Arthur pauses. “Wait, what are you talking about? It’s a known fact that –”
Alfred reaches into his jacket. When he pulls his hand out, he’s holding the stem of a rose. The petal ends are starting to darken, the entire thing is starting to droop, and it smells faintly of old coffee.
Arthur can’t miss the little slip of paper held to the stem by a gold ribbon.
Matthew’s grip on his wrist slackens, and he feels himself start to tremble a little as he reaches out and takes the rose in both hands. His fingers reach up to the small flap of paper and flick it open.
I’m glad to see you again.
- Francis
“…I…I’m sure it was –”
“Francis doesn’t give gifts to people,” Matthew says. “It’s a well-known fact that he thinks the greatest gift he can give people is his ‘glorious body’.”
“…This….” Arthur’s hand smoothes over the paper. “This is his handwriting….”
“Well.” Alfred leans over, raises an eyebrow. “So it is.”
“Maybe he’s trying a change in tactics,” Arthur says, except now his voice wavers because his mind no longer believes the bullshit his mouth is spewing.
“Why? What would the point be? You’re as eager to fuck him as ever, right?” Arthur can’t stand it, watching Alfred dissect his logic with cruel, crude words. “Only in certain circumstances, though, right?”
Arthur bows his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to block those words out.
“I have dignity I have to uphold,” Arthur whispers, one last plea as he looks up at Alfred.
Alfred stands, and Matthew joins his side. Their eyes are merciless. “Then keep upholding it,” says Alfred. “Keep your dignity at Francis’ sake.”
Matthew’s voice is more sorrowful, and somehow that hurts more. “Just remember that one day time will run out, and that dignity will be the only thing to keep you company when you’re alone.”
They turn their backs to him, Matthew taking the handle from Alfred as he walks out.
When the door to Arthur’s room closes, he curls up on the bed, the rose clenched in his hand. His eyes won’t shut. His mind won’t let him fall asleep, even when he finally remembers to reach up and turn off the lamp.
He lays there, blanketed by darkness, and wonders how he could have ever thought himself lucky that he got one of the few single rooms. ___
Francis frowns to himself as Alfred tramples into the room, tactless and noisy as always. Sleeping is hard enough as it is; he doesn’t need Alfred going and adding to the epic headache building behind his temples.
Alfred, oblivious as always, doesn’t quiet down a bit, and Francis has to lay through his humming, trampling, and bedtime activities. It’s quite annoying.
Arthur’s not like that. He may hate me, but he’s at least got respect for those he dislikes.
He smiles a bit, remembering mornings when he pretended to sleep in just to watch Arthur walk through the room, soundless as possible, shooting glances at him over his shoulder that looked almost tender through squinted eyes.
He lets the smile fade, and wonders how much longer he’ll be able to stand the baggage that comes with seeing that.
Francis sighs with relief when America decides to turn off his bedside lamp and settle into his bed. He’s almost asleep again when Alfred speaks words that send him straight to wide awake all over again.
“You know, Francis, Arthur really does love roses.” ___
When Alfred asks him if he slept well the night before, Arthur returns his infectious grin with a glare.
Alfred, ever the unfeeling wanker, just laughs, taking a seat next to Canada as the other nations begin to file in.
Francis comes in about five minutes before the meeting is scheduled to start. Arthur watches him.
Francis looks up, happens to look over at Arthur and realize that the other man is staring at him. Their gazes catch and hold to one another; Arthur waits.
Francis doesn’t wink or leer. He doesn’t even smile, or wave. He just looks at Arthur with tired eyes. England feels something in his stomach lurch when he thinks he might have caused that.
Francis breaks his gaze first, his eyes dropping to the polished table surface as he slides into his chair.
Arthur knows he has no right to feel hurt – but he does. Francis’ reaction stings.
Oh writer!anon, you have just broken my heart to a whole new level. I kinda teared up at the last scene because I could just imagine the whole thing so clearly. Francis you poor, poor dear. I hope he gets a happy ending because seeing him so sad and forlorn is devastating...
;____; Please say there's a happy ending for Francis??? I love love love this soooo much and eagerly await more. Thank you, author!anon, you are amazing.
*Goes to Hershey park and stuffs enough chocolate in her car as possible to send to you* Seriously writer!anon I am on the brink of tearing up and like the masochist I am, I'm enjoying it. Your description and the whole story itself is just too awesome for words. Thank you for writing this, but please continue. TTvTT b
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A Lack of Notion [7/?]
(Anonymous) 2009-03-12 03:08 am (UTC)(link)Alfred reaches into his jacket. When he pulls his hand out, he’s holding the stem of a rose. The petal ends are starting to darken, the entire thing is starting to droop, and it smells faintly of old coffee.
Arthur can’t miss the little slip of paper held to the stem by a gold ribbon.
Matthew’s grip on his wrist slackens, and he feels himself start to tremble a little as he reaches out and takes the rose in both hands. His fingers reach up to the small flap of paper and flick it open.
I’m glad to see you again.
- Francis
“…I…I’m sure it was –”
“Francis doesn’t give gifts to people,” Matthew says. “It’s a well-known fact that he thinks the greatest gift he can give people is his ‘glorious body’.”
“…This….” Arthur’s hand smoothes over the paper. “This is his handwriting….”
“Well.” Alfred leans over, raises an eyebrow. “So it is.”
“Maybe he’s trying a change in tactics,” Arthur says, except now his voice wavers because his mind no longer believes the bullshit his mouth is spewing.
“Why? What would the point be? You’re as eager to fuck him as ever, right?” Arthur can’t stand it, watching Alfred dissect his logic with cruel, crude words. “Only in certain circumstances, though, right?”
Arthur bows his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to block those words out.
“I have dignity I have to uphold,” Arthur whispers, one last plea as he looks up at Alfred.
Alfred stands, and Matthew joins his side. Their eyes are merciless. “Then keep upholding it,” says Alfred. “Keep your dignity at Francis’ sake.”
Matthew’s voice is more sorrowful, and somehow that hurts more. “Just remember that one day time will run out, and that dignity will be the only thing to keep you company when you’re alone.”
They turn their backs to him, Matthew taking the handle from Alfred as he walks out.
When the door to Arthur’s room closes, he curls up on the bed, the rose clenched in his hand. His eyes won’t shut. His mind won’t let him fall asleep, even when he finally remembers to reach up and turn off the lamp.
He lays there, blanketed by darkness, and wonders how he could have ever thought himself lucky that he got one of the few single rooms.
___
Francis frowns to himself as Alfred tramples into the room, tactless and noisy as always. Sleeping is hard enough as it is; he doesn’t need Alfred going and adding to the epic headache building behind his temples.
Alfred, oblivious as always, doesn’t quiet down a bit, and Francis has to lay through his humming, trampling, and bedtime activities. It’s quite annoying.
Arthur’s not like that. He may hate me, but he’s at least got respect for those he dislikes.
He smiles a bit, remembering mornings when he pretended to sleep in just to watch Arthur walk through the room, soundless as possible, shooting glances at him over his shoulder that looked almost tender through squinted eyes.
He lets the smile fade, and wonders how much longer he’ll be able to stand the baggage that comes with seeing that.
Francis sighs with relief when America decides to turn off his bedside lamp and settle into his bed. He’s almost asleep again when Alfred speaks words that send him straight to wide awake all over again.
“You know, Francis, Arthur really does love roses.”
___
When Alfred asks him if he slept well the night before, Arthur returns his infectious grin with a glare.
Alfred, ever the unfeeling wanker, just laughs, taking a seat next to Canada as the other nations begin to file in.
Francis comes in about five minutes before the meeting is scheduled to start. Arthur watches him.
Francis looks up, happens to look over at Arthur and realize that the other man is staring at him. Their gazes catch and hold to one another; Arthur waits.
Francis doesn’t wink or leer. He doesn’t even smile, or wave. He just looks at Arthur with tired eyes. England feels something in his stomach lurch when he thinks he might have caused that.
Francis breaks his gaze first, his eyes dropping to the polished table surface as he slides into his chair.
Arthur knows he has no right to feel hurt – but he does. Francis’ reaction stings.
Re: A Lack of Notion [7/?]
(Anonymous) 2009-03-12 09:24 am (UTC)(link)I hope he gets a happy ending because seeing him so sad and forlorn is devastating...
Re: A Lack of Notion [7/?]
(Anonymous) 2009-03-12 12:27 pm (UTC)(link)Author!anon, may I present you a lifetime supply of free internets for this D: <3 ?
Re: A Lack of Notion [7/?]
(Anonymous) 2009-03-12 03:34 pm (UTC)(link)Thank you author!anon this is a lovely read and I'll eagerly wait for continuation <3<3<3
Re: A Lack of Notion [7/?]
(Anonymous) 2009-03-12 04:51 pm (UTC)(link)I love love love this soooo much and eagerly await more. Thank you, author!anon, you are amazing.
Re: A Lack of Notion [7/?]
(Anonymous) 2009-03-12 05:30 pm (UTC)(link)