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When he was confronted with the question of 'How long have you been friends?', Gilbert tended to reiterate the same response he had been giving people for years: 'It feels like we've been friends since forever'. The reason behind his brief comebacks was that the more accurate answer required an in-depth explanation which most people were uncaring for. And why would he bore people with the meticulous recital of their rather complicated story when he could talk about much cooler stuff, like himself?
Nevertheless, the most prominent aspect of their friendship that Gilbert was obligated to point out to curious outsiders was the fact that, between the three of them, Francis and Antonio were the closest. It was more of a special bond that nobody could really comprehend but was rather obvious. It didn't bother Gilbert as his pride was not damaged by the evident favouritism, but he could not turn a blind eye to the awkward tension that seemed to ease itself into their friendship. As time progressed, Gilbert came to realize the source of the aforementioned problem. (Yeah, it might have taken some observant comments from Arthur, usually mixed with a dose of sarcasm, and a few jokes from Alfred about how the two seemed to be attached by the hips for Gilbert to get it, but the Albino still prided himself on being the first to acknowledge the issue. He had always known that he was the smartest of the trio, after all.)
Now, his discovery helped him see things in a new light. He didn't even have to strain himself, the clues seemed to appear one after another. The stolen glances, the whispered jokes in class, the fact that they always sat next to each other in the cafeteria or that Antonio continuously made an effort to pack two boxes of lunch so that he could give one to Francis, even though the French man could probably pack his own food. It was the little details, the barely visible hints which made it so obvious for Gilbert that his two best friends were head over heels in love. Well, this didn't really come as a surprise, per se, nor was the German against it since the happiness of his best friends was his primary concern. Still, there was something that annoyed Gilbert to no end. And no, he wasn't talking about being the third wheel, although that sucked balls, too. No, what he was referring to was the horrible fact that he didn't know two people more hopelessly romantic and yet pathetically oblivious at the same time. Minuscule signs tended to go over Antonio's head on most days and Francis was too obsessed with seeking his love story to recognize that he was already living it.
In conclusion, they would never realize their feelings unless Gilbert intervened.
Brainstorming was always better in the company of awesome people, also justified by the saying that more heads the better, so Gilbert decided to share his problem with his friends. Although relying on Alfred's questionable ingenuity was less than advisable, he hoped that with combined forces, he and Matthias would be able to construct a feasible plan. In hindsight, pushing Francis off the table while recreating a vine and expecting Antonio to catch him in his arms was a far-fetched idea. The Spaniard had never been good at catching things, such as signs of romantic affection, so putting faith in his athletic abilities was not their best idea, Gilbert could admit. Thankfully, Francis was not seriously injured but the kiss on the forehead he received from Antonio was unnecessary if you asked the German boy.
Well, there are various ways to fall for someone, and Gilbert decided to try out a less drastic method. He was chatting with Francis in the hallway when an excited Spaniard dashed through the crowd of students and nearly jumped into Francis' arms.
"I did it, guys! I've got a B+ on my maths test!" Antonio informed them ecstatically, earning proud looks from both of his friends.
"That's incroyable, cher," Francis praised - although he did that too whenever Antonio succeeded in making anything more culinarily outstanding than instant coffee. Anyhow, the compliment resulted in a flustered Antonio furiously blushing and smiling up at the French boy while Gilbert tried to fend off the urge to make a gagging sound.
While his friends continued smiling at each other like two love-struck idiots, Gilbert sneaked around his friend's back and with a shout of 'Good job, amigo!", he pushed the unprepared Spaniard forward until his friend collided with the fine shape of a French body. Gilbert smirked, congratulating himself on carrying out a typical romantic movie trope, which would definitely get his friends together after Francis said some stupid shit like 'It seems to me that you've fallen for me, Antoine, honhonhon' and Antonio would just bashfully smile and say another dumb thing and then they would start kissing while some mainstream pop song was blasting in the background. Yeah, in an ideal world, it would have been that easy. In the real world, though, Gilbert seemed to have underestimated his friend's idiocy.
Francis was even worse in catching things than his tomato-loving friend, as Gilbert came to realize, and as the two friends gazed down at Antonio's form lying motionlessly on the ground, Gilbert felt an irresistible urge to facepalm.
"Mon Dieu, are you alright Toni?" Francis' gasped dramatically as if Antonio had fallen off a flight of stairs and not just a few feet down to the ground.
"I'm good, I've decided to take a siesta," Antonio's light-hearted laughter sounded muffled by his sweater as he lay there, his strange position already attracting the attention of many students around them. Without further thought, Francis spread his coat onto the dirty floor in front of Antonio and settled onto the garment with his stomach down, a playful smile dancing on his lips. As Antonio raised his head and locked eyes with his friend who was currently stretched out on the ground in a similar position, his embarrassment seemed to dissipate. The two idiots smiled at each other, laughing as if lying on the floor was a natural activity, and then turned their heads in unison towards Gilbert's standing form with a matching curious expression on their faces.
"Well," Francis spoke with a raised eyebrow, "Are you gonna join us or non?"
Gilbert cursed his friends as he lay down beside them in solidarity.
At night, Gilbert began his strenuous work of constructing his next plan as a wingman for both of his friends, one which would hopefully result in more success and less public humiliation. He was soon distracted, however, (note to self: do not check if your favourite youtuber has uploaded a new video while brainstorming for an epic ploy to get your ignorant friends together) and was only reminded of his dilemma late into the night when he was retelling his hardships to his most trustworthy confidant: his journal.
Cue another day of wasted efforts, to which the best solution was a bottle of cold beer to console him against the onslaughter of intrusive thoughts. He would not trade his friends for anything (well, maybe for a day with Jensen Ackles, but only if his friends remained unharmed), but all those sappy and overly joyful moments mixed with longing looks had their toll on the faired haired teen. He had craved romance, too, despite people's first impression of him as an independent and self-assured man.
In the process of wallowing in self-pity, he heard the unmistakable sound of the front door opening, his presumptions justified a moment later when the recognizable jingle of Feli's voice rang through the house. Gilbert must have been cursed with couples surrounding him with the Albino being the only single pickle in the group. Regardless, he greeted his brother with a knowing smirk, who trailed behind the Italian boy as per usual.
"Ciao Gil! I wrote a song for my sweet Ludwig today, wanna hear it?" Feliciano began excitedly, jumping onto the couch with more energy than is typical of an ordinary teenager.
Without waiting for an answer, Feli started singing his composition with great enthusiasm, all while Gilbert was openly showcasing his amusement over his brother's feverishly red face. As the Italian carried on, Gilbert felt his vigour return to him, although, it was not a direct result of Feli's slightly better-than-average voice but thanks to the sudden brainwave he had. If Alfred and Matthias could not be relied on to provide feasible love advice, then an actual couple might do the trick!
When he presented his issue to the two boys, he received relatively varying answers: Ludwig (the absolute lame ass dude he was) suggested a straightforward approach, which obviously, would not cut it; Feliciano, on the other hand, recommended a more awesome idea. All Gilbert needed to do was to bring out Francis' protective side, which would ultimately sweep the Spaniard off of his feet as a strong display of power always appealed to chicks, so it shall work on oblivious gays, too!
The Albino couldn't argue with such astounding logic, so Gilbert took a leap of courage and cornered one of his close friends who would, assumedly, have no difficulties in insulting their Hispanic friend. The method might have been cruel, but the end justifies the means, as they say. Plus, Gilbert was not keen on spending another school year with two moping gays rambling about each other to the poor Albino.
A perfect opportunity arose when the infamous trio was sitting in the cafeteria, discussing the teachers and spreading gossip in accordance with their daily routine. Antonio, the poor lad, had a very strict teacher (a possible demon in disguise) who took enjoyment in verbally torturing and unpardonably shaming her students. She had a particular fixation on the Spaniard due to Antonio's slow handwriting and general cheeriness. She also did not approve of Antonio's habit of being late to class, although, that occurrence was only a result of Gilbert's friend conscientiously studying for a hard test prior to the school day. Antonio was especially unfortunate to have Mrs Nagel's class in the first period.
"You should stand up for yourself!" Francis nudged him for the umpteenth time, only to earn one of Antonio's regular shoulder shrugs.
Gilbert sent a pointed look towards Lovino, a key figure in his awesome plan, who was similarly scowling after Antonio had recounted his latest misfortune in class. Lovino only stared back, shaking his head in refusal, but Gilbert was more persistent than that. The German boy wiggled a box of bolognese in his hand which was previously propped on top of the table as a motivation for the Italian boy, in case he tried to backtrack. Lovino only frowned, rolling his eyes indignantly, before addressing their Spanish friend.
"Antonio can't stand up for himself! He's too soft-hearted for that!" Lovino retorted off-handedly, while he continued to chew on his sandwich. Gilbert quelled a triumphant yelp upon noticing Francis' death glare from across the table, nearly slicing the Italian boy into two halves.
"I beg your pardon, Toni is fully capable of defending himself!" Francis argued, a dramatic sigh leaving him at Lovino's exclamation.
"Oh really?" Lovino challenged with top-notch sass, and wow, the boy was really working for that pasta! "Hey, tomato jerk!"
The Spaniard, who was silently observing the scene until that moment, raised his eyes to meet Lovino's bored expression, which somehow looked as if he was debating with himself whether he should say his next words or not, before opting for just blurting it out: "You're an oblivious stupid bastard who cannot take a hint to save his life and who wrongly believes he is being really friendly when he's actually just annoying everybody with his cheerfulness."
Oh.
There must have been some kind of misunderstanding because the situation could not have derailed further from the tracks. It was agreed that Lovino would (slightly) insult Antonio, but as far as Gilbert remembered, crushing his dear friend's self-esteem was not part of the plan! When Gilbert looked around the table, he could see his mortification reflected on the others' disapproving faces, but none of them dared to break the tension-filled silence.
There was the sharp telltale sound of a chair leg scratching the floor before Antonio rose from his seat and with an uncomfortable smile he excused himself from the group. The others stared at his vacant seat, not being used to seeing the Spaniard so obviously hurt since Antonio was good at dodging insults and turning mocking remarks into playful banters. Gilbert's last hope was for Francis to run after their friend in a desperate attempt to comfort the usually cheery boy and to accidentally or purposefully admit their feelings, immediately followed by an apology from Gilbert ('cause he was partly responsible for the events). Instead of Francis though, the chair below Lovino was being pulled backwards abruptly before the hot-headed Italian grabbed his backpack and leaned over the table to snarl at Gilbert: "Fuck your pasta, it ain't worth it."
Gilbert only shrank lower on his seat when Francis' rage-filled eyes were suddenly redirected from Lovino (who seemed to have dashed after Antonio) towards the Albino, suspicion and disparagement seething inside his blue irises. This look seemed so foreign and ugly on Francis that Gilbert decided to try a less harmful approach for his next operation.
This time around, he sought advice from a real expert.
"I can't help you."
Gilbert felt quite betrayed, to say the least.
"Why not, Liza?" His manly whining was rewarded with a disapproving look from the girl. Wow, he had been getting a lot of that look recently. "You're willingly dating Roderich which means that: one, you must have some brain damage; and two, you must have been the one to ask him out since he's too big of a pussy to do that. So my question is: how did you get through his denseness?"
Elizabeth shot him an unimpressed look, and Gilbert was convinced he would have received a smack over the head if she hadn't been holding her books.
"I simply asked him out. Being straightforward saves a ton of stress and misunderstandings." She answered, flicking her hair over her shoulder as they began to walk towards the classroom.
"But we're talking about Antonio and Francis here, who think complimenting each other's dicks counts as a normal activity among friends." Gilbert clarified, getting immediately smacked in the face by a flow of blonde hair. Elizabeth whipped around with eyes widening in a sudden flame of interest, and yeah, Gilbert probably shouldn't have let such juicy information slip out.
"They do that, huh?" She asked, deep in thought, and the Albino wasn't sure if he should reaffirm his statement or simply wait until her new fantasies passed. After a moment, Elizabeth snapped out of her reverie and gave Gilbert one last irritated look before tossing a half-mumbled comment behind her back: "You could make one of them jealous. That works in fanfiction."
At that moment, Gilbert was enlighted.
While constructing the next scheme was easy, its execution proved to be more than challenging due to a lack of cooperation from Arthur's side.
"I just don't understand why it has to be me!" He argued with his expressive eyebrows furrowing in question. Arthur was strange, mostly for his tendency to mumble incoherent things under his breath when irritated - not unlike now - so Gilbert concluded the other boy must be chanting incantations, undoubtedly with mal-intent. Still, a few years of being cursed seemed rather appealing now compared to the agony he was currently experiencing because of his two airheaded friends.
"Come on, Artie!" Gilbert coaxed but the nickname only earned him some more mumbles. "Just think about the peace I will inevitably create! If Francis has a boyfriend, he won't bother you anymore with his flirtatious slurs and unabashed innuendos!"
That seemed to catch the British boy's attention. Arthur closed his book with faux nonchalance and Gilbert could already sense the sweet taste of victory on his tongue.
The plan was pushed into action the following day. The trio was occupying their usual spot at one of the outside tables, sharing the schoolyard with a few students from chess club and various other groups which occasionally mingled with the rest, but otherwise, stayed close to their own circle of friends. Gilbert intentionally invited Arthur to join their group during the lunch break, internally praying that the British boy would not mess up their last chance by insulting or downright punching the French student.
It was a pleasant surprise when Francis' usual jibe at Arthur's homemade food - or at least, that was the qualification the British student had given to that monstrosity - did not evoke the regular quip from Arthur that was the general source of their everyday bickering.
"I can share my lunch with you to spare your tastebuds from the torture they are about to endure," Francis offered up generously and Arthur had to clench his fists to resist the urge to strangle the other boy.
"British food is delicious, I have you know!" Arthur lashed out before his face contorted into an unusual expression. It must have been intended as a flirtatious glance but the look seemed so alien on the British boy that Gilbert had an inclination to laugh. "The only French thing I want to taste is you."
There were three matching shocked faces staring back at Arthur which gave him a weird sense of power. Even Gilbert seemed thrown back by his comment, and that only fueled his determination.
"Sourcils, was that flirting?" Francis squealed, although he seemed quite unsure of how to respond. "Are you running a fever?"
"I should be the one asking that," Arthur continued, committed to using the other's games against him. "You must have a fever from how hot you are."
Gilbert wanted to applaud, either his own miraculous plan or Arthur's acting skills. Who knew Arthur had it in him? Well, Gilbert, of course, because he was awesome!
"Is this a prank? Or am I having those weird dreams again?" Francis asked from particularly no one. He sure was flabbergasted but it would take a lot more to get him flustered by simple dirty talk.
"I don't know about you but I'm surely seeing a daydream." Arthur slurred, eyes trained on Francis' sceptic look. Next to the Frenchman, a very irritated Spaniard was glaring daggers at him, mumbling something vaguely similar to: "It's more of a nightmare." Not like Arthur cared anyway, he was inclined to win this battle.
"Is this a joke?" Francis asked one last time, half expecting the other to back out of this ridiculous conversation he had forced them into.
"I would call it foreplay," Arthur replied without hesitation. Francis was impressed, but he had known the other for long enough to see through his sly smiles and deceitful countenance. The French man knew that familiar intensity behind those emerald eyes, and it was not a fire of romantic passion. Arthur only looked this smug when he was dedicated to defeating the other in some kind of game, and fortunately, Francis always accepted a dual when it was offered to him on a silver plate.
"Oh, I might need to warn you that you can get burnt if you play with fire." Francis purred, satisfied with the barely visible twitch in the other boy's eyes when he didn't yield.
"I like to get my hands dirty." Arthur countered to spite the French man, completely ignoring the signs Gilbert was sending his way not too subtly. The Albino was not trying to sabotage his own plan, of course, but he recognized that look on Antonio's face and that glance was a declaration of war.
"Oh, I would also like to make your hands dirty-"
There was a crack behind them, and the two boys turned around to see Antonio staring down at his pencil - or rather, the remains of it which were now in two halves clenched in either of his fists. The boy's eyes widened, his eyes snapping up at Francis who was looking at him with an equal amount of confusion and concern.
"I...I'm sorry," Antonio mumbled, then gathered his belongings and disappeared into the building in a blink of an eye.
Gilbert dragged one hand through his hair, feeling as if he had gained a few more white strands from the previous scene. This was not exactly part of his plan but Francis could still make it right by running after their Spanish friend, just like in all those cliched romance movies Gilbert definitely didn't watch alone in the solitude of his room.
"So..." Francis spoke, smirk returning to his face. "About your hands..."
"I will punch you in the face with my hands, frog, if you say another word," Arthur warned, abandoning his previous request to anger the other and instead opting for enjoying his suspicious-looking lunch.
Francis pouted as if his favourite toy was taken away from him. Despite Gilbert's nagging, Francis did not go on a mission to hunt down their clearly wounded Spanish friend. What a disappointment.
It had been a week since Gilbert's last attempt to get his friends to confess to each other had failed miserably. It was a shipwreck, more tragic than the Titanic. (And Gilbert hated that movie. I mean, come on, there was plenty of space on the door, Rose!) It was an understatement that Gilbert was at the end of his rope. His friends weren't even straining themselves to be subtle about it anymore.
Gilbert turned towards the wall, readjusting his place on the mattress and plucking his earbuds in while he imagined himself as the main star of the particular music videos that was playing on his phone. He was a master of ignorance as his father had so kindly pointed out whenever he was about to be given a litany of his past fuck-ups, but such a skill came quite handy when he was pretending not to hear the hushed whispers and childish giggles shared between his two best friends - like right now.
They always did this. Whenever the trio had decided to have a sleepover, they would make sure that the night entailed a friendly competition of video games, complete with a marathon of horror movies - the latter being an activity neither quite enjoyed but was too prideful to admit it. Hence as a general rule, Antonio would wander up to Francis' bed or onto his mattress in the darkness of the night after one of the more spine-chilling movies. Francis, the caring and lovestruck fool he was, always allowed Antonio to lie a little too close to him than was normal for too male friends. Antonio's excuse was that he was scared after the horror movies, but all three friends knew that it was actually Francis who could not fall asleep and would wiggle under his blankets until Antonio decided to take pity on him and crawl up beside the French boy. Gilbert was just a teensy bit jealous that they rarely invited him to the cuddle session.
Gilbert supposed he should be happy. Francis was not whining and Antonio was positively cheerful. Nevertheless, Gilbert had already set out on his mission, and he was too awesome to lose. It was a bad character trait of his, but one which most of his friends shared. Prank wars and small bets were almost constant - an obvious indication of why they had gained such popularity in school.
Gilbert's eyes suddenly snapped open. He was a genius. A new plan formulated inside his head, successfully taking his mind off of the two cuddling boys on the bed.
The next morning, he watched Antonio exit the car and walk the short distance to his front porch while mentally going over the details of his plan which needed to be carried out by the end of the week. He glanced at Francis as his friend turned off the street and started driving towards Gilbert's house. There was no need to ask for directions from the Albino, after all, they basically lived in each other's houses.
"Hey, are you up for a bet?"
Francis didn't seem the least surprised by Gilbert's suggestion. He gave a small shrug while keeping his eyes firmly on the road. "If I have to get undressed in public, I'm in."
Gilbert knew Francis was not joking, mostly because it would not have been the first time Francis was caught for public indecency. Gilbert sometimes worried about his taste in friends.
"No, you perv, but you will definitely like it," Gilbert proclaimed, taking a short pause for dramatic effects before revealing his million-dollar idea, "You have to win the annual fundraising at school."
It was common knowledge that their school was not that well off to finance all sports teams and extra-curricular activities, and even though the suggestion of an annual competition was by far the least adequate solution, the student body still organized a fundraising event each year. It was just sheer luck that the event would happen the following week, providing a perfect chance for Gilbert to execute his plan. The Albino expected that his French friend would most certainly enrol in the competition, like every year so far. The task was to cook as many baked goods as possible and the title of 'Pastry King' would be given to whoever sold the most of their stacks. Or alternately, whoever sold the cookies faster, since, by rights, almost all pastries were sold by the end of the event. Luckily, Francis was too proud not to show off his skills.
The French boy had won last year, but there were plenty of new students who could turn out to be worthy new opponents. That was the second part of the plan: to convince Ludwig's boyfriend to join the competition. Success was still not guaranteed, but Gilbert had a hunch that this time, his idea would come to fruition. Albeit he had that feeling about all of his previous plans, too.
"Consider it done," Francis replied confidently.
His arrogancy was hard to put up with, Gilbert admitted, but maybe his sense of security could be turned against him. Francis would hardly expect a new contestant, and he would never suspect Gilbert to meddle with the outcome. Gilbert would not do that of course, unless...
"Then you are in? Don't even care about what will happen if you lose?" Gilbert asked with a goofy smile as they pulled up in front of his home. The dogs were already playing on the front lawn - an obvious sign that his father was already back from his morning exercise.
Francis sighed as he stopped the car, shooting an indifferent look to his friend. There was not much which could puzzle him at this point, especially since he was way too familiar with Gilbert's way of thinking. He couldn't possibly challenge him to do something he hadn't done already at least once.
"D'accord, what do I have to do if I lose?" Francis asked with an exasperated sigh, deciding to humour his friend.
Gilbert's grin widened.
The competition was rigged. It was the only plausible explanation behind his failure. And yet, there was not much Francis could do but sulk and blame everybody else for the unfavourable outcome. He had accused Gilbert of cheating and his friend's weird-ass laughter was enough evidence to prove the truthfulness of his claims. Despite the obvious trick, Francis could not change the results, nor could he avoid fulfilling his part of the bet.
Why did he agree to it in the first place? He should have called it quits the moment Gilbert explained the conditions of the bet. Back then, however, Francis was sure of his success. Now, he was staring down the bottom of a beer bottle - hoping liquid courage would prove to be as useful as people swore it to be. He was in need of all support, let it be Gilbert's reassuring pats on his back or the disgusting taste of cheap beer in his mouth.
"I'll go find him," Francis proclaimed, shooing his friend away when the Albino exclaimed he would tag along. The last thing Francis needed was an audience.
He didn't need to wander the house for too long. He had been to the mansion countless times in the past - mostly as a host of many parties which, without fail, attracted an impressive turn-out, hence the prestige the trio had so rightfully earned. Francis knew the house like the back of his hand, as well as being aware of Antonio's favourite spots inside the building. He was heading towards one of those special areas while politely brushing off the few people who tried to initiate a conversation with him - there was simply no time for distraction when a man was on a mission.
He finally reached his friend's bedroom that was unsurprisingly vacant. It was an ancient rule that the Carriedo brothers' rooms were sacred, and thus, were not to be spoilt unless someone wished to be the victim of the brothers' wrath. (And the rumours did not lie about those unfortunate souls who dared to hook up in Antonio's bedroom.)
Francis crossed the room to the window on the far end, parting the curtains to reveal the figure of a Spaniard perched atop the roof - just as Francis had suspected. Despite the steady drum of the music being played downstairs, Antonio seemed to hear him open the window, and flashed Francis one of his usual heart-warming smiles as the French boy took a seat beside him. Francis listened to the indistinguishable conversations floating up from the pool before nervously glancing at his friend who was quietly absorbing the events. Antonio's legs were pulled up to his chest, his chin casually resting on his knees while his face shifted into a more pensive look.
"So how's the party from up here?" Francis asked, a playful smile dancing on his lips, hoping he could ease his nerves with some mindless small talk.
"Well, Feliciano has succeeded in getting hold of some alcohol so he's now clinging to Ludwig like a little monkey, Alfred tried to kick a can of coke off of Mathias' head and accidentally kicked him in the face, then Ivan pushed Alfred into the pool who then pulled Arthur in with him," Antonio recounted the events while Francis snickered beside him.
"Ohonhonhon, I spy an Albino approaching a dangerous territory," Francis pointed out, head nodding in Gilbert's direction as their friend made his way towards an unsuspecting Elizabeth and Roderick.
"What do you think they are saying?" Antonio asked with a malevolent smile, noticing how the pair stopped in mid-conversation when the Albino reached their spot.
The French boy swept his hair back with a dramatic flair, calling forth his best mock German accent, "Iz a once in a lifetime moment zat you can have a piece of someone az awesome az me!" Francis imitated while the scene unfolded similarly below them.
"Gilbert, you can't run two miles at school, how do you expect to handle both of us?" Antonio spoke, clearly trying to sound like their female schoolmate.
"Kesesese, I'm fine with watching!" Francis continued and they both burst out laughing when Eliza delivered a smack to Gilbert's head. They chuckled quietly for some time at the bizarre coincidence, observing their friends from above as the sun dipped below the horizon.
The music swam up towards the sky where the first stars had started to appear and Francis' heart clenched with doubt despite the perfection of the moment. He had always imagined his confession to be whispered against the Spaniard's lips with soft romantic music dancing in the background and a vast field of red roses surrounding them, and although the dubstep music playing from downstairs was anything but ideal, the occasion still seemed to present itself. What better time than now?
"Hey, Francis?" Antonio's voice rang unsurely, the words almost drifting away in the breeze. Francis hummed, starring ahead of him while still being immersed in his own thoughts. When he finally raised his gaze to Antonio, he was overwhelmed by the sheer fear reflected in the other's eyes.
"We are best friends, right?"
The question was unexpected and nearly wiped all previous thoughts out of the French man's mind. It seemed absurd that Antonio would doubt the realness of their friendship after so many years of mischievous adventures and trust, and for that reason, Francis was momentarily unsure of how to approach the situation. He didn't know if the topic required care or light-heartedness, so eventually, he found himself laying a reassuring hand on Antonio's own. Physical contact had always been a fail-safe method of soothing the other boy, but Francis wondered if it was not the case this time as Antonio's eyes flickered down to their joined hands and lingered for a moment. Nevertheless, Antonio did not pull away - a detail Francis was silently celebrating inside - and let their fingers brush against each other.
"Oui, that's what I'm paying you for," Francis joked, trying to go for the more playful response, but Antonio's following laugh was anything but carefree. There was something alarming in the way the other's eyes fixated on him with unprecedented seriousness.
"And if I did something horrible, would you forgive me?"
There was no need for contemplation, not if it was about Antonio. Francis had long accepted that it was a hopeless pursuit to try to extinguish the flames inside his heart that burnt brighter every time Antonio was near him. Not even the most wicked act could stop the fluttering feeling in his stomach if those feelings had already taken root inside him. So Francis gripped his friend's hand stronger on instinct, eyes blazing with passion.
"Of course, you know that already."
And he did know. Antonio should have known. They had seen each other at their worst, had been to hell and back together when Antonio's parents went through a divorce, had seen the other cry in despair and shout in unattained rage, so surely he could not have committed anything unpardonable.
"I won't get mad, at least not too mad," Francis reassured him but Antonio still looked conflicted.
"You need to pinky promise!"
Francis burst out into a series of giggles at the other's unusual demand, especially because they hadn't done such a thing since middle school, but his laughter was silenced quickly by the unsettling seriousness on Antonio's face. This had to be something major, the French man concluded, if a pinky promise was required. So Francis extended his hand, sticking his pinky out and letting Antonio hook their fingers together to ultimately seal the deal.
Antonio's eyes locked onto his, and among the uncertainty and fear, there was a foreign spark invigorated by motivation. People cheered downstairs, their laughter filling the night, but Francis could barely hear anything besides the deafening sound of his heartbeat as Antonio's lips locked onto his. It was a gentle caress at first, an endearing move in its shyness that dragged Francis into the depth of Antonio's embrace. He closed his eyes unconsciously and pressed firmer against his friend if only to seek that familiar warmth that enveloped the other. Francis parted his lips slightly in a subtle invitation and Antonio was quick to slip his tongue inside his mouth and taste the faintest trace of beer that made the Spaniard smile.
Antonio was tracing his hand up from the other's chin, leaving light touches across the other's pink-dusted cheeks until his fingers could brush through the golden locks that framed Francis' face.
When they parted, their lips lingered a few inches away from each other, hot breath mingling between them as if a greater distance could diminish the intimacy of the moment. In the seconds of wordless serenity, Antonio refused to move away and Francis did not mind the closeness either. With foreheads almost touching, they shared a small but relieved laugh, even if the events baffled both of them.
"I'm sorry," Antonio started with a sheepish smile, his eyes darting away from Francis in embarrassment, and the French man offhandedly noted that the blush on Antonio's cheek was beyond adorable, "I lost a bet with Gilbert, I hope you don't hate me now."
Apparently, the kiss was not the only surprise the night had in stock for Francis. He slowly blinked once before the puzzle pieces fell into place.
"Wait? What bet?" He asked despite knowing the truth even without Antonio's confirmation. The Spanish boy looked nervous now, guilt engulfing him as he admitted his secret.
"Gilbert challenged me to not eat tomatoes for a week. He said I had to kiss you if I failed."
As if a fog had been lifted from his eyes, Francis could see the events play out in his memory like masterfully crafted pieces of a puzzle. Gilbert's restlessness and increased smugness suddenly made sense. After all, only he could conjure up such a blatant idea. However, Francis felt an unexpected wave of fondness wash over him at Antonio's naivety.
"Oh, mon amour, even I know you can't last that long," Francis said softly, heart clenching when Antonio's lips curled up into a shy smile.
"Maybe I just wanted an excuse to kiss you."
Francis blushed slightly at the other's frankness and planted a chaste kiss on Antonio's lips.
"Well, I guess that also concludes my part of the bet," Francis stated, knowing he was overdoing his part by acting so cryptically, but he lavished in seeing the so bewildered and clueless. He almost had to stifle a laugh.
"What do you mean?" Antonio asked with his usual obliviousness that Francis adored with all of his heart, a mixture of giddiness and confusion settling on his face after receiving such a positive reaction from his friend.
"Well, I was also challenged by our great friend, Gilbert, with the same conditions as you mentioned, minus the tomatoes," Francis explained, seeing his own stupidity, in hindsight. "I was sure he was responsible for my defeat but I honestly didn't care that much. Anyway, he twisted my arm by saying that tonight was the perfect chance to fulfil my part of the deal so I came up here, hoping I could do just that while not losing you as a friend."
It was so easy to confess to Antonio, but Francis still felt trepidation gathering in his gut as the other made direct eye contact with him and whispered:
"You failed, then," Antonio declared with an expression devoid of any emotion, "because I'm not your friend anymore, Francis."
There was no time to process this statement, which would have definitely led to an incurable heartache in Francis' case, had the French boy not been stound into silence by Antonio's searing kiss. The Spaniard pulled back soon afterwards with a self-satisfied grin, his ego soaring at the (in his opinion) genius move he'd just pulled.
"I'm your boyfriend, not your friend." Antonio stated but his previous confidence quickly evaporated as he rushed to add: "Only if you want to?"
Francis could not believe he was in love with this moron. With a dramatic eye roll, Francis snaked his arms around the other's waist: "Of course, we're boyfriends! This Spanish ass belongs to me!"
Antonio burst out laughing at that exclamation, a familiar figure appearing in his peripheral vision as he wiped at his eyes:
"Hey, you know what I want to do?" The Spaniard lured, a dangerous flame igniting in his eyes.
Francis held Antonio's gaze, a silent conversation passing between the pair before they nodded in unison.
Gilbert was standing by the pool with a beer in hand, looking like the embodiment of self-importance. The reason for his smugness? He saw every second of that very much heated (wow, go for it, Antonio!) first kiss on the rooftop and felt that he had the right to take some credit for his friends' happiness. He also made a mental note to brag about this moment in his speech when those two get married.
Gilbert tried to act as nonchalant as possible while the two lovebirds approached their group downstairs hand-in-hand.
"Ah, Francy, Toni," Gilbert exclaimed, emptying his can of beer and putting it onto a nearby table, "The lovebirds care to join our group?"
Gilbert really should have seen it coming, if not from the brief look his friends shared after spotting the Albino, then from how the mischievous look in their eyes as they took a place on each of Gilbert's sides while placing a firm hold on a respective shoulder. The push of four hands sent him stumbling forward and into the inevitable consequences of him not being on guard.
The water washed over his head before his legs found a footing at the bottom of the pool and he was able to push himself up towards the surface. While Gilbert was fervently coughing water from his lungs, the crowd around the pool erupted into giddy laughter and a series of camera flashlights went off to capture the moment.
"Not cool, guys," Gilbert commented as he climbed out of the pool with his clothes feeling like iron chains weighing down on him. Antonio and Francis high-fived, completely unaffected by their friend's baleful glare.
The party, afterwards, carried on in high spirits. The sound of lively conversations and playful competitions pierced through the silence of the night, and the stars seemed to shine brighter as a slightly intoxicated French boy and a Spaniard danced to Macarena. As Gilbert sat there, with soaking wet clothes and a laughing Liza at his side, watching his two best friends happily tease each other, he felt a fond smile tug at his lips. He took a swig of his beer and let himself take a minute to appreciate the pleasant feeling of the warm night as it settled over the city.
Later, he was given a pair of dry pants by the host and he quickly slipped into the house to change his outfit that uncomfortably clung to him like a second skin. As he went to remove his trousers, he felt the unmistakable shape of his phone inside his drenched pockets, and his face paled in horror.
Fuck.