Work Text:
Paris, 1920s
Francis walked around the small hotel room, quite a modest design if compared to Robert's usual taste in living. He desperately tried to cover the musty scent by spraying cheap perfume he just bought from a shop earlier around the room.
Deep breath.
He heard Robert gagged a little, turning his attention to the thinner man as he threw the empty perfume bottle away, raising his eyebrows.
"Sensitive lungs here, aren't we?" Francis cooed derisively but without hostility. Moment later, Robert still continues to cough hoarsely- Francis began to feel concern for his shitty pretentious friend and pat on Robert's back several times.
"You good?" He asked, not in a certain gentle tone but enough to make the other party acknowledge that he's not playing around.
"Mhm.." Robert just nodded and turned away, Francis noticed a tiny book in his frail hands, and by small he said, It's really small- just around a palm size. Way to contrast with all Robert's books- wait.
"This is my book." Robert's cheeks reddened immediately when he heard that. He quickly snatched the book away from the other man's reaching hand and rolled over the bed, pulling up the thin blanket to cover himself.
"Can you not!" He hissed.
"Oh, Robert- aren't you out of one of your ambiguous moods yet?" The other man chuckled heartily and gently use the back of his hand to feel the young physicist's forehead. Veiny hand touched the sweaty forehead, but did not flinch away in disgust. Letting the chemical between them connected like the cigarette and its smoke.
"No fever, I guess summer is really just unbearable"
Pulling himself together, Robert made a soft noise of dissatisfaction and tried to break away. Clearly intimidation by his friend's random display of affection, this hell of a what they so-called 'Comradeship' made him long for it yet so frightened by it.
"You don't like it?"
"Don't you dare to imply something like that…" The young physicist pouted angrily, continued to ignore the fact that he himself is a grown-ass man and not a 12-years-old-boy who will always be taken care of by his parents whether he likes it or not. The blue-eyed man was friendly and loving a while ago, now he became of a violent lover-like.
"But you fantasize about it, no?" Francis replied.
"Please do not use that word on me." Robert quickly hushed Francis's lips with his delicate finger.
"Then I shall use those sentences on you while you're writing your corny romantic letter to Mr. Smith." Robert was taken aback by Francis's teasing words. Reluctantly kicked Francis off the bed.
"Hey!" Holy shit, that hurt in the ass.
"Gee." Robert giggled. Francis should be irritated by this action but instead he just feels joyfulness- his friend is no longer in his depressive mood and non-verbal. Unpredictable moods made him feel exhausted.
His lips curling up. Robert's life is just so extraordinary colourful.
Deafening, Francis got up and straightened his wrinkled shirt. The floor is a little dusty, he consider booking a new hotel for himself and Robert tomorrow. He wants to take Robert out for a walk, to enjoy a scenery view and not spending their quality time in this 'miserable hole' all day because Robert just wants to read Shakespeare. Alleviate the appealing City of Love, Francis grimaced by the overly-romanticized name.
"Are those sonnet collections?" Francis pronounced the word collection as 'col-lect-ti-on' by habit, he lived as an American his whole life but decided to tried out learning German recently, leading him into pronouncing some English words with German pronunciation by accident.
This decree of his own linguistic weakness made it sound idiotic- almost unbearable to Francis that he needed to correct himself and let out a few embarrassed coughs. Fuckery, he took a peek of the page Robert was reading.
Sonnet 66.
Here we go again, baby.
He does not and never consider himself as a stoic man who's insensitive to the emotional drama of his friend, but this made him sometimes feel tired. Another deep breath and found himself already standing in front of Robert who's still lying down, towering over him as if he's Zeus, Kings of God, punishing Prometheus.
"Care to read it out loud for me?"
He thought he'd get a reply from Robert, but no.
It's the tensing silence instead, as his reply.
Self-pity.
He promise to Ella and Julius to take to care of Robert as long as he could. Cold hand setting on Robert's shoulder, the rough grip contrast to helpless but warm smile hanging on his youthful face.
"Robert, can I tell you something?" He murmured as his hand slipped off Robert's body. He turned to the window and open it, soft wind blew to their face, cold. Maybe it's because it'll be raining soon, or just that Robert feels like the loneliest man in the world. Francis sighs and brushes the lock of his hair away from his face. Melodramatically, Robert expressed his curiosity by tilting his head to side. Francis wants to help Robert out of his loop of anguish, Robert is suffering from something he'll never know or see, nor do he will understand it. An unreachable nebula.
"Yes? Go on." Impolitely of him, Francis wants him to say 'Please' but that's not the business. Robert oftenly whimpers 'Please' to him, and Francis likes it very much. He never heard Robert saying 'Please' to anyone except his inner circle, let alone visibly turning green when he had to act polite around his relatives.
"Remember Frances?" Francis pause, a warm smile creeps on his face "We're getting married."
As the world caves in
Disturbing silence filled the room with excruciating tension. Francis's smile never left his lips but he felt quite embarrassed by the silence he received from Robert.
Stunning, Robert felt numbness on his face. His whole body goes motionlessly stiff and his thoughts are a mass of white blank. A moment before disaster.
As If a volcano erupted, the sky fell to the ground. Loneliness, a fear of abandonment leading to a despair fulfillment.
Non-linear.
Jealousy took over his rational consciousness, his heart is a burning fire as burning of the Lighthouse of Alexandria- glass breaking, putting crack lines through his face. Oh should he feels happy for his friend, shouldn't he?
Fucking hell.
Francis bent down on his knees to pick up a discarded book on the ground- he saw this is an opportunity and quickly grab a trunk strap inside the drawer, slamming it close
Feel what I felt.
Robert pouched on him like getting on a horse, strap around Francis's neck and tighten it with malicious expression on his face, jealousy. Francis gasped for breath and twisted Robert's wrist, Robert yelping in pain and tears began to fill his eyes. Frowning, he momentarily loosen his strength on the strap, paving the way for Francis to pushes him aside and locked his body with his strong arms. Effortlessly, it didn't take Francis much energy to make Robert surrender to him, according to how underweight and frail his physical body is, unlike his emotional robust.
The weeping Robert is sobbing and hiccupping pitifully under him, being imprisoned by another man, tears and snot mixed together into a mess on his face. As something punched him in the gut, Francis forgave him unconditionally and immediately, Francis let go of Robert's reddened wrist and sat up before him, observing the other man's pathetically weeping for life.
"I think-" he struggled to speak, the lump in his throat made it difficult to concrete anything at all. Robert's bitten fingernails digged into the floor below, groaning in a mental dilemma.
Francis tried again "Oh, I- I think-" failing miserably, he decided on a bold movement, pulling Robert into him and embracing the young physicist tightly.
He knows it's wrong to forgive someone so easily, and it's not his fault that Robert attacked him too. But for all the damn years they known each other and for the all the breakdowns Robert had and he witness it- he just can't- he-
He knows Robert is wrong for this. Out of jealousy, or fear.
He's desperately afraid that Robert might just embraces the Death if he doesn't hold onto him.
Robert didn't apologize- or at least directly, he just cried into his chest like there will be no tomorrow, maybe- tomorrow may never come.
Please don't leave me alone.
That's the word Francis could vaguely focus on when Robert babbling it out, interrupted by an ugly pitiful sobs.
I want to tell that I am not like his Fred, I'll never leave him.
18th Febuary 1967
After all these years, Robert
I can't sleep the same night you're gone
Yesterday you were alive, I took you by your hand and lead you to your bedroom. I lay you on your soft bed and tucked you in your thick blanket, afriad that you'll be cold during the night.
I kissed you a forehead kiss one last time before I withdrawn from your bedroom- I saw Kitty in the hallway, she nodded when I said that you've fallen asleep.
I didn't expect that will be the last time I'll ever see you again in eternity.