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“You know, I wasn’t sure if you would remember me” a bemused voice said as they casually leaned onto the railing of the balcony.
Arthur scoffs. “Please, it’s hard not to recognize the man who almost go me killed” he plainly states, staring into the tiled streets below them.
“But that was only once!” he retorts
“And once was far too many!”
He hasn’t changed a bit, thinks Arthur. The same arrogant smile remains on his face whether in Venice or Rio. The exact same bastard with the exact same conceited look in his eyes. One day, he swears, he’ll- “You're just pissed because they don't serve your poor excuse for alcohol, and you're not allowed to have cigarettes'” what an asshole.
“Excuse you, I have excellent taste in alcohol! Besides, I quit smoking a long time ago.”
“Oh?” replies Francis, humor evident in his voice “say that to the pack poking out of your pocket.” Arthur pats down his suit coat and fumbles around, checking his pockets.
“I don't have any on me.” A knowing smiles creeps onto the man standing next to him.
“So, you usually do have them on you, right?” the whispering game has begun. Arthur glares at him.
He hasn’t changed at all, thinks Francis. He tries to be cold, but the insecurity is evident no matter how much he tries to compensate. The worse he feels the more arrogant he acts. The guiltier he feels the more he blows up-typical. Arthur is about to quip back, but he beats him to it. “You always were a terrible liar, Arthur.” He moves so that he’s face-to-face with the green-eyed man. “Just like how you lied that I was the one who put us in a life-or-death situation. You found the job.”
“You convinced me to do it!”
“I told you the benefits, I didn't make you take it...You planned the mission.”
“You packed the food. - “
“You booked the plane-. “
“You booked the hotel-. “
“You packed the bags-. “
“Look- Stop trying to put the blame on me.” He retorts, louder than intended, but he was angry. Angry at being convicted for things he didn’t do, and irate that the man in front of him couldn’t see how he wasn’t guilty.
“I'm not trying to! I'm saying you refuse to admit it was your choice to leave your whole life behind on a chance.” France says ignoring the volume of the other. He’s stating facts and the man in front of him was acting ignorant-it was antagonizing, it was stubborn, and entirely Arthur.
“God, what's got into you?” Arthur laughs hollowly “It's a party Franny. Lighten up a little, would you?”
now it’s Francis’s turn to scoff “Coming from you? You couldn't lighten up if you were made of air.” Who does this miserable man think he is, to tell others not to be? “-How many times have I told you not to call me Franny?”
“How many years have we known each other?” he replies lightly. Like a coin flip, the two men’s mood seem to switch at every toss.
“You're changing the subject. How long will it take you to admit it?” it’s become a classic point of contention between the two. After all these years neither truly care whose fault, it is.
“How many times have I told you not to comeback?” his voice turns cold “I keep telling you I don't want to keep finding one another. And every time just as I allow myself to think "I'm free" you magically find me again. I'm not stupid. I know you're following me.”
Francis looks out to the chilled night sky around them. It’s such a beautiful city. With it’s cobblestone streets and Mansard roofs, maybe in another life he would’ve taken his lover here instead of arguing with the same person whose plagued him. “Do you believe in fate?” he asks eyes still on the city around them.
“Oh, look who's changing the subject now.”
“I'm serious! Believe it or not, I'm not trying to find a man who hates me repeatedly. Tell me, why would I want that?” He’s only being half-serious, but that’s for another day.
“You're a masochist?” Arthur says in mock seriousness.
“You know, you really do grow more insufferable every time we meet.” He quips back, getting back to their comfortable back-and-forth.
“I think you've mistaken me for yourself.”
“says who, you? Arthur, you can't keep a friend to save your life.”
They’ve both missed this. They’d never admit it, but they relish in the verbal battles. No one can argue like the two of them. No one can replace either in their odd habit. There’s contempt in that but it only appears as a more bitter remark than usual. They need each other to feel fulfilled, and they hate it.
“Yet you saved mine, why would you save me if I'm that awful.”
Francis seems to pause “...Maybe I am a masochist.” He side-eyes him before taking his hand and putting it against the Frenchman’s head
“Did you have one-to-many wine flutes? Because the stalker I know doesn't admit faults.” It’s a rare display of affection and Francis squanders it.
“I'm not a stalker! If anything, you are.”
The reaction is instant as he yanks back his hand “What are you talking about?”
“Well, It's my friends party. I don't even know how you got invited.”
Arthur replies in characteristic snobbishness “If you think I snuck in, I'll bash your head in. I got an invite just like you.”
“Crazy” gasps Francis “because I went over the invite list and don't remember your name on it.”
Smiling sarcastically, he replies “Look who the liar is now.”
The slowly get closer to each other with each insult “You're impossible.”
“You're intolerable.” Silence overtakes them as they notice the gap between them had closed significantly. Arthur stepped away and made his way inside for another drink. He needed it. Francis stays and ponders until Arthur walks-no stumbles- he’s a lot drunker than initially assumed.
“I didn't get you into a dangerous situation last time-.” Francis begins
“Francis I swear to god if you start this ag-“
“What if I did this time?”
he replies dumbfoundedly “What are you talking about?”
“I got an offer for a job. I could use your skills.”
the man stares incredulously at the now rightly dubbed ‘asshole’ next to him “You've got to be kidding me.” He says downing the rest of the sadly depleted wine flute.
“I'm completely serious.”
“After all that crazy shit, you want to do it again. For a second time?” He’s shocked and annoyed, why are wine flutes so small??
“You did say I was a masochist.”
“You're not, you're just mad.” Arthur tries to walk away but is blocked
“Are you trying to convince me you're not interested?” There’s no way Arthur is telling the truth then. He knows this man; it’s too much to resist, the thrill of it.
“I'm not trying, I'm telling you”
Francis grabs the others wrist and leans down whispering between small breathes into the others ear “Don't you miss the thrill. We're already in hiding for the rest of our lives. Why not do another job and hide comfortably?”
“I'm perfectly comfortable.” Says Arthur as he continues to try to escape the other man’s grasp
“In a dingy apartment on a street with no name?” Francis replies unimpressed
“So you have been stalking me?” He ignores the question; it’s unimportant.
“Aren't you just the tiniest bit curious about the details. What the mission will be, how much it's worth, where we'd be going?” He can tell, the man in front of him is conflicted. If he plays his cards right; he’ll have a ‘yes’ by the end of the night. “Look, we can sit down, and I'll explain everything.”
“And where would we be going?” he’s agreed. You never get a direct ‘yes’ from Arthur. It’s always in small changes of speech, tone, and body language.
“My apartment of course! I have this amazing wine from Bordeaux circa 1909, and I can make this amazing charcuterie board.”
The other stares blankly “I understood none of the words that came out of your mouth.” Francis suddenly done dealing with the man replies, “And you call me uncultured?”
“Saying random French words doesn't make you cultured.” Francis is French. Leave it to Arthur.
“Neither does hating said French words. Should we get going? I don't want to wake up late tomorrow.” He begins to pick up the others coat and make his way to the door
“Who said I was going?” Francis stops at the door, and glances at Arthur
“Are you not?” they both stare quietly until he gives.
“I can't stand you.”
Francis smiles “I know.”
He gives the other his coat. Fingers brush where the shouldn’t as the other struggles to put it on. Giving the wine flutes back to the waiters they exit the building.
Arthur speaks up “Don't think this means I want to do it; I just want to try the wine.”
The other doesn’t even faulter. Chuckling while glancing at the other “You really are a terrible liar, you know that?”
“Fuck off, Francis”