Chapter Text
Soaring thousands of feet in the air was not only a gut-wrenching feeling, the pained idea of suddenly descending into the ground at a rapid speed, but it was also an extremely powerful feeling. The feeling that almost anything was possible, that your fate wasn’t set in stone and you could lift-off at any time. That the life you were born to live in such a closed off town wasn’t inevitable. That it was escapable.
Despite the feeling of freedom that empowered Floch Forster to make such a rash decision, the redhead was shuffling in the plane seat in an attempt to calm his nerves. No matter how many times he tried to get comfortable, the nagging feeling of regret and anxiety flooded his brain. The lone boy trying to stay afloat in the pitch black sea, his arms wading fear and his legs kicking disloyalty. For he had betrayed everyone back home, everyone he had flew away from.
Someone had spotted him fighting to stay in control, the twitch in his brow and the tapping of his fingers lightly against the arm rest making it obvious he was nervous. Thankfully the stranger asleep in the chair next to him wasn’t bothered by the annoying disruptions, but concern was evident in a passing flight attendant.
“Excuse me.” The lady’s calm voice yanked Floch away from his thoughts for some seconds, offering him a comforting smile. “Would you like to buy a beverage?” She continued, motioning to the cart behind her. Floch could spot cheap coffee cups, a small fridge containing soft drinks, and a water tank.
Finding solace in a hot cup of coffee was just what Floch needed, but the scarce amount of money in his pocket taunting his temptations. “Water, thanks.” The teen mumbled in response, not being too loud as he didn’t wish to wake the sleeping man beside him. His hazel eyes watched as the flight attendant, her bright red uniform slightly paining his eyes, smiled with thin lips and began to pour him a cup.
Most people found planes relaxing, simply putting in a pair of headphones, a silly decorated neck pillow and closing their eyes for the whole flight. Much like the older man sitting beside the redheaded runaway. Nerves prevented Floch from sleeping, his phone battery was too much of a luxury to waste in his situation, and the constant thought that he would be in huge trouble didn’t leave him alone.
Floch knew they couldn’t turn the plane around and force him home. He knew he was fine on the plane. He knew that he had an hour of peace and quiet from the storm that was waiting back home. And yet, he couldn’t stop imagining all the possible scenarios that could break his character even more. It had been drilled into him that every single action had consequences, this one would be larger than the rest. Floch would panic at test results anything under an A, so in comparison to fear of below-average results this was off the scale.
His hand trembled as he took the cup from the flight attendant, being cautious not to spill it over the stranger in-between them. As the cold water sloshed around the walls of the plastic cup, Floch felt it as how one may feel during an affectionate hug. It was comforting, being able to halt his swift train of thought that was headed for what seemed miles. The vehicle stopping and letting Floch relax for what only felt like milliseconds, it was better than the wave of anxiety over him.
As the cup connected with his lips, Floch focused on the freezing water falling down his throat and creating a cold sensation in his chest. That’s what he got for travelling on an empty stomach. The rush to the airport occupied his mind more than stopping for a snack, especially how he couldn’t carelessly through money away to satisfy only a slight hunger in his belly. When it got more serious then Floch would spend his precious money.
There was a slight guilt of leaving his friends and family behind. Even though Floch felt horrible while living at home, he felt sympathy for disappearing from everyone. He knew Gordon and Sandra would get over it, for if they really were close then maybe Floch wouldn’t be on a plane to France. As for his parents, he assumed they’d just be angry they didn’t have a son to project their own dreams onto. Either way, there had been that tad feeling of regret since he first bought the plane ticket.
Floch remembered the night vividly. It was a Wednesday night, he had gotten results from a resent exam done at his college. It was his last year, he was praying to pull through with good grades but that wasn’t always the case. After failing one of his exams, in English, he was greeted by parents with disapproving glares and harsh words of criticism. The memory tugged at Floch’s heart strings, the tightening feeling in his chest making him feel nauseous. If only he had studied harder, if only he had dedicated himself the way his parents wanted him too.
Sometimes the teen wished he was a bird. He wished he could spread his long, majestic wings and feel the fresh air beneath his feet. There was no expectations, no discipline and no disappointment. All he ever needed to do was fly, a big smile spread on his cheeks and the sense of freedom the only thing he need to know.
Of course, that was impossible. So Floch did the second closest thing to that. He gathered as much money as he possibly could, threw his nicest clothes into a suitcase and booked the earliest ticket to the South of France he could.
Half expecting police to be waiting for him on the other side, Floch felt hesitant to leave the plane. He was seventeen though, hopefully his parents didn’t call the police so soon like they may have done for a missing ten year old child. Floch also wondered if they even noticed he wasn’t there. Perhaps when it was his scheduled study time, then they’d notice his lack of absence.
The teen barely knew French, so as he headed through the airport there was a lot of signs he didn’t recognise. As long as he found the exit, it didn’t seem to matter what else was there. He just wanted to finally get out into the nearby city, to breathe air from someplace else and to feel free. Squinting his eyes at the scribbles he made on his hand earlier that day, a time and two-digit number, he managed to find the appropriate bus for his destination.
Large, bright orange letters read ‘Liberté’ at the front of the noisy vehicle. Chills shot down the teen’s spine as he realised this was the last part of his journey. He had actually done it. He had escaped the restricting and captive life he was once held in, now he stood in front of a huge number of opportunities. His life was now in his small palms, he could do whatever he pleased.
A smile was plastered on his face as he took his seat, the anxiety he once felt now turning to excitement. Soon he would be in Liberté, he could finally see it with his own eyes. Floch doubted it looked the same as it did in the photographs on Google, it’d be a million times more amazing actually living in the picture.
And it was. God, the pictures Floch had seen of this place were the same as mere doodles next to the Mona Lisa. Everything was perfect, it was something even Floch’s imagination couldn’t make up. When he stared out the window in class, thinking of a world where he could feel even just okay, it was no where near as beautiful as the city before him.
What caught his eye first was the spectacular fountain that was across from him. Gorgeous designs of angels stood at the head of the fountain, surrounded by the perfect blue water that trickled into the wider area of the structure. When Floch walked closer, he could spot the shimmering of pennies that lay on the fountain floor. Even if the teen had change to spare, he couldn’t imagine a greater wish than just being in this French city.
Obviously, he’d need to worry about food, hospitality, how to live basically. But that didn’t even come to Floch’s mind. He was too busy admiring the dreamland around him. As he studied the street more, the street sign reading ‘Rue de la Mentenite’, it just got better and better.
Happy families sat outside what seemed like a restaurant, beautiful colours of ocean blue and green making the building look even more exquisite. The food smelt delicious, the different cuisines were like a vacation on their own. It was a change from the fatty, deep-fried foods that reeked the streets back in Britain. Others held large bags, emerging from luxurious looking stores nearby. Even the fashion of the people here was a change, each person wearing an outfit that Floch had only seen in magazines. It made his attire of a dark-grey hoodie and jeans look out of place.
The weather just topped it all off, the sun beating down on the redhead’s delighted face. Not a cloud was in sight, the star free to shine its rays on the world below. No restrictions, no clouds to prevent it from being seen or felt.
Turning back to the fountain, Floch fished through his pockets for a spare coin. He had realised exactly what he wanted to wish for. So, as he let go of the suitcase handle he clutched onto, he tossed a penny into the water. His mouth twitched into another smile as he heard the tiny ‘plop’ sound as the coin hit the liquid, knowing what he wanted more than anything.
Floch never wanted to leave this place.
When the teen leaned back from the fountain and turned to grab his suitcase, he felt his body collide with a taller one trying to get past. His eyes stared at the person in surprise, watching as the stranger’s items in their arms flew everywhere. Clearly the guy had been juggling to hold what looked like a large motorcycle helmet, a bag of groceries and a few thin books.
The helmet smacked into the ground, making Floch wince at the sudden noise. The groceries scattered across the cobblestone ground, revealing what was even amazing-looking groceries. Apparently everything here was an upgrade to life in Britain, even simple food items. Lastly, the books fell onto the side of the fountain and toppled in. It all happened in slow motion, like a dramatic scene in a movie.
Floch lunged for the books as they hit the water, only now as he was close to them he realised they were sketch books. His eyes widened at the fear that they contained important or fancy drawings, and he had just ruined this stranger’s hard work. Floch knew all too well what it was like to put your all into something only for it to be nothing, so he was praying the drawings weren’t important.
The stranger began speaking French at him, way too quickly for Floch to even guess what he was saying. The only word he recognised was something that sounded like “pardon”, even then he couldn’t be sure. In a panic, Floch held up the soaking sketchbooks to the stranger and apologies sprouted from his lips.
“Shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even-“ Pausing, the teen realised the other might not even know what he was saying. “I’m sorry.” Floch watched as the other took the books, trying to balance everything else in his arms again. Thankfully, the other guy didn’t seem all that angry. The last thing Floch wanted was to piss someone off.
A smile appeared on the other’s lips, shaking his head at Floch. “Its alright, these things happen.” His accent was thick, but his English was perfect. Floch couldn’t help but smile too, glad the other didn’t seem too upset over the ruined sketchbooks. It was also nice to communicate with someone who understood him, Floch’s French was terrible. “Besides, they’re fairly new. Only some doodles.” The stranger added assuringly.
Only now did Floch realise that it wasn’t only the architecture that was beautiful in this city. The stranger in front of him seemed about his age, but looked completely different. Underneath an expensive looking black leather jacket, he wore a brownish-orange turtleneck that appeared very soft. Floch could only imagine how comfortable it was. The outfit was matched by dark, denim jeans and a pair of jet black combat books.
Even ignoring the clothes, the teen looked stunning. His hair was clearly dyed blond, the tips brighter than the rest of his hair. Underneath that was a brunette undercut, Floch’s hand begging him to run his hand across it. His own eyes met dark chocolate coloured eyes, instantly being reminded of nature. Floch thought of tall oak trees in a magical forest, the comfort of the woods embracing him and helping him forget any worries that even dared to explore his mind.
Only after that pretty image in his head did Floch realised that he had spaced out. His cheeks blushed red at the confused stare from the other, his gaze altering to stare at the ground. “Do you need any help?” Floch offered, motioning to the items in the blond’s arms. He believed requesting to carry some of the things was the least he could do, after all it was his fault that the sketchbooks were ruined.
The stranger looked as if he was about to politely decline the offer, but instead he arched a brow curiously. “Alright, I’d appreciate that. My apartment is only some streets away.” He explained, handing the bag of groceries over to Floch.
Said teen was smiling happily at the fact he was able to help. It would be good to meet some people here anyway, so he wouldn’t feel vulnerable if he panicked or became scared. Floch doubted that anyway. But here he was, helping the pretty-eyed artist boy carry his things to his apartment in the city. Floch couldn’t even be envious, he was just glad to be here.
The more he saw of the city, the more Floch fell in love with it. Liberté was full of people, lots entering and exiting shops while others stood to watch buskers. The nearest one was a young man playing the trumpet, accompanied by someone using sort of woodwind instrument that Floch wouldn’t be able to name in a million years. It sounded beautiful though, an upbeat almost jazzy song flowing through the street.
“So,” The blond started, grabbing Floch’s attention. Not that he minded. “Did you just arrive here?” He asked, noticing the suitcase that Floch was pulling behind him. Not only that, but he seemed to stare at absolutely everything in astonishment. As if he had lived in the dark all his life.
“Yeah, I just flew over today. From Britain, actually.”
Smiling, the artist glanced over. Making Floch’s heart skip a beat. “Ahhh, I thought I recognised the English accent. It’s very nice.”
Floch wanted to laugh at the stranger’s words. Floch thought that his voice was nothing special, especially in comparison to the French boy’s. It was so deep and romantic sounding, if Floch spoke like that he thought he’d never stop talking. Instead of saying that, he just mumbled out a thank you. Not wanting to seem so dry in response, though, he continued the conversation.
“I’m Floch, by the way.” He introduced, adjusting the brown bag tucked between his right arm and his chest. The left was pulling his suitcase along, a tight grasp on it. It did contain all his belongings, after all.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Floch.” The redhead couldn’t help but smile again, redirecting his stare. “I’m Jean.” Of course it was something beautiful sounding. “Floch. That’s a rather unique name. I like it.”
It was unique. In fact, Floch had never met anybody with the same name. He was glad Jean liked it though, the slight validation from the blond making him feel even happier. Not only was he in probably the best city in the world, he was already meeting and talking to people there. Any doubts about this decision were cleared from his mind.
Now, here was the million dollar question.
“What brings you to Liberté? Whats the big story behind Monsieur Floch?”
A million explanations ran through Floch’s head. Why he left Britain, why he came here, what he was escaping. Instead of giving an in-depth analysis on himself and his decision, he just shrugged. “Change of scenery, that’s all.”
This seemed to satisfy Jean, as he hummed in approval. “Yes, well you came to the right place. Liberté is the best city in the world.” He commented surely, looking around the place as if to prove his point. Not that Floch even needed any persuading, he was already sold on this city being like no other.
After a couple minutes of light conversation, the teens approached a large, brick apartment building. It seemed lovely to live in, hanging baskets of flowers at the entrance and plants at almost every window. This made Floch doubt Jean was the only artist there. The place seemed clean, unlike some of the apartments Floch had seen in his time.
“Thanks for this.” Jean mentioned as he took his groceries from Floch. “Have you got a hotel to stay in?” He questioned as he leaned against the door frame, shaking the droplets from his ruined sketchbooks so the corridor floors didn’t get wet.
Being pulled away from the trance that was admiring the building, Floch nodded in response. He had looked for the cheapest hotel to stay in, it being at the outskirts of the city. Floch wasn’t looking for the more luxurious place to stay, he couldn’t afford it after all. But thankfully, he had enough to last a couple weeks at this hotel.
“Yep, it isn’t far from here.” Floch confirmed, knowing if he just followed the route the bus came then he’d eventually get to it. “Sorry again, about the sketchbooks.” The embarrassment from bumping into Jean was still in his mind, although part of him now felt glad that he had bumped into the blond.
Waving him off, Jean smiled once more. “Don’t stress about it, please. I have plenty more.” Floch recalled on the way there how Jean explained he worked at an art store, so he didn’t doubt Jean had access to art supplies anyway. “Anyway, I hope to see you again sometime.”
Once again, Floch felt his heart skip a beat. Probably from the fact he’s possibly made a new friend, he presumed. “Me too. I’ll definitely be around.” Floch assured, stepping back from the door. Jean could imagine it, Floch strolling round the city wide-eyed at everything he saw. He didn’t blame the redhead, even after a year of living in the city he was still astounded by its beauty.
“See you later, Floch.” Was words Floch never thought he’d not wish to hear. Floch had never valued anyone’s company so significantly before, yet here he was wishing he could spend more time with the stranger.
Even on the way to his hotel, Floch couldn’t help but think of Jean. He had seemed so kind, so interesting yet so mysterious. Floch had a thousand questions for him, yet he was only able to mutter out relevant questions. The brown coloured eyes were burned into his memory, except this was a happy feeling.
As Floch found his way to the hotel, the sudden urge to check his phone came over him. What if his parents were calling it, worried sick? What if they had phoned the police by now? Floch hated the thought of being taken away from this place so soon, the threat of it now evident in his fears. He wondered if the police could even forcefully take him back, he wasn’t exactly a child anymore.
That night, he was sure to message his parents that he was safe and fine. He left out an important detail, that he wasn’t even in the country, but there was no way he could be dragged back into that cold, dark place so soon. Not when he had finally seen sunlight.