Work Text:
“You always do this! It’s not my fault that you can’t seem to express yourself, but you can’t keep leaving and coming back to me like this Arthur!” Francis cried, tears streaming down his face as he gestured wildly.
“Fine! I won’t come back, I’ll leave for good then. I don’t need a frog like you anyway!” Arthur yelled back, turning his back and slamming the door as he left the Frenchman to sink down the wall crying. It wasn’t until Arthur got in his car and was halfway home before he allowed himself to start crying. It wasn’t the first fight they had, but it could be the last and Arthur regretted not being more civil. He left anytime things between himself and Francis got more serious in a relationship. It was taxing on them both. The relationship was flawed, they didn’t know how to mend all the crumbling pieces, and the deep hatred that flowed so naturally through them made the love they felt feel somehow wrong, disgusting even. Arthur pulled up in front of his house and ran a hand through his shaggy hair, staggering inside and locking the door behind him before grabbing his strongest beer. He choked down the can, and several more until the pain stopped and he figured he’d be able to sleep without the touch of the frog.
Meanwhile Francis climbed slowly to his feet, swallowing hard and wiping his face with his sleeve.
“There was nothing left. Tis for the best, non…? I might as well delete his number from my phone.” Francis choked back a sob. “He had to’ve been serious. He’s never left like that before. I wish I had done something more. Merde. I need to go to bed.” Francis said, dropping his phone, leaving the contact ‘Mon Chou’ highlighted as he staggered to bed. The soft sheets felt cold and course against his skin as he curled into a tight ball and forgot to let the dampness of his pillow bother him.
The fighting had stopped, and they didn’t see each other for weeks. Their friends noticed the change in both of them. They knew not to mess with them when they got like this.
“I can’t bloody call him. It’s kill him to hear my voice, Alfred. God I miss him.” Arthur spoke sullenly to Alfred over the phone. “I can’t keep doing this though. Help. Please.”
“Look, dude, if you want him back just go over there and apologize. I know it’s rough but you can’t keep on like this, man. It’s killing you.” Alfred said plainly. Arthur silently hung up. He got in his car and drove the familiar route to Francis’s house. He knocked heavily on the door and waited for Francis to answer. Francis opened the door wide enough to see Arthur’s face, and closed it again. Arthur knocked on the door again, tears welling in his eyes. He received a text.
‘I’m not letting you in. Please leave…’ it said. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, letting the tears roll down his cheeks. He messaged back.
‘Please, I just want to talk.’
‘No, I’m not letting you in.’ The message said.
“Then I’m letting myself in.” Arthur said to himself, moving one of the potted plants over to get the spare key. He unlocked the door and found Francis, his head in his hands, looking like he hadn’t eaten in days, and the smell of vomit hanging in the air. Arthur rushed over to him and put an arm around him.
“Get off of me.” Francis said softly, trying to wrench his shoulder away from Arthur. The other man clung tightly, noticing small details, the unbrushed hair, the tear streaked face, the stained shirt. Francis was a mess and Arthur knew it was his fault.
“Get off!” Francis said, standing, he was swaying almost drunkenly.
“When was the last time you ate?” Arthur asked slowly, more like a statement.
“Since when do you care about me? When have you ever cared? When I’m in bed, moaning your name, wanting nothing else than to be with you, but then you leave, you always leave, why do you always leave…? Why do you never stay, Arthur?” Francis’ knees gave out, and Arthur wasn’t fast enough to catch him. The taller man crumpled to the ground. Arthur dragged him to the couch and went to the kitchen. He sliced some bread and got a glass of water. He shook Francis until he opened his eyes.
“Eat.” Arthur commanded. Francis shook his head. “Dammit Fro-Francis, this isn’t the time to be difficult. You’ll die, dammit. Please, just eat.” Arthur softened his voice. Francis took the bread and ate it slowly. Arthur helped him sit up slowly, and went to stroke his face. Francis flinched, and Arthur pulled his hand away.
“I haven’t forgiven you. You take me up so high then drop me and I can only take so much. I can pretend to be fine but I’m not, it’s not okay, Arthur. If you intend to take my heart again, you have to decide to stay and I don’t know if I’m willing to give it back to you again. You destroyed me, Arthur Kirkland. Completely. I can take so much, and I’m at my limit. I am not a toy, you can’t just-” Francis cried. Arthur stood up to leave.
“I guess I’ll go.” He said softly.
“Please don’t. Please. I need you. Look at me Arthur, I can’t go on like this. I don’t feel whole without you. “ Francis said quietly, standing and crossing to him.
“I don’t know how. I’m a mess, I don’t know what to do in a real relationship. I don’t know that I’m ready. This was a bad idea, I’m-” Arthur was cut off by Francis pressing their lips together. Arthur pushed him off. He swallowed hard. He didn’t mention the taste of stomach acid on the Frenchman’s lips, or that he could taste the tears.
“I’m so sorry Francis, I’m toxic, I’m a poison and I’m so sorry that I put you through so much of me, you deserve so much better than what I have to give. I’ll leave.”
“I’m okay, really. I need you. I can see you need me too. We might be the only two people in this world fucked up enough for each other, so please, For God’s sake for once in your life, Arthur for once stay with me. You don’t have to leave.” Francis begged, holding the other man’s hands.
“What if we can’t fix-”
“Then we’ll work around the holes. Just stay, we can figure it out as we go.”
“Francis, I don’t want to be your cause of death. Why don’t you just let me leave, can’t you see I’m killing you?” Arthur was yelling now and Francis sank back into the couch.
“I thought you’d realized you’re the opposite. It hurts more when you’re not here. Just stay.”
“...Fine. But you have to go bathe, the whole place reeks of vomit and sweat.”
“I think that’s a good place to start, don’t leave while I’m gone.” Francis repeated that under his breath until he got back, in clean clothes and a better scent.
“I thought you’d leave.” Francis admitted as he laid on the couch, his head resting on Arthur’s thighs, and falling comfortably asleep for the first time in weeks. Arthur tangled his fingers in the blond hair and cried softly to himself, praying collectively to every god he could think of that he didn’t ruin the perfect, forgiving man he was hopelessly in love with this time.
“I love you Francis Bonnefoy. I love you.” He whispered.
“I love you too. Don’t leave me.” Francis murmured back.