was for the both of us to talk about and to work on-"
"-and all I did was add bits of my work and ideas and edit everything-"
"-not for you to just selfishly take on the whole project in one night-"
"-I was only doing my job-"
"-You're such an arrogant bastard-"
"-Will you just listen-"
"-Selfish prick, insensitive asshole-"
At this time, Francis was starting to get desperate. Any hopes of calming down the angered Englishman seemed to diminish as he ran out of words to deliver and patience to spend. The people in the hallway had slowly disappeared; classes were already resuming, but that didn't bother the Frenchman one bit, the Englishman in front of him much more important than anything else. And so, with the resolve of the strength in his blood, Francis tried to start over, even against Arthur's childish name-calling.
"You've got it all wrong-"
"-French twat-"
"-Arthur-" A gentle touch to the arm.
"-Fuck off, Francis-" Short quick footsteps signaled Arthur moving away.
"-Please-" A slight grasp, a bit forceful this time.
"-No! Let go-" Arthur roughly pulled his arm from the grip, turning around in a brisk walk away from the Frenchman. "I've had enough!"
"Arthur, please, we can talk about this," Francis hurried after Arthur, trying to match his hastened steps with his. "You're misunderstanding the whole thing-"
"I do not know what is there to misunderstand about this, Francis," Arthur took a few short seconds to slow down and shove the crumpled papers to Francis arms before turning back around and heading straight to the classrooms. "Don't put the blame on me-"
"I am not putting any blame on you!" exclaimed Francis, finally exhausted from putting up with Arthur's nonsensical arguments. Before he could purposefully grab Arthur in the arm, however, Antonio and Gilbert had appeared around the corner of the hallway, immediately taking notice of the two distressed men going their way. Arthur, surprised by the sudden appearance of Francis' friends, abruptly stopped in his tracks, suddenly too self-conscious to move or face any of them.
"Oh, hey, Francis, we were just looking for you," Gilbert called rather cheerfully, failing to notice the upsetting atmosphere between the two. "We were thinking about cutting class and just chilling at the usual-hey!"
Gilbert was cut off when Arthur rushed past the two friends around and into the hallway they just came from, unintentionally bumping into the albino's shoulders as he went. The German's red eyes flickered angrily at Arthur's hurried form as he disappeared into the corridor, but Francis was faster than him; he broke into a semi sprint, all the while calling for Arthur, but Antonio readily put his arms around his best friend and struggled to put him to a stop.
"Calm down, Francis," grunted Antonio. "If you chase him now, you'll only anger him even more."
At the words of his friend, Francis stopped his struggling and stood still for a moment, figure slumped and clothes disheveled. The crumpled papers in his arms felt heavy all of a sudden, but he could not find it in himself to throw them away, no matter how upset he was at the situation and at Arthur. Slowly, he pulled himself away from Antonio's loosening embrace, and bundled up the papers then rolled them in place, holding them tightly in his hand as it swung uselessly at his side.
This was the first time he'd ever fought so badly against a friend, and, as the thought dawned on him, he was at a complete loss at what to do. He had always been friends with everyone, easily making them comfortable with his amicable presence and irresistible charm; always dazzling them with graceful motions and his contagious smiles and laughter. Why was it that Arthur could not see that? Why is he not affected? Is there something Francis had done to make Arthur dislike him so much?
"Yo, Francis," Gilbert's quiet voice rang through the empty hallway, his cold hand unusually reassuring on his shoulder. "As I said, I still have those free coupons for McDonalds. Still want to chill?"
The only reply the German received was a silent nod, followed by the shuffling of footsteps as they both led the downhearted Frenchman into the hallway and, cautiously, out the school.
----------------------------------------------------
Author's Note: So, life caught up with me recently, and now that it has kicked me back into dark alleyways and left me for dead, I decided to finally go back to writing! Haha. I do apologize for the lack of updates and the really long hiatus. Nevertheless, I do plan to see this story to the end, no matter how long it takes. I already have Part 2's intro done and might have everything out and posted next week. Thanks for your patience!
Translations:
Maman, regard! C'est un garçon Anglais mignon. Est-ce que je peux devenir des amis avec lui?
- Mom, look! It's a cute English boy. May I become friends with him?
Cinq minutes de plus, maman...
- Five more minutes, Mom...