Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Somewhere in Paris, 1452

Francis couldn’t believe at first what he was told just a few minutes ago. He couldn’t even stand, that’s how much his legs were shaking, so without a care for his already torn trousers, he merely sat down into the dust. He really was kicked out of Sorbonne.

He was threatened many times before, sure: “Bonnefoy, don’t do this, Bonnefoy, don’t do that.” “It’s a mock poem again Bonnefoy? How long would it take until you realise you can’t do this here?” “Do you want to end up like your mother? It’s a privilege that despite that you were still accepted. Don’t waste your only chance!”

The golden haired boy never took them seriously. He always found a way to slip by when things went sour, because other than his bad reputation, and the piling up hatred his teachers had, he always could save his face with his grades. He was the unpolished gem of the academy, with a witty answer to everything.

Oh, all had been the fault of his loose mouth! If he could have just shut up, and take everything without complaint, he’d still had a roof over his head. He could still sleep in his comfortable, dormitory bed, eat – if not good, at least some – food and have privacy in his lone room. And this was a final decision. No amount of begging could give him a place there again, because he already tried with that in the last three hours.

Now, he went a bit far away with his newest poem. It was common knowledge that Francis made fun out of everyone; professors, students and even the cleaning staff couldn’t be spared from his words of iron. Most of the time, he didn’t take it seriously either. They were nothing more than stupid caricatures that he laughed with some of his friends about. As time went by he built up a smaller fan base too, but it wasn’t anything too out of hands that they committed real world atrocities.

Okay, Francis knew that he wasn’t a saint by any means. He was a loud spokesperson of the student protests, taking the fate of all his comrades on his heart. Although being juvenile most of the time and just messing with life, there were some questions he took just a bit more seriously than he should have. He shouldn’t have, because now he was out on the streets in an even bigger pit of poverty than he was in before.

He thought about two of his best comrades, Maxime and Julien. They must be sad that their good old friend wasn’t there to entertain them anymore on Arithmetic. Or they weren’t thinking about him at all, because judging by the time, they have Rhetoric class right now, and that was probably the only one all of them so called ‘free-thinkers’ enjoyed.

He had to laugh. Yeah, they were all in it, yet they wouldn’t move a finger to protect him. Maxime and Julien were just as faithful to him as his favourite prostitute, Margot. He didn’t have any money left to afford her for a while, because he wanted to eat at least twice a week. That’s how his life would be from now, and he wouldn’t want it anyhow else.

He may have been bitching just before about his damned condition, but if he just simply shut his mouth, he wouldn’t be the Francis Bonnefoy he is. Because, if the dog has the right to yowl when he’s beaten, and if wolf has the right to howl when he’s tortured, why would he shut his mouth when he was oppressed? As minutes were ticking by, he got calmer with the fact that he was kicked out. The thought was like a bothersome guest; it was hard to accept that it was there, but eventually he even got comfortable with it, offered it wine and bread that he barely had the money for.

He was kicked out. And what? The world, even as a lamentation valley it was, was still standing exactly like this morning. There was not even a need for Maxime and Julien to care about him, because his life wasn’t going to change a bit, other than finally not having to go to the septem taedium liberum. He didn’t want to be a lawyer or a priest anyway, so he wouldn’t get anything with his fancy papers anyway. It would be as good as just some little boost of ego. Sure, he was a bit panicked at first for the loss of the comfort and routine, but it wasn’t really worth lamenting all the boredom that came with it.

The blonde first rubbed the few tear drops from the corner of his eye before standing up, showing the buzzing streets a smile of bravery. He was free as a falcon now, so he did the first thing he did usually when he was off the campus; finding Margot. Yeah, he promised himself just a few minutes before that he wouldn’t go to her, but he still haven’t completely got over the fact of his dismissal, so he wanted to get the most pleasure he could before he finally begins to think where he would spend the cold of this night.

It was early spring, and the nights were cold enough to freeze someone to death still. But Margot’s arms were warm enough to make it a bit more bearable, even if she was one of the ugliest, stinkiest prostitutes he ever met with. And the one he loved the most.

They met a few months ago when Francis was out drinking with his comrades in a rundown pub after a yet again failed protest, just like how they were used to. One thing lead to the other, and they were causing some discord in the pub in their drunken haze, hence they were thrown out. Oh, just how glad Francis was for the lack of patience the bar tender demonstrated, otherwise he never would have met his Margot. It wasn’t his first time seeking the pleasure of a prostitute, of course so he wholeheartedly agreed when the boys suggested that they found a girl for each of them. For Francis sex was something sacred, albeit being usually viewed as unholy. If he had any money, he wouldn’t even oppose marrying one of the girls, because they were the only ones who understood him. Who loved him for an hour more than his mother, who would kiss him with their deformed, lipstick stained mouth, and caress him with their dirty, dusty hands. That’s the kind of raw love he always longed for, and the only what he’s destined to.

Margot was a particular one. He immediately felt the connection to her from the way her cross-eyed stare looked dumbly at him while she tried to attract him with her imbecile smile. Like some little monster she was. Francis' heart was immediately captured by the horrid sight she made. There wasn't any question in him, that she'd love him to the grave and even after. They never talked though. Francis was sure she understood everything she had to from their sloppy kisses and bloody fights. What others called sex meant the sweetest war to them.

But thinking logically, the girl probably looked at him as just another costumer, which he didn't mind at all. In his head, she was the perfect lover, and he never cared about reality anyway. His poems would be too dry that way.

His beloved poems that will get him to his grave one day. He already had one to be written on it when he dies.

His dismissal was something to be celebrated really. They barely kicked out anyone, but he did it. The disgrace was just another badge of honour in his eyes. Although he never met her, he sure was similar to his mother by the things his father told about her.

It wasn’t difficult to find her, no it never was. She was waiting for her with open arms. It’s been a week since their last encounter, and both of them ached from the want of their disgusting union.

No words needed to be told, when his eyes were full of tears even if he tried to hide them. He wanted to display every inch of him, to let her devour all of it. Francis didn’t understand the reason for his lament – no desperation, but he could care less anyway. He had her, and that was all. With all the bites, and touches, and kisses tearing each other apart in a shady alley close to the dreaded building of Sorbonne.

“Disperse immediately! The two of you are arrested!” a loud, deep voice cut through their little pink bubble of lusty desperation. It was just Francis’ luck, wasn’t it? Kicked out then arrested… Maybe he shouldn’t have stopped going to church.

He laughed again, like half an hour ago in front of the university, and turned to face the soldier shouting at them. That man had this dirty blonde hair, choppy and visibly not cared after, with apple green eyes, which glittered contrasting to Margot’s muddy brown ones. His eyebrows were mushy and grown together, which wasn’t the most attractive sight in itself, but in a grander scheme of things, his face locked handsome enough. Hadn’t it been for that ugly frown of distaste splattered all over it, though.

The soldier wasn’t that frightful anyways. If Francis would guess, they were around the same height, with the stranger being on the chubbier side. Perhaps it was the normal weight for a person in his age – as he would guess he was also in his late twenties – but Francis wouldn’t possibly know that, because him included, all his friends were living day by day. A bunch of damned students in poverty.

It wasn’t the first time Francis faced one of them, having a long record of shorter and longer prison sentences, and various times they alerted this bunch of boot licking fuckers to silence their protests. This one was not particularly outstanding in any way to make him remember the face, but it very well could be that they never met. There was a never ending number of them devils.

He put his hand up into the air, while backing away from the girl, who ran for her life without a care what happened to him. Francis just hoped he didn’t have to pay this five minutes if he ever comes back to her. The Frenchman just couldn’t be mad at her for running, it was true that her life was worth more than his; one of a poor, bastard son of a priest and a prostitute from Pontoise.

“Guess it’s over Mr. Officer. You could have waited at least until she did something about my problem under.” He stepped forward boldly, while jeeringly spitting his words out. He hated nothing more than soldiers, maybe just their dear king himself. He wasn’t scared of some shiny uniforms, or pointy swords, when he had a slingshot in his pocket since the day of his birth. He’d never bow to one of them, only if his head was straight up cut down.

“You are arrested. Don’t you dare talking back to me.”

“I’m not deaf. I heard it for the first time, but I meekly welcome your kind gesture to repeat it your grace.” He spit out those words like they were rotten little worms climbing up his tongue.

The gaze of the other man hardened, like he couldn’t even believe that the man he just arrested dared to act this impudently. As if he wasn’t fearing for his life.

Francis took the eye contact with a venomous smile on his face. Completely merciless and determined to win the battle.

“I heard about you. Quite the local celebrity, huh? A bit of a show off for my taste.”

“My deepest condolences your most supreme excellency that I don’t give a single fuck about pleasing mice. I’d rather be the worst attention seeking brat, than aligning myself with the likes of you.”

“You have a big mouth for someone with a record like yours. Your luck won’t protect you for ever.”

“If it makes you happy, that you mind who I fuck in my free time, then be my guest. Maybe you should try sticking your dick elsewhere too, not your own ass. I guarantee you wouldn’t be this much of a prick.”

The soldier looked angrier and angrier with every word Francis stabbed him with, while the grin on the blue eyed’s face got wider than ever. He was feeding off of annoying that bloody arsehole. He felt as if he already won their battle.

“Son of a bitch.”

“I am.” laughed with the feeling of superiority Francis, seeking the horrified face of the guard. This was the sole reason the French boy liked to play with other people. This was nothing more than a show of entertainment before the inevitable. This wasn’t a beg to let him go spot free, or reduce the sentence. It was entertainment for the entertainment.

“Fuck you, bloody wanker. Get the fuck out of here before I change my mind.” Francis couldn’t say that he wasn’t taken aback at that. Not that wasn’t happy for it, but amnesty never even crossed his mind. He was so shocked, that he couldn’t even move.

“I owe you now, or what? Do you want to test if I inherited any skills?” At that, the soldier buried his face into his hands. He probably already regretted his decision.

But he wouldn’t play along anymore. He took some deep breaths, and couldn’t even bother to respond.

Yeah, Francis knew that he wasn’t to be punished by law anyway. He did that to scare him; the stranger only had the authority to arrest the woman. It was unfair, but that just how their society was. And it was one of the reasons why he could never for his life shut his mouth.

He was an intriguing one though, and not just because Francis was glad that he played along with him for a while. Thinking about him felt different from thinking about, for example Margot. He was an enigma he had no idea what to think about, a problem to be solved; someone that he hardly could grasp no matter how vast his vocabulary was.

It would have been beautiful, had it not been for the fact that he was a dirty pig of the state. Francis tried to see the most beautiful side of everyone, no matter if said person looked hideous for the rest. For him, it was a mere challenge he gladly faced. Carefully picking his metaphors and pictures, fondling the words as if they were his children, caressing it gently to be a poem.

But it was hard to do with him. Not because he didn’t find anything, but because it was too much he gave.

Francis had to laugh again. As unlucky he was, as jolly he became. Perhaps Arthur was a Deus ex machina, because his pockets weren’t empty before the setting of the sun, and could find somewhere to stay. Sleep was the last thing on his mind right now, but he needed to lie down after the excitement of the day.

After all, this is only the beginning of his tale.

Chapter Text

One of Arthur's biggest regrets was becoming a guard, yet he wouldn't ever want to do anything else. He swore to serve and protect the country and the streets of Paris, even if he was only considered an outsider to this day. To be honest, even if he knew that it's not right that it was this way, he still was ashamed of his ethnicity. He was born in France, but his parents were British, so naturally, he was always looked down upon by his peers since he was born. The hostility towards them stemmed partly from the ongoing war, but he started to doubt that it'll change even after it ends. That's why he'd been mostly avoiding speaking with anyone as of recently. He answered when he was asked something by his superiors, but never talked unnecessarily. What he did with that bloody frog... he wasn't used to obedience per se, but he rather had that guy acting outright physically aggressive, not just having him talk back to him.

Francis Bonnefoy wasn't an unheard name in the city, if not for anything else, then the long list of dates when he was held in prison. A petty robber, who frequently protested as if there weren't people in way worse conditions than him. Student protests; Arthur never could take them seriously. Students had one of the most privileged positions while others were dying on the streets, and yet they were the ones complaining, because they didn't have to do anything to survive. Those in worse positions understood there was nothing that the state could do, because there was a bloody war going on. Things would get better after it ends; they just have to wait patiently.

Of course, Arthur too was younger once, when he still thought that he could change the world. He wanted to have this job in order to do exactly that. Because damnation gave birth to crime, and crime gave birth to damnation, so if one factor was taken out of the equation, the quality of life would turn just a bit better. If only one life could be saved because of his work, he would be the happiest man alive.

But things never worked that way. They never did.

Since he served as a guard, thing didn't turn any better. Funnily enough, the contrary happened, because the misery became deeper as time went by and the storm of the war raged on. It left a bitter taste in his mouth for a while, sure, but he learned not to care about it during the years. He couldn't save everyone, and he had to make priorities no matter how disgusting it was to compare humans this way. Even Arthur had to learn to let go sometimes, and the only thing that kept his conscience clear is that death would still be a more favourable state than what they were in before.

It wasn't like he lived in luxury anyway. He had something to eat once or twice a day, which should be the bare minimum for a person. The bare minimum shouldn't have been the standard, but if many can't even reach that what was there to be even thinking of further? Yeah, he agreed with some of their ideals; without rights, you shouldn't pay duty, and without duty you shouldn't have rights. That was true. Painfully true, but that was exactly their problem too. These revolutionaries wanted to grasp more than they could hold, which would only result in complete and utter chaos. They were juvenile idealists, flying six feet above reality.

Bonnefoy was just one of them, who had yet to realize his boundaries. He was a tad too old to still act like this, but Arthur could honestly understood at heart. That's why he wanted to let him go that day partially. Seriously, he was like a kid. Skipping lessons to fuck a whore in broad daylight next to a busy street. He couldn't take seriously anyone who acted like that. It wasn't even something Arthur himself would consider a sin, although it being a crime. It's not like he could ever take such a god's rule seriously either, who let him suffer as much as he did since the day he was born. He didn't doubt the existence of God, but he knew for a fact that they aren’t the "good guy" they make them seem to be. That's another thing he disliked; painting God as the wise old man, when they weren't a human. God was a concept, a being, but foggy and not material.

He instinctively started playing with the cross hanging on his neck. Quite frankly, he hated God, but they were always with him. The cross was a sore reminder of that. One of them to be precise. Arthur would lie if he said he didn't find himself sometimes on his knees praying. He only ever did this to beg for his pain to disappear, or because something he never could explain with words pulled him towards doing that.

Of course as time went by, he realized what this power was. Honestly, when he first said it out loud, he had to laugh at it for a bit.

Habit.

But what he hated even more was getting used to crime rates heightening. He got an alert this week that petty theft was now becoming even more of a threat than it was before, which wasn't a high standard to begin with. Petty theft, of course it was higher when people were starving! He barely could believe that they seriously told him that he had to investigate it, but he had no choice but to oblige.

Noblesse oblige. What a load of crap it was.

Despite all his whining, he pledged loyalty to the king, the law and the church. He wouldn't go against those who he offered his life to. Even if he had to do something morally not correct in his eyes, he knew that without being a bit cold hearted, France would have collapsed a long time ago, as any state would. Yeah, he could excuse it one time, then for the second, and he would find himself at the hundredth while shops have not enough income to sell anything anymore, which would cause even bigger poverty. The world was merely not fair.

He wanted to believe that at least when they all die finally, things would turn on the contrary. Life couldn’t be that pointless, that not even death would give a salvation, right?

But it was nothing he should think about right now. Much water will still flow down on the Seine, dare he say too much even. It’s not like he’d die tomorrow just randomly, disappearing like the Bonnefoy boy who run off without even thanking him for how gracious he was. Speaking of which, he already had a suspect in his mind who the mastermind of the theft was.

It’s not just because he was a poor university student, who acted rudely, but Arthur could see the true desperation in his eye, even if he wanted to hide it. Years of routine or something. That blonde was smiling like he was the king himself, but there was probably a good reason why he wasn’t attending lectures that day, which was by all accounts deeper than tomfoolery. Damned people had this eerily similar gaze to each other, like they were on the edge of everything. Like they didn’t care what would happen on the next day, which was most likely the tragic truth.

Arthur had a gaze like this some years before, but he learnt his lesson since that he shouldn’t think or act so immaturely. Wanting to die was immature, because up until that point you barely can realize that other’s lives depended on yours. Whatever. That was an old story.

So did Arthur begrudgingly make his way to the streets of Paris. He let his feet take him wherever they wanted to go, to reckon potential suspects or maybe catch some criminal too. The English man didn’t particularly try hard to achieve that from his stupid sense of sympathy even if he knew he was just beating around the bush trying to save some time before the inevitable.

Paris looked as disgusting as ever, but that was just another part he got so accustomed to that he actually started liking it. It’s not like he could ever get used to living on the countryside working for a landlord in even more horrendous conditions than he was at now. But who was he kidding with? Even if he was the wealthiest lord, he couldn’t get himself to leave his small abode, and the smelly, tight streets hiding the outmost sinfulness of the world. Because well, he started to feel it as his own, even though he wasn’t supposed to be born here.

During his way he didn’t even really look up from his boots. He was just wandering aimlessly, listening to the static noise of the forever buzzing surroundings in the capital, as if it was an enormous ant hill. Some people nodded at him, or greeted him, but he didn’t stop to engage in leisure talk or anything. Arthur managed to fuck his own mood up by thinking about all these stuff, but that was just his luck – and well personality.

*

Not long after, he started getting bored of just walking around like an idiot. He already hummed all songs he knew to himself, and at last, he had enough of counting the number of chimneys he saw. That’s what he usually did anyways on patrols, so his mind was less than excited about doing this after a while either.

When he finally reached a shadier alley, he let out a big breath that he’s been holding since a long while, and crunched down next to the wall. He barely has got up, and now he felt as if lead has been tied to his eye lids. He wanted to go back home from this pointless search, on which he’d been on since a while. Honestly, this sucked ass. Of course nobody would dare to rob if someone was patrolling the area quite visibly! And it’s not just him, it seemed like the number of guards in the district has been doubled, but nobody in their right mind would think that it’s sustainable! This will continue for a week at most, they produce some satisfactory results, and things will get back to how they’ve been before.

They just want to scare off the conspirators. There has been word going about an organisation of students, who plan to murder the king, and sabotage the war. The sole basis of this are the student protests, and it’s still a surprise to Arthur how someone seriously could believe that, but that has been the obsession of the chief officer, so it’s not like any of their opinions particularly mattered.

The only thing Arthur was interested the tiniest way towards all this that a great sum of money has been offered to those, who could finally say some useful names and locations. Enough money, that he no longer had to worry about famine, and he could even spare some to help the poor. At first, he thought he misheard the exact sum but no, those with a craze really do whatever to accomplish their subject of pursuit.

It’s not at all surprising that he’s been looking for those delusional shadow puppeteers since then, but without any success. That isn’t to say he’s the only one not finding some breakthrough, the great persecution was halted since the very day it started.

This whole walk has as much sense as looking for those so-called culprits.

Funny how he ended up in almost the same place where he met Bonnefoy close to the Sorbonne. If he had to be honest, this area was the bush he was beating around, as most crime piled up there.

He stood up again, determined to do one last round before he went on to report to his superior, but a sudden maliciously cheery voice hit his ear drums like an arrow of Eros.

"The wealth of others I did take, for a grave mistake I made. Yet I shall feel no regret, as long as the king’s not dead! My reason is quite simple, suffering shan’t last further, by the soulless bourgeois class, against whom we must rise up!"

Ah, of course. His witty words accompanied by his cynical laughter was unmistakable even if they only met once. Somehow, he managed to sound like daughter of Elysium and Satan’s wings beating the frozen air mercilessly in the depths of the Inferno at the same time. If only he could just sing a lovely love poem or something, but no; and as the clapping and laughter intensified his words got bolder too. As if he had no respect for anything saint and holy.

Arthur didn’t want to reveal himself this soon, so he pressed himself against the cold wall he was leaning on before, and cautiously tried to glance out in the direction of Bonnefoy’s crowd. he almost forgot that this alley lead to a little dead end around halfway, where nothing but a long ago dead tree stood, left there withering to oblivion. Even criminals rather avoided that part of the city, because of an old legend about the tree.

It was stupid, as Arthur was a man of rationality, but they said a young girl has hang herself from the tree when her parents tried to force her to marry a wealthy man she resented, because of which she had to leave forever the one she truly loved. Since that day, life instantly fled from the tree, and numerous little animals have been found dead around it. As the tale goes on, the raging spirit of the girl still lurks around it in revenge, because she only sees her parents in everyone.

Apparently, Bonnefoy didn’t care about it either, just like his little fan group. He stood tall and proud right in front of the tree, while his followers sat around him dying from laughter. They were encouraging Master Bonnefoy to spit even more blasphemy, who gladly accepted the challenge. The guy probably had a serious superiority complex just seeing how he had the audacity to mimic Jesus Christ. It’s just that he had blonde hair, and that maliciously empty eyes during his impromptu poems. Cold, icy blues, which didn’t seem to have a fear of anything.

The English guard heard a sudden little crack in Bonnefoy’s voice, as if the strings of his lyre had just snapped, so he shuffled a bit closer to the end of the wall in hope to see the thing that made him stop. Although his effort was in vain, the man quickly recovered from whatever it was, and continued on with his poem, but changing the theme completely.

"There was once a rascal boy, he was but a dummy toy. He met a sole insurgent, in dire need for a piece of bread. He started screaming: CAPTURE HIM! Like he just killed Henry VI. Poor insurgent run and run, but the looney pulled out a gun. Not from his pocket, or his coat, but from the mushy eyebrows he owned! He shot three holes in the insurgent, while holding the other patrol’s hand. Poor insurgent’s child had starved, but the rascal's arse’s got load!"

Arthur had to take a moment to comprehend what he’d just heard, because he felt as if a vein would burst in his forehead from the anger he felt. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who he wrote this about, but he simply despised all the implications it raised, along with the man himself who dared to say these words. Actually, he started regretting feeling sympathy for that man completely.

This was the exact reason he couldn’t afford himself to be forgiving. None of them beggars appreciated the mercy, but they wanted to be kings at the same time. He wasn’t even being a dick to Bonnefoy, because he could have long ago shut down this little meeting of his, but he hadn’t interrupted or arrested anyone! He was igniting the crowd to conspire against the king; this would have been the perfect opportunity for Arthur to earn the money and smear their names, but he was so fucking patient and good hearted, that he let this all happen!

And now, the blonde was actively staring at him with that malicious gaze, all while grinning like a cat. The time he stopped for a brief second, he probably noticed Arthur then. If this was an attempt to make him go away, it was a very poor one both in taste and execution.

He didn’t blink on the way he uncovered himself to the rest of his disciples, not wanting to seem weak for not standing his glare. As his heavy steps echoed in the little alleyway, the laughter died down. They were all cornered.

If it was possible, Master Bonnefoy was grinning even wider than before. The listeners, all in dirty and roughed up clothes, quickly got up and pushed past him in hope that he’s only out for Francis, which was true by all accounts. He didn’t care about any of them.

But it was honestly laugh worthy how quick they were to save their own skin, leaving their Master to take all the blame. Honestly though, the blonde didn’t seem to mind it, he actually looked quite proud of himself for standing his ground. And probably his ego got a boost by just looking at how furious Arthur became.

“How did you like my little show Mr. Guard?” His voice was like the hissing of a venomous snake as he stood all high and mighty on a little stool that made him seem taller than Arthur by a few centimetres. And oh, how much he enjoyed looking down on him!

It was a shame that compared to his angelic face, he was the literal reincarnation of the devil inside. Obnoxious, cynical, full of spleen; that’s what his dirty blonde locks, and soft face with subtle stubble hid. If he hadn’t been standing this close, he almost would seem feminine, having his hair neatly tied up, and baby blue dress swirling around him as the wind passed them by.

“Didn’t you know that eavesdropping isn’t proper? If you want to join in, at least have the balls to show your face.”

“And didn’t you know that I could arrest you for conspiracy and treason? I’m sure you don’t want your throat snapped this soon.”

Francis just laughed at that. Like he didn’t even understand the implications.

“Yeah sure, do it if you really want. You can’t silence me even if I’m hanging on a rope and barely breathing. But that would just justify my point about you, and that would hurt your little ego too much to bear, so you wouldn’t do that.”

Again, Arthur was angered by every single word that slipped out his mouth, like they were slaps on his face. He was wrong! That egomaniacal stupid frog didn’t know a single shit about him!

“But only because –“

Bonnefoy had the audacity to silence him by putting a finger on his mouth. He had the bloody fucking audacity.

“Before you even start –“

Luckily, Arthur wasn’t born yesterday, and he knew how to put whippersnappers to their place, so he did the only logical thing that he could strike back with. He bit his fucking index finger hard.

“Have you lost it, fucking arsehole?” Francis let out a loud hiss, meaning Arthur had in fact reached his goal and hurt him. Now, he was finally the one grinning at him, as he got the upper hand. He wouldn’t let a petty criminal to subdue him, as long as his name was Arthur Kirkland.

“I think you should be the one learning manners, frog. And maybe you could try mastering a real profession beside it, because I won’t tolerate your behaviour anymore, and I don’t care that you try to sell yourself as Robin Hood because you heard some folk tale.”

“And you play pretend to be the guard of justice I presume? If you really care about this oh-so-holy and dearly beloved land and its survival, why don’t you go ahead and fight like a real man? Or maybe you are not as loyal either as you make yourself out to be?”

Francis stepped down from the stool, which caused Arthur to instinctively step back to maintain the distance between them, but the Frenchman seemed to not care about that, and started to corner him towards the wall of the alley, with continuing to press forward. It seems like he hadn’t just never heard about etiquette, but also personal space.

“I didn’t think your insults were that sloppy when you aren’t playing a drama queen. You really can’t do something more creative than insulting my ethnicity?”

That frown on Francis’ face said it all. Of course his creative ego would be his sore spot.

“Oh, so you did like my lovely poems before? Should I continue?”

“Eat mud instead. Let’s see how much you want to continue then.” Bonnefoy laughed at that yet again. He was a frustrating case. Just when it seemed that Arthur managed to hit a gap into his wall, he recovered with twice the strength, and it seemed as though he forgot about everything prior. Like that man had no feelings whatsoever.

Instead of complying with Arthur’s kind demands, he took a crimson red, shiny apple from his pocket and held it out, to him, as if he was offering the said fruit.

“I thought I was the poorer one out of us, but even I don’t know how mud tastes like. Here you are, just because I’m feeling gracious today, comrade.” Bonnefoy even bowed a little, as if he was some royalty, which made Arthur’s blood boil even more.

If he wasn’t raised properly, unlike this man, he would have slapped him for real. But Arthur knew he had to restrict himself not just because he was actually a decent human being, but also in such a righteous position that his conscience wouldn’t bear to defy it.

Arthur took some deep breaths and with a great sense of déjà vu, he merely turned on his heals to leave this fucker alone for good. Third time was the charm, so maybe forgiving one more time still fit into his boundary. As annoying as he was, he was just a bit too intriguing for his liking, and unfortunately, it seemed that he may have taken an interest in him. But that’s just a possibility he himself didn’t like to consider.

“Are you running away again.” Although it was a question, it sounded more like a statement. His voice seemed a bit disappointed. “That’s truly a shame. At least accept your gift.” He quickly masked the small crack of sorrow with his usual fake cheery voice, but he didn’t make an effort to go after the continuously retreating boy, who was determined to ignore him to have peace in his mind finally.

“Fine, then pretend I’m not here, you piece of horse crap! You didn’t deserve my apple anyway!”

Although he seemed angry, Arthur heard a little smile in his voice.

“My name is Arthur Kirkland by the way.” He didn’t stop in his march forward, but he didn’t even expect a reply. He didn’t even understand himself why he said that. A random criminal had no use of his name, as Arthur didn’t plan to meet regularly with Master Bonnefoy. This was stupid.

“No way am I calling you that, piece of horse crap sounds better!”

Whatever. The blonde Englishman didn’t say anything on that, but it’s not like he needed to. It wasn’t even a question of being superstitious or not, but he just knew that they’ll meet again soon.

It felt kinda shitty to go back to his lonely home, where only silence awaited him, instead of the cynical laughter of a certain poet.

Chapter Text

In the last few days Francis luckily went radio silent. Well, luckily may not be the correct word, but for sure did Arthur have less things to worry about, and his relatively normal and silent life went on. Just as if he was a clairvoyant, he predicted that as soon as the guards were dropped from the district crime continued on flourishing. How mundane this all is, especially since he hadn’t had a good talk with anyone sine he busted Master Bonnefoy.

At least, that’s how far his social skills went, and probably the both of them were quite fulfilled with that. And to be frank, just listening to that frog’s voice was a privilege. Although Arthur despised him, and that horrible attitude of his, he had to give this one thing to him; his voice was just beautiful as him. He could have began to describe it with over the top comparisons, like that it was akin to the playful laugh of cherubs, directly sent from above or that it was hypnotising and charming to death, while also being strong and defiant, but it was pointless. Because no matter how much he tried to go around it, Arthur wasn’t the man of words, quite literally. He was illiterate, and only heard about a few folk tales from his mother, but he was not at all capable of painting all these beautiful pictures with his words onto a paper like Francis. So, as beautiful was all his world, it encompassed the outmost bliss. It was just merely beautiful.

On the other hand, it’s a shame he wasted this. Really, he could have earned a laurel wreath if he wanted. Arthur could see it in front of his eyes, his long, blonde hair engulfing the green crown, while he just sat with closed eyes – important that they’re closed, because his icy stare would ruin the composition – on the shore of the La Manche and muttering softly all his beautiful poems.

He deserved it on all accounts, had he just singed about something sensible. It’s not like he could just change the whole status quo with spouting disdainful mud. Arthur imagined only his loyal group listened to him anyway, so it was even more senseless, because he couldn’t gain new followers by risking himself. To raise up moral? Maybe it could work for a while, but this was no permanent solution.

This group would eventually dissolve without any success, because Arthur wasn’t going to let them turn over the status quo even if he’s going to go bald because of it. It’s not like it seemed as though investigating after them was particularly hard, because they hadn’t been so secretive about it this whole time. They made it almost too obvious, like they were mocking Arthur along with the whole of the patrols. Like they are just playing with them.

Arthur couldn’t shake down the paranoid feeling that something bigger was building up in the background, while the group tried to stray his attention away by showing off in front of him. Maybe his superior was right about them making a conspiracy for real, no matter how outlandish and almost funny it sounded.

No, this was stupid. That Bonnefoy guy didn’t seem to be a criminal mastermind, he was just a poor kid liking poetry. He shouldn’t let other people’s maniacal paranoia rub on him, since that would only cloud his eyes over facts and the truth. As questionable his moral was, he wouldn’t ever convict someone innocently, and he stood by this rule he made for himself. And Francis didn’t mean an exception just because he didn’t like him.

With a sigh – he did it a lot, but didn’t understand himself why the constant sombre mind state – he got from his bed to dress up, because work awaited him. Arthur liked keeping his routine, because it kept his mind in check. If he didn’t got up from bed for the sake of keeping it, he would have slumped there to hours on end. That was one of the few things that never changed since… he was forced to live alone.

It’s not like he had a weak soul or psyche, otherwise he really wouldn’t do anything ever, but that didn’t mean it was easy for him not just initially, but even now. The walls were crying from emptiness, and each of his movements echoed lament in the place he barely could call home since then.

He never wanted to think about getting a wife or a maid or something to keep him in company. It would feel as a sacrilege at least to yet alone let someone in the house, so living there permanently was nothing but a very tasteless joke to him. Like as if he’d let someone sleep in his parents’ bedroom, or his own.

Honestly, he wasn’t even interested in anyone he’d ever met, other than now that stupid Bonnefoy intriguing him. His life mostly revolved around work, and the routine he established to keep himself sane. He got up, got dressed, headed to work, ate lunch, continued working, went home, ate dinner, sometimes washed himself, and he went to sleep. That’s all he ever wanted or needed. Instead of boredom, it meant comfort to him, which others never could understand. When he had free days instead of feeling salvation he absolutely hated every second of it, because he couldn’t do what he was used to. If he really must have, he went to church or prayed, but his attention was too easily swept away from the over decorated pictures of saints and the unintelligible Latin murmuring of the priest. He couldn’t give a fuck.

Arthur sometimes wished he had a surface he could view himself in, other than a bowl of water. He probably looked very shitty, if Francis made fun of his eyebrows. The Englishman wanted to believe he exaggerated, but the fact it happened made him feel self-conscious anyway. Well, for sure he couldn’t be uglier than his boss at least. He liked to allude himself in the delusion that he was handsome.

Francis was probably the type to play Narcissus, and stare into the water for hours on end. But that was reasonable, at least to Arthur. Master Bonnefoy was the antonym of ugliness. Of course it was easy for him to look down on people for their looks! God, he should get a wife instead of fucking up Arthur’s job. Well, he most likely did have one, but again, other than being a son of Aphrodite, he didn’t look caring or nurturing, not even mention being a reliable father or husband. And nobody wanted to give their daughter to a poor man like him. Arthur imagined he charmed some rich businessman’s only daughter, causing her to be disowned, but he still cheated on her frequently. Because if even Arthur himself admits that he’s handsome, girls must have noticed it too.

And he did not want to question himself why he was thinking about the intrigues of Bonnefoy’s love life. He was just too tired to think straight as it seemed, which was weird considering he’s just woken up. Arthur knew he shouldn’t feel this way, because the whole day is still ahead of him, and it’s not waiting for him to sober up from his sleepy daze.

He slapped his face a few times to try to wake himself up a bit more effectively, and rubbed his eyes hard enough to cause discomfort. The green eyed knew that he had to hush all this nonsense from his head away.

Although he didn’t know the exact time, but all that mattered that there are only a few hours left from this day to get through. And then, he can subdue his mind with sleep yet again to make his constant racing thoughts dissipate finally. That’s all he ever wanted, even more than continuing his goddamn stupid routine.

With another sigh – he really should stop this habit – he opened the door to go on his way for today’s patrol duty, hoping – or not, he really didn’t get at this point – that he’ll meet Francis this time. Just because he may have brought a bit of colour into his days. Even if it meant disturbing his bloody routine.

*

Yeah, it was bullshit. The proverb that third time’s the charm. He was just minding his business, patrolling as usual when he spotted Francis again, this time with an even uglier prostitute than before. Her blonde hair was choppy and it seemed as if great chunks have already fallen out of it, which made her less than even unattractive. She looked so skinny that bones were sticking out of her pale skin, which caused her to look like a witch, or a ghost, or straight up a corpse. That girl looked sick, almost on the verge of dying while the lust shadowed over all her face.

Oh, Master Bonnefoy, you really couldn’t get better girls than them? It didn’t even seem that he had a particular type of women he enjoyed; the only common thing between them is that both of them were ugly – and Arthur was convinced way uglier than himself. Yeah, there weren’t a lot of girls Arthur considered outstandingly pretty, but at least they could make up for it with personality or intelligence, like his mother. To be more precise, his mother was the most beautiful woman for him, but she had something other than just that too. However, he couldn’t imagine that Francis had intellectual post coital debates with them.

This time Arthur didn’t sigh, but a roll of eye was inevitable. That was just so typical. Honestly, he rather had him get caught stealing than this. He began to make his way towards them without another thought.

That girl, she’d noticed him almost instantly. It’s not like he attempted to disguise himself, or stay hidden. His steps were proud and loud, asserting moral superiority. To be frank, he didn’t give a single shit who he fucked, really, but this was stepping over the line. Laws were laws, and this was not his first account of misbehaviour, so he had to deal with the consequences by any means. It wouldn’t be fair to treat him differently from other criminals. It didn’t seem like he attempted or wanted to change anyways.

So, as every time, the other culprit tried saving their skin, while leaving Francis behind. The scrawny girl shook the taller one off of her with ease, as if she was used to doing that, and run away faster than the bolt of lightning. Arthur of course wasn’t about to run after her, because it would be just pointless. She had the advantage of agility and speed, because she only had a flimsy skirt on her, while Arthur his whole heavy armour. It’d be practically impossible to catch her.

Francis on the other hand didn’t even attempt to make an escape, or hide away the shit eating grin off of his face. As if this was an intentional ploy to catch Arthur. The green eyed felt a bit of blush rushing onto his face when he realised that, and it made him oh-so-annoyed. He deserved way more respect from someone way under him on the social hierarchy!

“I took you for the jealous type, but it’s not fair that you make all my girls run away! Let a man live, geez.” Arthur was not amused at his words at all. More like annoyed, angry even. Fuck this man.

"I swear you do this intentionally to piss me off! Don't even try to lie your way out of this!" The look on Francis' face was sheer amusement, which only justified Arthur's claims.

"Oh, no, totally not at all. You see, I don't have enough money to eat, so if I'm gonna die of hunger, I'd like to die in a woman's arms at least. And I had just enough for her."

"Filthy liar."

"Prove me otherwise, dog." Laughed evilly the man. As if he despised the mere sight of the patrol officer. This time, Arthur didn't just want to bite his finger, but to snap his neck into two.

"You were offering apples quite seamlessly just a few days before. Are you not enough good for stealing perhaps?"

"Nope, that was earned by genuine money, that's why I was this sad that you hadn't accepted it." He pouted, while sprouting nothing bit lies. God, could this man never stop acting for even a second?

He lived his life as in he was a theatre play, existing in the carefree make belief of his mind. It was annoyingly sweet, which caused Arthur to feel the deepest of disgust towards him. He was pretentious and unbearable.

"What, are you jealous that you can't get any girls? Or why are you staring me like that?" His cocky voice managed to make Arthur blush again, which felt bloody humiliating.

"Maybe I just have higher preferences than you." But this throwback didn't sound powerful at all. It was just a petty attempt at defending himself.

Francis tilted his head sideways a little, mocking interest and surprise. This man really didn't have an ounce of emotion inside of him.

"Tell me about that then. I know all the good girls of Paris, I'm sure I can help you out!" His bittersweet tongue didn't have mercy on him the least bit.

"You're a fucking freak, I hope you know that."

"Ah, don't be shy! Let's play a game then; you probably like blonde gals with blue eyes, yes?" That little shit wanted to trap him, but even Arthur wasn't that oblivious to fall into that.

"You don't exactly qualify into the girl category, self-centred motherfucker." But maybe he should have chosen a better expression than that.

"So you do like me? That's sweet." Arthur's hands were shaking from anger and humiliation. He was sure that one day this man will kill him. Or he'll kill that stupid blonde, and afterwards he'll end his own life. That was up to debate. But one thing was sure, he despised this man, who looked more amused than anything.

His face was a bit dirtier than the last time he saw him. Dirty, muddy but still defiantly standing his glare. His clothes were slightly thorn, and definitely in way poorer conditions compared to before. Like he haven't changed clothes or washed himself since then. The stubble on his face grew a little longer too, affirming he didn't really have the time or opportunity to groom himself over the last few days.

At first this wasn't a noticeable change, since his aura radiated confidence and pride, but when he looked just a bit closer, everything was revealed to him.

Someone was probably thrown out of home.

The final betrayal was yet again his own body. An instinctual gesture even he couldn't mask longer. His stomach grumbled loudly, showing just how hungry he was.

Francis instinctively put a hand on his traitorous organ, and tried to tighten his muscles to stop the gaping sound, while his face turned redder than all the times Arthur's did combined. At last, the cat fell into his own trap, and the mouse could happily ran away.

Expect he didn't. Arthur has no idea why, but the expression on his face softened up a bit. The man didn't deserve this, but the green eyed had a fucking golden heart and immediately took pity on him. He had to smile a bit at him to pacify his raging ignominy.

"Don't even dare to say anything Kirkland." The man avoided his gaze, but all the bitter chocolate decoration melted from his words. They were demanding and icy, just like his irises. He looked so vulnerable like that, trying to piece together again all the lost fragments of his lost pride and façade. Arthur wanted to say he looked cuter this way, but he felt guilty even thinking about that. Yeah, it felt good for his pride, that the Master Bonnefoy was a simple human with feelings too, and he wasn’t the invincible leader he made himself seem to be but if this look full of shame and hatred for himself was the price…

He rather had him arguing. And again, he did not like the man, but this was decent human behaviour, nothing else. So he did open his mouth, even if the other didn’t want it.

“Come with me.” Arthur also didn’t miss how he said his name before. Honestly, he was surprised he remembered it at all, and it somehow made his chest warm up a little bit. Because he cared enough to remember it.

“How gracious you are! Good, at least I’d have roof over my head in jail! Fuck you, and that’s your loss! I’m gonna live up all your duties there, mark my words!” Started fighting against the helping hand without a second thought the icy prince.

“Goddamnit, just shut up your mouth for once, would you?” He grabbed the other’s hands with a bit more force than he should have – albeit unintentionally – which probably scared the other more, rather than pacifying him, which was Arthur’s initial goal.

Francis’ hand was soft, unlike his own, rough one. They were slightly smeared with ink, and the left side of his index finger was rubbed out, and glowing in hurtful red, which easily showed his true profession. Only priests had hands like this. Even women had rougher ones full with callus, hardened from the relentless work they did besides raising children. However, priests only stole the day, as Arthur liked to put it. The only product of their work were a few books they copied over years by the dim light of candles through day and night, which only a few privileged one’s could read.

Arthur never cared about them honestly. He didn’t believe in anything the church spat out, so he didn’t gave a fuck about their precious books either. Honestly, he had way more important matters to attend than caring about lies changed upon each copier.

But he didn’t take Francis for the priest kind of guy. Maybe he was the reality of them, but you can’t just look up a free soul like him with discipline and humbleness. He would most likely laugh at anyone if they wanted him to bow down before someone or something. Arthur thought he studied to become a lawyer.

“At least can you tell me where are you dragging me?” Asked Francis antagonistically, but he didn’t seem to fight against him in actuality. He was reasonable, and probably got that if Arthur had hostile intentions, he would have acted sooner on them.

“Home. To get you something to eat.” The expression on his face was priceless. His eyes were glinting slightly, giving a new charm to his usually either dull or malicious ones. Like they had life in them.

But he quickly shook his head, trying to escape from the calling image of fresh food. “No, I can’t accept that. I don’t need your pity.”

Ever the prideful, huh?

“It’s not pity. Think of it as a return of a favour.”

“What are you on man?”

“You remembered my name.” It sounded a bit pathetic that he was this happy that someone did that, which would be the bare minimum for even co-workers, but Francis as it seemed didn’t start thinking about how he could twist his words into something hurtful this time. Either that, or he just didn’t want to mention, because he deemed survival more important. But the way his face was still burning, he opted to believe the first postulation.

The rest of the way was silent, because it was equally awkward for the both of them. First of all, Arthur himself couldn’t believe why he did this, that he took pity on him. Maybe it was because in that pitiful man with the face of Francis, he saw the child he once was. The same sorrowful and shameful expression, the sense of being lost and the hurtful reminder that he was alone to fend himself.

And well, doing one selfless thing in a while wouldn’t hurt anyone. Hundreds of other people deserved the same niceness that he was given, but unfortunately, it wasn’t possible to aid all of them. But even if it was for one, maybe it would give the push for that to continue on living to become the one who also reached his hand out to the fallen ones with an X on their heads. Human decency was one of those things that really could make a difference, what no praying or magic did. If this could stray him on just a bit better way, than it was worth it.

If not, than fuck him and his pure heart. He won't try to do the impossible, to change or fix something that was faulty by design. Francis had to learn to live by the rules.

As time went by, it felt less like dragging Francis, but they were still holding hands, which was weird. Not unpleasant, but weird. They were walking side by side in synch, thanks to their shared height. Arthur thought the reason he didn't let go of him was because he looked way too absent. He was staring before himself barely blinking, while his lips were closed in a strict, thin line. His expression was kinda disturbing.

That man was meant to be cheery and cheeky, even though his eyes were usually dead. But now he was dangerously silent and still, as if he was standing before the gallows of the end. No, he wouldn't be like this even then. He would be smiling defiantly, and holding a speech about his beliefs or something. Everything but this.

Arthur thought he may feel threatened or uncomfortable because of the hand holding. Men weren't meant to be holding hands with each other, like married couples did, even if the Englishman didn't find anything remotely wrong with it. He tried to explain to himself, that it was because Francis did look feminine, but only half of that was true. See, because he hadn't been shaving, his complex turned much manlier than before, especially since he had his hair tied up that day. He looked more like some elegant aristocratic boy play pretending to be a beggar.

His hand were so soft though, that it almost hurt to let go, but he knew he had to. The warmth radiating from his delicate fingers perished in an instant, and he barely could stop himself from reaching for his hand again to regain the connection between them.

Francis snapped out of his daze in an instant at that, like the magic that clouded his consciousness lifted from his mind. Arthur didn't understand why his face looked still as long as before, but he didn't even want to consider it longer. No matter what he theorised, he just never could solve what went on in his head.

They looked at each other for a bare second, but as soon as their gazes met, they snapped apart too, as if something just burnt them. Arthur pinned his eyes down back at their hands, and he saw how Francis's subtlety clenched together forcefully, like he wanted to crash something. Like he felt more shame as the other pulled away than before.

The silence was louder this time around, and way heavier. It wasn't to say that it was comfortable before from the tension radiating between them, but it was different this time, and Arthur decided that he hated it. Luckily, his home was only a few minutes away that from now, so he tried to calm himself with this fact. He didn't need to bare this for too long now.

*

The silence raged on after they arrived back. Francis tried to hide it, but he caught him sneakily reckoning the surroundings, seemingly interested in every detail of Arthur's home. His gaze was not judging though, just merely intrigued. Though, both of them were still adamant about not breaking the wall between them built from arrogance. None of them wanted to be the one acknowledging the tension, which none of them knew either what was the reason of.

Francis helped himself down to the table, drumming with his sweet fingers a familiar rhythm. It was probably some nursery rhyme or something, although Arthur wasn't sure which. He just knew he heard it before, most likely from his mother. The green eyed secretly hoped he'd start singing or at least humming along too, but his wordless wished were to no avail. It was a shame, since his voice was more than fit for that too, deduced Arthur.

As for him, he started looking around for food in the kitchen. He hadn't got a lot but it was still more than what Francis ate in the last few days, so it should be enough. He sat down some fresh bread and vegetables on the table, along with clean water he recently pulled up from the well in his garden. He brought out his old cutlery and glasses, reminiscing softly as he saw them. He could almost see his mother's cooking's smell whirling and going throughout their home while he eagerly set the table. His father never ate lunch with them, so it was just for too, like now. And Francis unconsciously sat on his mother's seat, not in front of, but beside him.

Most people preferred sitting in front of the other when talking, but Francis for some reason choose this place. And it's not like it wasn't obvious where Arthur sat. His pint of beer was still glinting on the head of the table. Maybe it was to signal that he wouldn't want to talk, but Arthur didn't know if he could handle that too. Yes, it was silent alone too, but not this kind of suffocating and all consuming one!

As soon as food hit the table, Arthur saw that Francis' whole life played down in his eyes. Like it was the patch of light after a being stuck in a horrid cave for decades. He didn't rush to reach for it, no, he looked almost afraid to do that. Afraid that if he gave in to his delusion, the heavenly sight will perish without a trace. His stomach looked already full just by looking at it.

He turned to face Arthur slowly, with eyes shut down, wordlessly asking if he could really eat from that. It must have been more than humiliating for him to sink that low, and Arthur didn't want to make this harder from what it is, so he didn't pry or tease him this time, just merely nodded. This shouldn't have been this big of a deal anyway, and it would have been a lot more pleasant too.

He locked eyes with the food again, this time less shy; this eagerness already hit the rooftop. Without a care for decency, he started snatching off everything in his reach from the full plate before himself. He just ate and ate, not giving a fuck that his stomach would hurt from the sudden fullness. Arthur couldn't bring himself to care about the fact that there wasn't a lot left for him. If it made him happy and well, then so be it. So he just watched him stuffing everything into his mouth, without particular savouring.

He must have been very desperate for something, and he looked the picky type. Like, if he didn't have money for food, then he probably rather endured hunger than to search the trash for only one bite of shitty left over. Arthur didn't understand it though, have he given up on stealing? Like, he must have, from just looking at him. The thing he did not get at all; why the sudden change of heart?

"Thanks I guess."

Thank God instead. Francis was the one who eventually gave in as it seemed, but only after finishing most of the food Arthur had. By this, he could deduce that Francis wasn't used to not eating, because otherwise his stomach could only handle a way smaller portion than what he had.

Although he may have looked dismissive, but the amount of blush on his face, combined with the lack of eye contact he engaged with, he very much wasn't. He looked more fragile than before, which was heart breaking to see. If only, he had the way to help him...

But they weren't even friends or anything.

"Never mind."

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Yeah, you do. Say, what do you want from me?"

"Nothing."

"Liar."

"Then think about it this way; you have nothing. What could I want from you in return?" He finally looked him dead in the eye, lips closed again in a thin line. He nervously bit his own mouth on the left side.

"Don't make me say that out loud. It's humiliating as it is."

Arthur tried thinking, hard, all the gears inside his head turned franticly. He had one guess per se, but he rather didn't think about it seriously. It was one thing Francis indulged in such lewd activities, but Arthur was gentleman, and he absolutely did not desire anything like that. It was... ridiculous to even suggest it inside his head.

He very much hoped that this was not what Francis was implying. After all, handholding is one thing in itself. It's awkward, weird even a bit, but generally okay. But the other... no. Because despite everything, they were still two man. This was just unthinkable for Arthur.

"Whatever you are thinking, stop it. It's nothing, really. You think I haven't noticed it anyway? That was enough of a favour, and I mean it."

"What do you mean?" He tried to play it nonchalant, but Arthur could see that his face looked a lot calmer. And a bit happy too.

"Don't play dumb. Your apples, did you throw them away?"

"They were thrown at me like I was some parasitical roach. I was just not ashamed to eat them. Now, my pride is too hurt to bare this any longer, and I refuse to take those hits." He, and his constant urge to be poetic, mingling around the truth all the while. The only thing Francis couldn't bear is having to literal and clear for once.

"I'm happy you don't terrorise anymore the old lady selling fruits, but you shouldn't waste your money either. It's not that hard when you really want it."

The colour returned to Francis' face at last, along with the same old argumentative grin. It was way more natural and comfortable than before.

"And what if I don't want to? I mean, I'm gonna starve to death anyway in the next, what, year. I want to enjoy life as long as it lasts, and it won't work any other way." This man was such a weird person. One time he was humiliated to death about his living conditions, and the next minute he'd be joking about all of that. Arthur honestly couldn't get if he was just depressed to the point that he couldn't even decide, or he did all the show just for pity. It may have sounded mean, but he hoped the former was true.

"Oh just shut up, and don't start this! I'm tired of you for today." His cheeky smile was cuter than anything Arthur ever saw, and even his laughter seemed less malicious than before. Like he was not actively antagonising him.

"And I haven't even started, believe me." It was not even obnoxious, how he said it, just merely cheerful.

"Fuck you arsehole. I hate you." And somehow, Arthur's face was blushing again horridly.

"So do I."

Ah, Arthur knew this man will give him more trouble than what he could imagine.

Chapter Text

Francis loved walking barefoot. Especially in such a lovely and warm day, when the slight dew was still glittering on the fresh, green grass. Beside the vast greenness numerous colourful harmful plants pierced through the soil, and despite being perceived as parasites by many, Francis couldn't even imagine his beloved riverside without out them. They were akin to his girls, really. It was a shame that nobody saw them the way he did. Not acknowledging the beauty even in the outmost shamefulness - that was the true embodiment of ignorance.

He made a point in not walking on any of those pink and yellow dots making the scene much more natural.

The boy started to slowly undress, the thought not even crossing his mind that someone may stumble upon him. This was one of those spots outside the wall of the city, where nobody went expect wandering group of gypsies - but even them rarely ever. Those people inside, they were afraid of going out. Bandits, bloodthirsty wild animals, horrid weather conditions, war; that's what the outside world meant them.

For Francis, it was never that way. Maybe his lack of care for himself contributed that he had no fear for his life, but he liked to think it was something deeper. Like he had a connection to the nature, more than the average person. Afterall, this all felt more like home than anything. It was cheesy and lame maybe, but the outmost truth of his heart.

Although, he was guilty of yearning sometimes to be born there, free as a falcon or even a worm, but that was nothing but out of mere desperation admittedly. Afterall, he had more important duties, even though all his values could have been summed up in a single sentence.

Liberté, égalité, fraternité ou la mort.

And so, it was still more right that he lived behind those frighteningly suffocating walls. He had some grounding when he had that dorm at Sorbonne. Now, he had no place to go, and that was the reality. He honestly abandoned going outside since a while, exactly because of it. Things just got in the way.

After all this time, he still couldn't make a fair judgement whether it was something positive or not. He liked to go to university, and he only just realized after he was thrown out.

He wanted to learn. To go back.

Despite everything, he wouldn't change the way he acted if he could go back. That wouldn't have been him, if he shut his mouth. And after some time, everything will change for the better or worse. This was temporary, and it's not like he really minded it except for the fact that he missed eating normally, or bathing frequently. He probably needs to learn hunting or something. That would make his life easier by a lot.

The thing was, he didn't have the heart to kill an animal by his own hands. Yeah, he ate meat albeit rarely ever, if he had a lot of money to waste, but actually spilling the blood of a creature... the thought made him want to throw up. He just didn't have the heart to do it; to hear the gut wrenching scream of the prey, smell the disgusting stench of decay, or see the endless flow of muddy red river draining the body of its past carrier.

His hands remained clean after all these years and hunger's not going to stand in the way to keep that.

Anyways, he tried to avoid thinking about food in hopes that the scathing feeling in his stomach would magically disappear. With gentle steps, he began walking towards the little river. This was different from others, Francis knew it. He accidentally stumbled upon it a few years ago when he was on the run for a while. Those rivers, where clothes are washed usually carry some telltale murkiness along with the unmistakable scent of humans, while this didn't have any of them. If's surface was smooth and clean like the skin of a noble lady, waiting to be caressed and appreciated.

Although the water was chilly, Francis immediately melted onto the chest of the siren pulling him in. Somehow, he rather had it colder than hot; he wanted to freshen himself up along with getting rid of the dirt piercing through his skin. God, he missed being not dirty. It wasn’t like he didn’t have the chance to take a bath up until now, it’s just that he couldn’t find the motivation. When he wasn’t on a chore either by sense of duty, or the instinct of survival, he mostly just laid in the grass, thinking about anything. Or alternatively, aimlessly staring out of his head. He seemed to do that more frequently nowadays.

If he was thinking about something, it was mostly about Kirkland, and he hated it. He still felt ashamed after that time he invited him to lunch, and that was weeks ago. Of course, that man was something like a spy, following him around. They met at least twice a week, and their interactions varied from hearty to cold, showing every single colour of that spectrum.

For the first time ever, Francis actually couldn’t figure his emotions out concerning that bloody pig. One time they’d be bantering, no – fighting cynically, barely avoiding turning physical and then the next minute they’re laughing not at but with each other like lunatics. Like they were feeling some kind of compassion towards the other one, and it was actually unnerving to experience. It just left such a turmoil in his chest, that made his head dizzy and spinning about that little painful thorn on his most beautiful rose.

Did he like Arthur or not? He was a pain in the ass, that was sure. A thing what Francis took very seriously, was his priorities, and fraternizing with the enemy was far from it. He had his dream, and he knew that when time comes, nothing but that would matter anyway. It was stupid to waste his time on that guard.

But well, Francis knew that he was stupid, so that was it. Even if he’ll regret it later, he didn’t mind it for now, so fuck his future self. Right now, he wanted to keep indulging in Kirkland just a bit more, at least until he gets to know his true intentions. Afterall, he’s been snooping around and that’s a fact. Even someone blind could easily see how he accidentally stumbled upon Francis during patrol just a bit too often, and they almost always ended up conversing somehow.

Truth to be told, Kirkland was a bit oblivious to the fact how thin the veil was under which he tried to hide that he became obsessed with Francis. Yeah, Francis may have not been the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he had enough common sense to survive on the streets, so figuring out that pattern wasn’t exactly hard. Arthur was bored out of his mind and wanted to slack off probably, which caused quite an inconvenience to Francis. Although, as much as he hated to admit, he wouldn’t like to have it any other way. Even if it meant that he had to get around a lot sneakier with his favourite past time – igniting the fire in hearts of the forsaken ones, who are able to make a change.

That was the exact reason why Arthur was nothing but a cardinal enemy to him. He was kind and all, but just because Francis was a good enough plaything for him. Or maybe he desperately wanted to make himself seem to be a good person in the eyes of someone whose standard was high. Or well, he didn’t exactly know that, but whatever. As much as they talked, Francis didn’t really let anything slip out about himself for obvious reasons.

He wanted to trust Arthur, but even he wasn’t that naïve.

It’s the devil’s doing that he heard those familiar footsteps approaching. Kirkland had a very particular way of stepping because of the clinking of his heavy boots. Also, he walked with a slight shuffle, dragging his left leg a bit, possibly signalling that he was injured once, and probably permanently. Again, Francis wasn’t unusually perceptive, but after the sheer amount of times he heard it, it would have been harder not to remember it. And he kinda liked the fact that he knew that about him too, because he’d bet most haven’t noticed. That’s the reason why the moment those familiar footsteps rang through the dead alleyways none of his comrades run away. Only Francis knew.

He was just relieved that this were his footsteps, otherwise he’d probably be in very grave trouble. Francis was a dedicated man, and had the street smarts to mingle out of almost everything, but he was no god or magician. And he liked enjoying his free day. It’d suck if he had to cut this rare holiday short just because some shithead not knowing where his place was.

Before Kirkland could see him, he quickly sunk under the water with his whole body, to refresh his face too. If he could, he’d like to stay there forever. The water was invitingly staring at him every time he was outside with all its calamity and peace. A little paradise in the depths of hell.

He resurfaced just in time to meet Arthur’s eye in the distance, glowing at him. That green eyed man, he always blushed when seeing him initially. Or even after, which was both really cute and also a bit confusing to Francis. He didn’t take Kirkland to be timid or shy, nor himself very intimidating. Maybe his blood pressure went up that much from the sheer sight of Francis.

“Are you going to just stare, or you’re joining me?” it seemed, Arthur was not happy with his suggestion, because his face morphed into a scowl immediately. Though, Francis isn’t going to give up this easily, because it wouldn’t be like him at all.

“The fuck are you talking about? You shouldn’t even be here at all. Come, we’re going back.” he impatiently crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Nah, thank you. I just got into the water.”

"That wasn't a plea but an order. There's curfew in place, and you can't go out without an allowance." Francis pouted at that, displeased how rigid Arthur was. For now at least.

"And I surely give a fuck about that. Come on Kirkland, this is your never-returning chance! Who wouldn't want to look fresh and pretty like me? My secret is bathing here! And since I told you my dearly guarded secret, you have to take up on it."

"For fuck's sake Bonnefoy! Can't you just be serious for once? We'll be both thrown in jail if we're found here!" Albeit still reluctant, Francis knew that the opposition was more of a play pretend than anything.

"We both know the chances are next to nothing. You're only out here because you've been following me around lately. And on the off chance that you accidentally really got assigned this patrol route, why would anybody else go on the same way?" The redness returned on his face after this fatal accusation, which only made Francis more confident that he'll succeed in persuading him.

"But I-I don't even have like anything to dry myself with or clothes to change into."

"And? We have the whole day, you're gonna eventually dry. It's not a big brainer." Francis was persistent as ever, not letting Arthur win the argument.

"But like-"

"No more buts! Don't be so prude and join! For me Kirkland, just this time."

The Englishman sighed, looking disappointed at himself. So Francis did won, because of which a triumphant grin appeared on his face.

"Can you at least turn away while I undress? This is improper enough as it is."

"Why though? Even Adam and Eve weren't ashamed of their bodies before they fell into sin. There's nothing wrong about being nude in front of others you see, it's your natural state."

"Didn't take you for the devoutly religious type."

"It's just the rumbling of an ex almost-priest. Nothing to be taken seriously, if you don't want to. But you should consider the fact at least that both of us are men. So, nothing you have I've never seen before." He smiled at him invitingly, at which the initial reaction was just an eye roll.

"Fuck you anyways." And only then, he started finally undressing, meticulously folding his clothes besides Francis' messy, turned out ones. The longer haired could tell that he wasn't just trying to take his sweet time, but he was genuinely this precise, which was kinda sweet of him, making Francis smile endearingly.

The vagabond reached his arms to the man to help him into the water. Arthur still looked kind of embarrassed by the whole ordeal, averting his gaze from Francis’ radiating aura. Again, it was a shame, since he really didn’t have anything to be afraid of.

At first he thought about just dragging him mercilessly in the cold river when he saw him flinching as the water hit his calves. Although he would have been really angry, at least they’d get over fast the whole getting used to the temperature process, and Francis would get a good laugh out of it. But well, he didn’t have the heart to. He did like Arthur enough to show a bit of patience.

But Kirkland didn’t fool around as long as Francis excepted him too. He braced his teeth together with a frown, and quickly dashed into the deeper part of the water beside the Frenchman, almost falling into his arms because of the impulse. He wasn’t sure if he’d like it or not if he really was clumsy enough, but the thought made him wonder.

Francis knew before, and seeing his upper body reinforced the postulation that Arthur was a lot bulkier and stronger than him. Francis wasn’t that bad off, other than being slightly malnourished – he could be really stealthy and run fast enough that none of those dickheads could catch him, but he was nowhere near Arthur in term of strength. His older self would be intimidated because of this, but now he had his fair share of experience with soldiers to the point that he learned one crucial thing; agility and speed meant the most in combat. If he wanted, and had enough luck – for confidence, he was not lacking a bit – he could probably fight him off. But he rather didn’t do that.

The blue-eyed one was a man of diplomacy and assertiveness. Fighting was way under him. Wars and all were nothing but the dramatics of barbarians, who refused to open their mouths to say anything meaningful, and the poor folk paid back with their lives. At least, it was true for one side of the story.

Arthur still looked awkward, while Francis had the time of his life. He was swimming around up and down, or just lying on the surface of the water, letting himself float wherever the water wanted him to be. Kirkland looked frozen, as if he didn’t know how to let himself go and enjoy small things like this, that made Francis feel a bit sorry for him.

He decided that he wouldn’t let this going on and try to ease his tension somehow. Okay, they weren’t the best of friends, but he started feeling bad himself just seeing how pent up he was. To hell with his gracious golden heart.

“Come, let’s have a race. Look at that tree, there! You see it? That is the finishing line. You can swim, can’t you?” At the mention of a competition, all shame left Arthur’s face and only one emotion did he show; the want to win. Francis knew that he could rile him up easily at even the mention, and Kirkland was way too predictable to act differently. It wasn’t a bad thing though, because he had no other idea to brighten his mood.

“Oh, seriously? What are we, little kids?” He crossed his arms in front of his chest again defensively, but he was even less reluctant than before. It just would be out of character of him not to disagree with whatever Francis says or suggests. But maybe that’s what he liked in the guard.

Afterall, Francis was used to people agreeing with him. He was the leader and he had his followers motivated by his speeches, and executing his plans. Although he wasn’t a strategic genius, with enough charisma people deem one dependable. And so, he was never used to that kind of opposition what he didn’t simply laugh out but had to rebut. It was strange, but more than entertaining.

“Yeah, what about it? Or are just afraid to see how much better I am?” laughed carefreely Francis at him, igniting the fighting spirit in him.

The glare of him was enough of an answer at that. He pulled the edge of his lips into a smirk, and before Francis even could notice he jumped forward to start swimming, leaving a flabbergasted Francis behind, who didn’t even register how badly he was beaten in his own game. Fuck Arthur.

But ever the optimist, the Frenchman wasn’t going to give up that easily, and he quickly tried catching up with him after a few fast line of swears. Cheating or not, France wasn’t going to be the looser today.

He felt the adrenalin rush through his veins as they neared the end line. The distance wasn’t particularly long or short, giving the perfect opportunity for Francis to catch up. As he guessed, Kirkland was a bit sloppy at swimming as he obviously didn’t go out of the town as much as Francis did. He may have swam once or twice, but it wouldn’t be far-fetched that he tried to just mimic what he saw from Francis earlier. He’s a fast learner though, Francis will give him that.

They swam head by head, and as it seemed, a breakthrough would be unlikely. Arthur was giving it all, as if he was fighting for his life – and he actually looked like trying to survive drowning all the while. Compared to him, the Frenchman was tired out of trying to catch up to him, and having used up significant portion of his energy, he didn’t have enough in him to swim even faster.

In the end just as it was the most probable, they finished in synch. Luckily, they arrived to a shallower part of the river, so their feet reached the ground. Otherwise, Francis had a guess that Arthur would have collapsed into his arms for sure. It isn’t like he was that better off, but at least he used previously those muscles needed for swimming unlike the other man.

“I can’t swim to be honest.” he said between two gasps.

“I’ve noticed. Come, we should get back and start to dry ourselves off a bit.” Francis said while taking a step forward to the direction they’ve came in. “And congratulations. I mean it. You weren’t as bad as I thought you’d be.”

“You never fail to amaze me either. I thought you were just your average university boy who had some physical handicap so you can’t became a soldier.” they got out of the water, and chose to walk instead, which was a lot less taxing. Weirdly, not even Arthur felt himself awkward now to be naked in front of him. Yeah, it was natural, like Adam or Eve or whatever he said.

“Not anymore. You know, they kicked me out. Although, your point still stands. I couldn’t have done it if I wouldn’t want to see your defeated face that much.” this was the first time he actually said it out loud, and it felt weirdly liberating. Since the redness of his face could’ve been explained by the competition, it felt even less awkward. Maybe he should take up some sports, and then he could talk about his deepest emotions more frequently. Shame he had better things to do.

“You’re not going to explain why, would you?” Francis only stared at the grass they were walking on. He gently kicked a rock away with his bare feet.

“Not a big deal. They’ve made me a scapegoat for conspiracy. No investigation, no evidence. There are way too many students, and they never liked me anyways.” Francis didn’t exactly care whether he believed it or not. He of course couldn’t outright admit the truth, but Arthur probably isn’t that dumb not to figure it out. Not if he knew Francis enough anyway.

“You wouldn’t have been fit for a priest anyway. I can’t imagine you being bald.” the other had to chuckle at that.

“I’d totally have the shiniest head ever. One you could spot from kilometres away. And I’d be hot just as now even in the scruffy frock.”

“Shit, I didn’t want to imagine that.” he started giggling at that too, comically horrified just imagining the sight. “The devil himself would be afraid of you.”

“No, I’d imagine him setting up a special place for me in hell, continuing his rebel in the earthly realm or whatever. I think he’d like me for corrupting the church.”

“You aren’t the villain you make yourself out to be. Can’t imagine a demon either with that pretty face of yours.”

“Yeah well, I give you that.”

Wait. No. What did he just said?

Now, Francis’ face was positively not red just from the frantic swimming. Sure, he knew that he was pretty, and that was usually one of the first thing people tell him. That he looked pretty for a man. But Arthur – he never said it before. And this compliment hit differently from all the hundreds he got before somehow. All except one that is.

It seemed Arthur just now realised what he said, when Francis stopped in his steps. Now, that was awkward. Suddenly, the both of them began to feel self-conscious about not having any clothes on. The air felt just a bit tighter to become uncomfortable to bear for the both of them, and God, Francis coughed in embarrassment.

“I—didn’t mean like that you know. It’s just yeah, you joke about it all the time and I thought it’s okay for me but it seems it’s not and this just—”

“Okay, hey I get it. Not a big deal. I know I’m the hottest person alive. Just—keep on going, yeah. I wanted to show you something before we go back to the city.” tried to shrug it off Francis while continuing going towards their stuff like nothing happened.

Because this meant nothing. This wasn’t even a compliment, just a returning joke. That’s all.

“So and like, what? Are you homeless now?” see, even Arthur acted as if nothing happened. He didn’t get why he overthought this that much.

“Yeah. I don’t mind though. Sure, it was more comfortable in a dorm, but I get by. I’m at least back to my roots or whatever. And it isn’t winter.” Even he was surprised just how honest he got around him today. That last sentence, the sour reminder of the harsh truth that poked his eyes out, wasn’t mean to be said. Because Francis didn’t want to think about that, as it only brought hopelessness onto him. And he shouldn’t be getting worked up on something he couldn’t control or solve.

“You shouldn’t rely on your luck and confidence all the time, you know. It’s going to bite in your ass later.”

“I know. But I don’t have any other choice, and…- No and. That’s all.” After that, they finished the rest of the way in silence, which thankfully wasn’t a lot. By the time they’ve arrived back their bodies were more or less dried already, so they just had to put on their clothes fast.

Francis thought at first that Arthur forgot or directly ignored what he told before about wanting to show something, but he patiently waited for Francis to finish getting ready, which was as slow as expected. His hair was still wet, which he quickly made into a braid so that the waviness of his blonde locks would be exaggerated. He checked if he looked good enough at least three times during dressing up, which was utterly pointless in Arthur’s opinion.

When he was finally ready, it was his time to grab Arthur’s hand to lead him. This time, he put up no fight, just followed him. But he walked a bit slower, probably to not cause more embarrassment between them. Because well, they’d be just walking hand in hand otherwise.

It wasn’t that far away from where the river flowed. It was marked by nothing in the monotone vastness of the woods, but Francis couldn’t be fooled by them. He knew every little centimetre of the forest, so it wasn’t that hard for him to find his way there. A right turn at a familiar branch lying on the ground, then walking five minutes straight and a left turn at that scrawny three. It was easier than most would think.

“So what about it? You want to kill me here so nobody would find my corpse?” asked Kirkland curiously, like he was entertaining the idea seriously after Francis finally stopped walking. To him, it looked nothing special, or different from the rest of the forest.

“If I wanted to kill you, I would have drowned you into the river before, silly. No, this is my place. I write my poems here. The serious ones anyways. Here is the chirping of the birds the loudest, and the soil the most comfortable to lie on.”

“Just how much are you sneaking out after curfew? You know, this place is too calm to be the inspiration of writing about how you’d kill the bourgeoisie.” sneered the guard, and Francis just shook his head disapprovingly.

“That’s not all what I write about. You’ve seen nothing yet from what I have to offer to the world.” Francis had that unreadable, neutral face on him with a little smile that could probably fool most people, but Arthur knew that was not genuine happiness. He did that when he didn’t want others to know what he was thinking or feeling at the moment. “And to be honest, I never cared about the curfew. I mean, nothing bad ever happened to me here. This restriction, it’s pointless. I’m not going to rot inside those walls, that’s for sure.”

He had some truth in what he said. Curfew was in place because of the war, but there was nothing here outside. Literally nothing but peace. Arthur just assumed before that it was just the patrol way that avoided the destruction and hell outside, but they wandered more than far from that, and there’s still nothing. Just peace, that is.

Arthur didn’t understand it. He was only told the dangers of being outside of the walls, not the sheer serenity of it. There were no bandits or bloodbath either, just them and the nature. Honestly, it was not surprising why he loved it that much. It was more than beautiful – ethereal at least, and somehow Francis perfectly fit into that picture.

“It’s not that scary, isn’t it?” This time he was smiling more honestly, while sitting on the ground and making a flower crown. Yeah, he looked like one of them, that’s for sure.

“No it’s—I kinda like it, I think. But we should really go back now. It’s getting late and I have to do my report.” Francis tilted his head a bit sorrowfully at that, disappointed that he wanted to leave this soon. They’ve only just arrived.

“Can’t you stay just a bit longer?” He looked at him pleadingly. For fuck’s sake, why was he acting that out of character? They should be arguing or bickering, but he just suddenly started acting so nice that made Arthur even more confused.

“Listen, I’m sorry but I really can’t. I’m not going to bust you or anything, so you can stay if you want. But I must go back. I- You know, it’s been a pleasure.” he smiled at Francis probably for the first time, who returned it more than gently.

“Sure. I’d like to see you around here another time. If you want. I still want to defeat you at swimming, just that you know.”

“And I won’t let you beat me that time too. Do not think I’ll be an easy target.”

“Ah, I know that well. But one day, the deer will shoot the hunter, mark my words!” laughed Francis without any malice, although his words carried such a grave warning, that shouldn’t have been ignored ever. And Arthur was more than a fool for not taking him seriously that moment.

He shouldn’t have trusted that golden haired devil.

Chapter Text

A man in his late thirties, a wealthy and respected businessman on top of that has been murdered yesterday in an abandoned spot deep in the forest nearby. In the same spot just a week ago Francis and Arthur had the time of their lives.

Usually, Arthur's superiors handled such important cases, but they were facing a shortage of manpower. So did Kirkland get assigned to it, and he oh so didn't want to do it. Anything but this. Because, of course, there wasn't much to contemplate on the identity of the whodunit. But it just didn't make sense at all, why would Francis kill someone in a place he showed him before? And not even a long time ago, to add onto. Like he was mocking him. Did he seriously think Arthur would let him get away just because they talked a few times? Did he really have this kind of audacity?

It was suspicious enough that they haven't met since then. Last time, he just robbed. Now, he murdered too.

That was the exact reason Arthur couldn't let criminals go, even if he pitied them. He could have overlooked another robbery to be honest, because somehow, that devil managed to wriggle close to his heart, but that's where his tolerance ended. Lord, how stupid he was. And the price was the life of an innocent man, not less. Well, even if he was far from spotless, the fact didn't change that nobody had the right to take his life away. That was the job of God or fate or whatever determined that someone shan't live anymore.

Of course, it fit Francis to play the role of a vigilante. Or at least, based on their encounters, he for sure believed he was some kind of ideological leader. Someone who will lead a rebellion one day, only to meet his demise. He was stupid. Just when he was taking back at offending against law, he...

It didn't matter anymore. Arthur gave up on him for once and all.

Afterall, he broke his oath to the king even by talking to him. Not literally, per se, but it was enough that he repeatedly turned a blind eye on him. This was treason in his opinion.

Arthur dropped himself on his bed in fury. He meant to start his job this afternoon, but he didn't think he could do it. He just felt betrayed. And there was no hope in trying to find Francis anyway. If he didn't want Arthur to see him, he wouldn't let him. He was out of the town most likely, trying to erase his tracks, forging an alibi, or reporting to someone. Either that or he's in a brothel. But he gave him the benefit of the doubt yet again.

Arthur tossed and turned, not fully understanding why he was this upset. They weren't even friends. They had a civil, prolonged conversation one singular time. Francis most likely didn't give a shit about Arthur, other than the fact that he provided him temporary entertainment. A little dolly dancing to his tunes.

It hurt just so fucking much. When he finally thought that someone actually sought out his company, it had to come crashing down in the most horrible way. Now he was left alone insulted and humiliated, shameful at his own stupidity. Why didn't he just lock him up?

The worst thing is, he genuinely started believing in what he spouted. Like his speeches and everything about his values. He thought of him as someone full of morals worth to look up on. Because although being utter idealistic nonsense, Arthur didn't exactly feel unhappy that someone dared to oppose. Even if it was stupid and faulty on many levels. At least he tried, and Arthur had respect for that.

And it was shitty too that he thought of him as decent company. For real. The deal was, Arthur was admittedly lonely, and even if it was superficial and fake, someone at least not glancing him in a wrong way and treating him as a human meant the world to him. Even if Arthur wasn't just seen as air in the eyes of others, he felt too alienated to make or join a conversation. Even in company, he was but a bitter ghost. Talking with Francis seemed natural. Maybe because Arthur could identify some sort of kinship between them. The two misfits, dare he say.

But of course it was a bloody fucking delusion. A mere lie. A make-believe in his mind. Francis didn't care about him not even in the same way but at all. If he did, he wouldn't humiliate and disappoint him like this. He wouldn't let Arthur down.

It was stupid that he gave a fuck.

And it was even stupider that he still did.

Arthur felt a tear drop down on his face.

*

No one was apprehended because of the murder. Without evidence, eyewitness or credible suspect, nothing could have been done. It's been weeks since Arthur last saw Francis. Almost as if he never existed to begin with. He was like the friendship between them; apparently a mere delusion.

And Kirkland tried hard, very much so to find him. He went every single goddamn day to that heinous spot in the forest in hopes that he'll find Master Bonnefoy grinning at him jeeringly, fulfilling his superiority complex. But he was never there. Not a single trace of him remained. Before that occasion, the place looked lively, almost alive. The leaves and grass were a bit brighter, the birds happier, and even the ocean of ants worked harder.

Now it was empty and abandoned. Like not even a single fly has been there since ages. The trees looked almost withered, giving an uneasy feeling to Arthur whenever he stumbled upon there. All but silence disappeared from there, as if some maniac slaughtered every living being there down. Maybe it was true.

Francis killed the tranquillity.

At least that's what Master Bonnefoy thought when he was there himself. He had to smile a bit when he saw that place again, albeit sombrely. Honestly, he even felt something in his chest seeing the only thing that changed there after weeks. There was a cross stabbed into the ground, marking the grave of his youth.

As long as he remembered, Francis always went there to write. He'd say, he was a whiny hysteric since his childhood, which others tolerated just as well as he tolerated others. Of course, that toned down over the years, but he still needed his alone time quite frequently, more often most did. It wasn't as if he was a misanthrope, or that he even disliked company, but his brain sometimes just couldn't take in all the social impulses, and he just had to leave and seclude himself to not let himself break down. This defence mechanism simply turned into a habit after so many years.

He sat down on the ground and started to tear the grass before him, as if it was a mere paper full of his foolish ramblings he became ashamed of.

He wondered what else changed since he left. Maybe Arthur cut his hair completely off. Or he let it grow as long as Francis' was. No, that's stupid, his hair shouldn't have grown that much. Afterall, the leave only felt long for him. He knew his old schoolmates waited for him dearly to go on igniting the fire of revolt, and the passion at their favourite brothel.

To be honest he kinda lost interest in the last one. He knew that was also one of his shitty comping mechanisms, but it seemed that he was so down now that even his libido was affected. The past days, with him being alone throughout them, were all about thinking what to do with himself now. His best idea was of course, to start working, but he had no idea what or where. He knew he had to have still enough time to do his daily revolutionary preachings and stuff, so his choices were more than limited.

Even if he never would have things happening in a different way, this still sucked ass.

But he couldn't run away any longer not from this, and not from his other responsibilities. And he kinda missed Kirkland now a bit. Just a tiny bit. It sucked that he had to leave so suddenly, just when they finally started getting along. Now, if he didn't despise him completely, he probably already forgot about him. Which didn't hurt at all.

God, he was such an idiot, wasn't he? He knew he should never let himself get attached to somebody, not with how close Death to his door is. And he brought Him wherever he went. He should stay away from Arthur too, otherwise he'll get the short end of the stick. Francis wanted anything but that, but he was way too selfish to ignore himself, and that burning feeling in his chest at the thought of leaving everything behind forever, even if it was for Arthur's best interest. Sure, he couldn't like him that much if he wasn't ready to let him go. Surely.

He tried saving some skin in front of his own self, that he reminded him of her. That was probably the only redeeming factor in his disgusting demeanour. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know that his hopeless crush on him was well, hopeless from the start. It didn’t take a genius to figure this out. He only liked him anyway, because his eyes were similar apple greens to hers. And maybe his flustered bantering tone was akin too. That’s all. He didn’t like Arthur for being himself, but because he reminded him of Jeanne.

He felt himself even more disgusted thinking about that. A pitiful existence, that’s all he was.

Francis laid back onto his left side. He closed his eyes, just listening to his surroundings, trying to drown out his thoughts with it. The Frenchman still didn’t feel himself at ease. It hurt to know that inside of that cage in his chest only a heart of black ash withered away. He felt himself so stupid and wrong.

The blue-eyed prince slowly reached his arm out, caressing the nothingness in front of him. Or it wasn’t for him at least. He almost could feel something actually being there. First it was just a faint white dot that blurred into the blackness of his vision. Then it started resembling a form he oh-so-well knew before. That white dress, he’d never forget it. That’s the last thing he saw on her, ever. And he could actually touch her again, because he felt even the slightest wrinkles on her clothes.

He was taken aback, but happier than ever. So, she’s still alive, and well! Jeanne’s here! With a sudden rush of bravery, he continued to run his hands from her hips up her porcelain arms until he reached her shoulders. Her arm was sturdier than he remembered. Only the skin tone matched. Hers didn’t used to be this hairy too.

For a minute, he stopped himself, though still not daring to look at their face, not knowing what to expect. This should have been Jeanne, but it wasn’t, no matter how similar the two were. Their hair felt nice though. And similarly short as hers was. She cut it down the day she ran away from home, for his sake. For their hopeless love.

Francis slapped his hand down, through his make believe onto the ground, and angrily tore out the grass. He shouldn’t be alone anymore, otherwise his own fantasy would kill him. He never used to be weak like this, not when she died or when he was kicked out from home, and certainly not when his only chance at bettering his life was taken away at an eyeblink from him. No, he always had some other thing to worry about, so he never acknowledged that he felt himself like shit except when he was writing. But even then, he paid attention to rhyme and composition, they weren’t as sincere as he made them out to be.

He was a phony.

Thinking more meant even more annoyance – no, anger; almost fury for him. With every word he said out in his head, the more bitter he became, ready to continue punching the poor earth, yearning for a resolution. He truly had better things to worry about.

Actually now, he really didn’t want to go back. He’d been putting off this… commission for a while, because he knew how tiresome it’d be, but even that seemed a better alternative now than meeting Arthur again. It shouldn’t last more than a week in an ideal outcome. The city was just a few kilometres away, maybe thrice as far as the gates protecting Paris. Francis loved walking anyway.

On top of that, he’ll finally have time to rethink his feelings about Arthur, which went out of control. He was sure the only reason for that was, that he felt himself kind of down lately, and especially because – or maybe Arthur himself was the reason for this? – he’d been reminding himself of Jeanne too much. And for whatever reason Kirkland entertained him this long, he’ll finally forget about him if he comes back, that’s for sure. Afterall, nobody would care about him after he ignored them this long. And that’d be the most ideal for him.

If he comes back, per se. He had every intention to, he’s not going to lie to himself about that. He wanted to see Arthur again, and he also missed a bit his comrades, although he knew none of them particularly cared about him. He got used to it after so much time they spent together. They had a mission, all of them, and that was of outmost importance only in their eyes.

Francis wasn’t that good at tending his wounds though, that’s something always done by his Jeanne. He could purchase some medicine in the last town, but the soldiers gave him more than a good chase there. That’s usually how student protests ended, and sure, they were worth it, but he couldn’t say he missed being injured. That’s the main reason he contemplated at first to go back to Paris.

Unfortunately for his body, if he decided on something, he never swayed in any other direction. He’ll have to find still something to eat though first before starting, because even after everything, Francis refused to hunt. Maybe he can get by on berries until he arrives. He hoped so.

The blonde man finally got up to his feet, bidding farewell to his favourite spot in the entire world. He’ll never going to go back here, not to Death’s arms again.

Chapter Text

Arthur was off duty today, one of those rare Sundays when he could enjoy the sweet idleness. Or rather, catch up on some housework. Even though he still wasn’t resting, he highly preferred this than working. While working around the house, he could just lock his thoughts out completely, focusing solely on his tasks waiting patiently to be completed.

Years ago, he refused to do any cleaning. When he was a slumping mess of melancholy anyway. He didn’t want to clean his home, because he had no one to do it for. It’s not like guests ever came to see him. The same was with cooking or washing his clothes; they seemed pointless because he didn’t feel himself valuable enough to do it for. Luckily, all these wasted days have gone with the wind of change. Honestly, he even felt a bit embarrassed looking back just how much went by that time without him being there at all. Like he was just some spectator of his own life, not actually living it.

Arthur promised himself he’ll never slip back again there.

So, despite feeling still a bit under the weather because of the absence of Francis, he couldn’t let himself not do his chores. His parents would be proud of him; he was sure of that.

It felt weird wearing civil clothes outside, but it was a rather pleasant kind of weird. He didn’t feel the weight of his armour, nor the slight clinking of his sword bound to his waist. He felt himself freer and lighter by a lot. Stripped away from his uniform, he almost felt like a different person. Less unapproachable, less feared, less demanding. Almost as if his dignity was taken away with them. Though, he didn’t exactly mind that people didn’t stare at him with that look in their eyes.

Francis totally would make fun of him if he saw him like that.

At this point, he didn’t even care enough to give a mental slap in the face. He undeniably thought about Francis still a lot. Arthur just still couldn’t register how he could disappear overnight without leaving a single bit of himself behind. It just wasn’t right.

So, he kept on believing that one day he’ll show up just as suddenly. As he should be. How dare he just storm into his life, and whirl up everything otherwise? It wouldn’t be fair at all.

Arthur slowly and precisely tossed a shirt of his in the water. Curfew wasn’t set until a good a few hours from now, so he could wash all his clothes in peace. Maybe the river was at fault, what constantly reminded Kirkland of him. God, he wasn’t some little girl to get so worked up on a man. It wasn’t as if he was in love with him, that wasn’t… wasn’t normal at all.

Suddenly, he felt some ruffling behind him, kinda like footsteps. No, it was definitely the sound of someone approaching. Arthur hadn’t looked up from the river still, eyes glued to the mirror in front of him, while his hands were gripping tightly on that poor shirt of his. The first thought was of course – danger. This was one of the very few times he was unarmed, and this is actually when his demise tries to get him. Probably some vagabond wanderer desperate for a penny.

He managed to make his breathing stay calm, although he still wouldn’t turn the stranger’s way. He didn’t want to give away this soon that he noticed them; that way he could use the power of surprise to counter their attack. He’ll make whoever pay for ruining his free day.

That was his original idea anyway.

Until he spotted a familiar mop of gold besides him growing bigger with every step he took. He almost couldn’t believe that it was him, in all his cheeky glory. With his ice-cold eyes that could make chill run down his spine in a very much desirable way, and that jeering grin that sure’ll be the end of him one day. Lord, that really was Francis.

Arthur froze on the spot the second they locked eyes. He couldn’t read anything from Francis’, which made him frustrated to say the least.

Shit, he didn’t even know how to react. Should he try to arrest him in suspicion of murder? Or warmly greet him with a hug? No, all of those were foolish. And he wasn’t in his uniform. If he were, he’d surely try arresting him. Because suddenly, all of his feelings came undone, unleashing the mix of pent up anger and sorrow residing in himself.

He wanted to snap at him, to scream and beat the shit out of that cruel idiot who left him alone for so long, but this overwhelmed him too much to do anything. So he just remained there, kneeling on the riverside, gripping his shirt and staring at Francis.

“Now, now. Don’t you have a princess to wash after you Mr. Knight in shining armour? Ah – yes of course, not now anyways when you look so grumpy and dull. Have they kicked you out or what?”

Arthur was even more taken aback at the cynical words. This crossed their line of playful banter by kilometres to say the least, and this was the literal first thing he heard from Francis since almost months. Was he serious?

The back of his mind told him that he was overreacting. That Bonnefoy just had similarly shitty sense of social cues and way of dealing with people close to him – as close as one can be to him – but what the actual fuck was that? Not even a “Hello” or a “Glad to see you again” or a goddamn fucking explanation, just a jab at his crumpling self-esteem. Some friend he was.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Spitted out Arthur, desperately trying to keep his cool while standing up, to face him not just through the lens of the water surface.

“Just wanted to drop by and I couldn’t help but comment. Missed me, huh?” Francis said with a shit eating grin. Fuck him.

He was still the same old clown prince Arthur saw the last time they’ve met. Although, his face looked a lot brighter now and kept together. He was freshly shaved, probably prepared a while ago to resurface after his lengthy disappearance. Everything was the same otherwise.

Just like Arthur hadn’t changed at all. Nor Bonnefoy’s foul demeanour. Like these weeks of absence never happened at all. And Arthur wasn’t sure either if Francis planned on elaborating on that; he already knew that trying to force information out of him would result in failure. He most likely won’t, only deducing it from their short-lived companionship.

It was still kinda amazing? No, rather uncanny just how much Master Bonnefoy managed to hide about himself. Who was he really behind the veil of vagueness?

“Seems like you neither missed me.” Arthur gritted through his teeth. It was ridiculous how much he anticipated this meeting just to receive this bitter bullshit. He deserved better after Francis living rent free in his head 24/7 and being all depressed about him not being there. God, saying this even in his head felt just way too pathetic to handle.

He actually dared to chuckle at that which made the Englishman turn all red from the anger.

“Come on, is this how you greet an old pal? I might be even more willing to hang out after that that sorry excuse of a uniform is off of you. You look less intimidating and whatever.” He opened his arms out, mockingly inviting him to a hug, which made Arthur even angrier, and subsequently even more blushed. Which totally wasn’t because of the mere suggestion.

But he wasn’t even serious, of course. Not that Arthur wanted him to be, but – well, he did have a habit of taking everything too literally. And his mind just rushed to a very faulty conclusion that he meant it seriously and he’d hug him and –

No, he had to stop this.

Just like Francis, who almost immediately let his arms fall down next to his body, while still smirking at him.

“Sorry your highly esteemed benevolence if my foolish behaviour offended you. I get that your non-existent love life is a deeply personal issue.” He dramatically put his right hand on his chest and bowed to Arthur, apologizing albeit not seriously at all. He was such theatrical and fake that it actually started bugging the Englishman. Just why the hell couldn’t he act decently for a minute or two?

“Stop with this. Why do you care about me not being married? Or is it just that you never met with a man before who has spine and doesn’t cheat on his wife on a daily basis with courtesans?” Because surely, Francis must have been married. Although he didn’t wear a ring per se, but he noticed long ago a silver chain in his neck, poorly hidden under his shirt. He probably had his engagement ring there, right on his heart. And objectively thinking, there was no way in hell that such a fine young man – again, objectively – wasn’t already taken.

"Oh please, I certainly am not taken. I would be if it wasn't for you, the king's dicksuckers." Arthur didn't miss the sudden change of athmosphere along with Francis' tone of voice. Even before this, the cynicism loaded within was a bit over the top, but right now it was straight up hateful. His expression didn't hold a shadow of kindness or playfulness, rather it was eerily calm and bland.

He stared at him again with that icy, analytical stare, as if trying to decipher his answer before he even had the time to comprehend the original statement. As if this was a test.

"Francis, what the fuck are you talking about?" The poets face became unreadable yet again, while he put on his signature fake smile to hide the lurking disinterest and repulsion to anything Arthur had to say. But maybe, just maybe his eyes softened up a little at the mention of his first name.

"She was burn at the stakes in the conviction of witchery. My poor girl...well whatever. Never mind I said anything." He crossed his arms, while staring at the ground. Well, this was awkward.

Although, Arthur felt that there was more to this story than what meets the eye. For example, he wasn't kicked out, just recently from his path of becoming a priest. How could a wedded man become one? It was quite understandable why he wouldn't want to tell the whole truth anyway, and neither wanted Arthur to seem disrespectful nagging him about the tragedy, but it just felt off somehow.

But this also explained why he hated the regime so much. Of course it also went deeper, to primal levels of ideological differences, but probably that was why he was extra passionate about turning the world upside down.

Saying sorry wasn't something that he thought Francis, or rather anyone would appreciate. It was way too cliché and emotionless. The word "sorry" was worn down by centuries. And obviously, he wasn't sorry for his wife anyway. Maybe sorry for Francis, because he did hate seeing him like this, but he couldn't feel true sympathy to his wife. Well, and he personally knew that receiving an "I'm sorry" or "I apologise for bringing it up" only filled the receivers chest with rage. He, and most people hated pity, especially when it was transparently fake. It wasn't like he ever got depressed at the mention; although it was draining a bit after a while, he still could remain factual, and state the answer to every question: "Yes, I was sixteen. No, it was a robbery gone awfully wrong. Of course I miss them."

It was something he repeated like a machine every time someone asked. Because people were curious. They didn't care on the emotional side, but it was something to chew on. A mere rumour they didn't know about before. A story, and stories were intriguing. Especially when they ended in tragedy, because everyone was bored by their own problems already. Happy endings were boring fairy tales to children.

Arthur didn't mind being asked. He minded being pitied. When they asked for forgiveness after questioning every detail.

Honestly he never could imagine that Francis cared about anyone this much. In Arthur's eyes, he was a mere juvenile womanizer, who couldn't even take life seriously. That's what he has thought before knowing this anyways. It was so wrong and out of character to see him like this, that Arthur just felt the need to make him happy again. Or at least not this regretful and drowning in his sorrows.

He desperately tried to think about something that might work, but from the need of sudden response his brain didn't seem to work at all, and he merely blurted out the first, and most idiotic thing that made through the fog in his mind.

"Do you mind help helping with the washing?" Tilted he his head to the basket still full of his dirty clothes. Francis smiled way more genuinely.

"No, not at all." The Frenchman walked right next to him, and they almost simultaneously kneeled down. He tied his long hair up to not bother him while leaning forward, but he couldn't help taming it and some escaped from this loose hair tie. He looked ethereal like that. When he pulled up his sleeves, Arthur couldn't help but notice the fresh scares and stab wounds lingering on his delicate porcelain arms. Like they were tainted by red rubies glittering up and down.

But Francis was casual about them, so he knew that was just another thing he shouldn't question further, even if he desperately wanted to know, just for the sake of it. And it could be that he was somewhat worried about Francis. On the other hand, Arthur couldn't betray the trust he just gained in his eyes. He didn't want to lose Franc--

Never mind.

"Hey, Arthur. What do you think liberty is?"

Well, that surely wasn't something he expected to be asked.

"I don't know. To be able to say or do whatever you want without consequences? Like, not being reprimanded because of stuff you believe in? I guess I never gave it much thought before. You know, I'm not the one who does the thinking."

"Yeah, that's what I thought at first too. But I rather define that as "freedom". "Liberty", on the other hand, that's something wholly different. It's all about being responsible, you know. Freedom only becomes liberty, when you don't stand in the way of someone other's freedom. Like, for example killing somebody without consequences is freedom. You are free to do whatever you want. But with it, you stand in the other's freedom to choose life. Stripping someone away from their freedom is oppression. If you believe in liberty, you have to respect other's choices. I don't mean to say you can't oppose, just not step over the line to rob them of their freedom. That's what liberty means to me."

A comfortable silence set in. Arthur wasn't so philosophical; he was the exact definition of a simple person. But he still couldn't help but wonder-

"And say, do you believe in-no. Do you want and use the principles of freedom, or liberty? In what kind of sense are you free, Francis?"

He stayed silent for a good while, not because he was deliberately ignoring him, but seriously considering the question.

"I'd like to think that I'm part of the later group, but I cannot say that if I'm being completely honest."

"Well, do you think it's too late to change your ways?"

"No. No, and that's my exact problem. I know I don't have to do it this way, but I feel like this is my only option at achieving something. Quiet protests and waiting for slow improvement? That's kinda stupid. No, full on foolishness rather. I don't have the time to wait it all out, and I want my efforts to be seen by myself. I can't let hundreds of generations suffer for endless time, if I can do something now."

"Let's see it in another way. You want to make volcano eruption, right? You may destroy everything for a while, and try to establish a new world order, but it's feeble and unstable. Simple people only see this as destruction, not a chance at renewal, and they desperately want to bring back their former, comfortable lives. And they'll rebuild everything in the exact same way, because they are even more scared of something new. It's actually just a drawback from your goal."

“Well, I’m not a pessimist you see. My goal is to make the majority of people realise how wrong this regime is that we live in, and to make them the change. You talk as if my people were just a loud minority. Believe me or not, everyone has enough; if not from the slavery and poverty, then from the war. I can’t let this continue with clean conscience. I have enough too, and I’ll never be satisfied either until the utopia we want can rise.”

“Is this really your – as in all of your – utopia, or just yours personally?” Cut right in Arthur, not letting Francis continue his monologue.

“You won’t believe me if I say the first one is true, right?”

Arthur shook firmly his head.

“That makes us two.”

The two of them stared intensely at each other, clothes long forgotten in their hands. Francis was always mesmerizing like this. It was kinda hard to comprehend how could a person be this beautiful, and Arthur certainly didn’t have it in him to tear his thoughts away from him, and try to compare him to other people. Despite how wrong this was theoretically, he couldn’t muster a single second of disgust linger towards Francis. Not even himself, because he really couldn’t think about anything else than him.

Arthur suddenly felt the urge to look down on his lips. He held them in a thin line, probably even chewing on the lower one to ease his nervousness, but it was all the more desirable to Arthur. They are probably soft too, smooth to touch and kiss. God, how can be someone this perfect while also being his polar opposite?

"We're not so different, you know? On the contrary, I believe." Smiled at him once again Francis, breaking the tension between them. Honestly, it was for the better, otherwise Arthur surely thought he'd have gone insane from it. It was always like that with Francis, the visible tension between them which will be the end of Arthur one day. He absolutely despised that man.

"You really think so?" Asked sceptically Kirkland.

"I mean, it's not like anything I say or do would change what you think, am I wrong?" Smirked the man, resuming to do his newly got chores.

"I guess so. But I don't mind it to be this way."

"Yeah, neither do I." And if Arthur had the power to do so, he'd do everything to stop the iron claws of time crawling forward in that exact moment. Maybe even dying wouldn't be that bad, of this was the last memory of his. He just wished he could forever be with Francis.

Chapter Text

Everything was normal the next week. Not outstandingly cloudy and sweetly pink like Arthur would have imagined the life of a lovesick youngster. It was just plainly normal, and he was perfectly content with it. Expect for one thing though, which made him curse himself more than ever.

He was a lovesick stupid git, way too old for such improper desires. Despite everything, Arthur wasn’t super dense, and he very much let the truth poke his eyes as much as it wanted. It wasn’t like it’d do any good for him, to deny reality. No matter that sometimes he wanted just let himself melt into a delusion. A good old delusion which was like the softest of silks embracing him to slumber. Not the rigid and jeering truth, that was laughing at him with the voice of the devil.

Yeah, he was infatuated with Francis, and now what? It’s not just because he was the most ethereal being across the seven seas, or because his lulling voice was like the most gracious prison to his mind, but because he was hungry for the attention of someone just as a crawling beggar.

After the initial panic of realisation about his feelings, this calmed him down the most. He didn’t actually love Francis for being Francis, but because he was finally giving him the attention he craved since he lost his parents. It felt just too good that someone was actually giving a shit about him, even if it was solely out of pity. Someone who listened, someone who didn’t make him feel like an awkward burden ruining the mood, someone who wanted him to talk. He fell in love with the first decent person - decent at least towards him.

They didn’t communicate every day. Seldom did they to be honest, other than passing glances and quick superficial conversations, but it still felt different to Arthur than what he ever experienced. Just looking at him made him flustered and messy and feel all fuzzy in his chest, not to mention when he smiled at him. It was kinda pathetic honestly how much he could love someone who barely acknowledged his existence.

Arthur knew he was more than shy and awkward when talking. Conversation didn’t naturally flow between them, and he knew he was mostly to be blamed for it. He didn’t know how to do small talk, he didn’t have anything interesting going on in his life to which the other could react and he was inadequate to say back anything funny or witty when Francis chattered about something to him. He felt himself like he wasn’t even from this planet to be this bad at communication.

Yet because of something, Francis still hasn’t stopped seeing him. Was Arthur content with that? He was still munching on the answer.

For starters, Francis loved someone else. Even if he didn’t count his long gone wife, towards whom his feelings hadn’t and probably won’t ever truly wither, Arthur could see something going on between him, and that first prostitute he found him with. Because that was far from the last occasion he caught them, but he was honestly just too heartbroken to care. Or something along those lines. He was happy for him, sure, and he didn’t even know that girl well enough to make a judgement, but it still left that stupid little sting in his chest. Like a little gap appearing on his heart only to tear bigger as time went by. It wasn’t that sharp anyway, just dully suffocating, holding him down at rock bottom. Arthur was the most hopeless of the hopeless.

But that was something he could understand. He didn’t love him back, and that was okay. He didn’t want to feel himself shittier admitting to his feeling in spoken word to Francis, because even if he wouldn’t outright hate him for it, it’d still make things awkward between them. Knowing Francis he most likely couldn’t care less about his gender, so that wasn’t a big deal it’s just that he simply wasn’t interested. And that was fine.

Arthur knew he wasn’t particularly attracting, what would have been his only saving grace from his outlandishly bad social functions. Neither was he outstandingly smart or brave or anything. He honestly was quite a dull person. He did this and that, but he was never as talented as the blue eyed man. It’d be quite honestly a surprise if anyone would ever be romantically interested in a nobody like him.

But even if he changed everything about him, it most likely would be in vain. It was a tad too late for this. There was a thin line in between wanting to desperately be like him or be with him. It was too frustrating and sad and confusing to deal with it on a daily basis. That became all his life.

Francis eternal.

Such a miserable, alienated man as him with nothing to gain or lose in his life only had that flimsily fake yet eternal love towards another man he barely even knew. Just what was his otherwise normally sound and rational brain thinking when it chose to bind itself forever to that bastard?

Now he was almost afraid to be in Francis’ company. Every misstep of his would be a glaring sign of his faulty feelings, ruining what they had. He was scared of touching him, because his skin burnt under his touch, while all his body heated up like a stove in the cold winter. He was terrified of speaking to him, because he was too flustered and tripped over his words and he didn’t want to reveal his secret. And he even frightened of looking at him, genuinely afraid of the possibility that he could read all his muddy swamp of thoughts in his head about him just from his own deep green eyes.

But Arthur couldn't help himself but reach for the forbidden apple. He constantly thought about him anyway, so it wouldn't make a difference if he made the whole ordeal less painful for him. Even seeing him was enough of a painkiller.

So Arthur was positively smitten. And although there wasn't the expected floaty feeling following him around, he could never not have Francis on his mind. That man was like a deadly disease, never leaving him.

Dull were all his days though, since he hadn't been able to actually hold a lengthy conversation with Francis. And recently, he also strayed off of the map like the last time, though this time Arthur was less fearful about him never coming back. Now he perfectly well knew that alive or not he will.

The spider of the night already began sewing its web diligently. Arthur couldn’t sleep, so he started brewing tea; one of the few sophisticated things he was adamant about. He despised coffee and could only enjoy the silky texture of black tea filled with fresh milk. If he wanted to, he could probably survive for a month consuming nothing but it, that was simply how much he adored the delicious warm liquid.

Everything was quiet and peaceful, so he couldn’t help but get lost in his thoughts more often than not. He had nothing else to do this late, but weirdly enough he wasn’t tired at all after the long day of work. It was usually enough to knock him out for good, like good physical tiredness should. Again, he wasn’t particularly interested in or fond of chewing on philosophy or theology – another thing why Francis would never be interested in him either – but he couldn’t help but wonder about certain things sometimes. Master Bonnefoy planted the seed of treason in his head long ago. And maybe it was a bit better thinking about that than his hopeless love. Just maybe.

As soon as he finished, he sat down at the table, staring at the emptiness beside him. Arthur couldn’t even mind how alone he was. Now, having Francis in his heart was enough to fill the space. They could never be together sure, but Arthur could pretend in his heart that someone was sitting beside him, this time his eyes warm, like the summer skies, and caressing his right hand which wasn’t holding the cup. It would be all too perfect.

Maybe he’d be content growing old like this. For him, winter would be the most beautiful season, for him, who wished for a stove and a family only for others. The memory of Francis would be more than enough to keep him warm, and that was more than what he deserved anyway. And he could have kids and grandchildren and a pretty wife again, while Arthur wouldn’t move on. He’d still love the image, the essence of his eternal Francis.

Loud banging on the door pierced through the comfortable silence devouring the British man, lost in foreign land. He honestly would rather do anything else than standing up and opening, possibly having a screaming match with some lunatic in the middle of the goddamn night, but when duty called him, his protective, wary instinct always kicked in first and strong. Something must have been very, very wrong if they had the urge to ask for this kind of frantic help. And it was his job to help the week and the damned.

His tea was left to go cold on the table, as Arthur got up and rushed to the door. He hadn’t actually locked it yet, fastening the process by a lot, which he was thankful for. All seconds mattered when someone’s life was possibly on the line.

The moment he opened the door though, all his passion and hurry died down instantly seeing the person who stood in front of him. A person he knew all too well.

Francis stood there, all his glamour missing. Actually he looked closer to a corpse than anything. His hair was messy and choppy, almost as if some of it was accidentally cut. His eyes were bloody, big back lines under them darkening his expression. The whole of his complex was muddy and dirty, along with some dark red patches still dripping everywhere from him. A sloppily done bandage was wrapped around his left arm, and he put the whole of his weight into only his left leg, using the wall besides him as a crutch. There was nothing on him but a rusty sword bound to his side as his sole comrade. He looked so frail yet also determined and persistent at the same time. And he was that, visible from the fact that he prevailed.

“Can you finally let me in or do you want me to bleed out on your porch Kirkland? “ asked the man impatiently and not even waiting for a response, he tried to force his way into Arthur’s living quarter. It’s not like the green eyed wanted to resist, but he was still frozen in shock from seeing his subject of infatuation in a poor state like this. He was already panicking in his head, not knowing how to, or if he should ask what happened to him, and what he should do. Of course, he knew basic medical things, like to patch up a wound but it felt not enough at all.

The Frenchman didn’t have the strength to put his usual façade on, his face full with annoyance and otherwise blank. His eyes were neither glittering, nor passionate, just merely dark and empty. He stumbled slowly, but determinedly to the closest chair to the door to sit finally down, still wanting to keep his dignity and not collapsing on the floor.

He tried to mask all the pain he must have felt, and to his credit, he hadn’t even winced once, nor did he stop for a breather. He only let himself slump for a moment before straightening his back again, and put on that proud void instead of an honest expression. That is how a real leader looked, and it was only now that Arthur realised this.

Instead of gushing around him, the Englishman hurried to the kitchen and also brought Francis a cup of lukewarm tea. He suspiciously eyed it while snickering, indicating that he did not in fact like tea at all, but gulped down the whole of it quickly at once. The other was fast to deduce that he probably was just as hungry as thirsty he was, and he hurried to get him whatever was lying around.

On a second thought, tending his wounds would have been way more important, but knowing Francis, that wasn’t on top of his worries right now, and he wanted to avoid talking as long as he could. Arthur didn’t want to be the one to make this all worse for him, although questions were already racing in his mind about what could have happened to him.

No, on a second thought that was rather obvious, knowing his past actions. But Arthur didn’t get why he came to him. Was he chased by someone? Or he really was on the brink of death?

“Stop gawking at me. Your eyes will pop out.” Francis’ voice was raspy and sharp, glaring as he contently munched on the slightly old bread he was given.

“You barge into my house in the middle of the night and you still think you have the right to complain? Be happy that I even let you in!” raised his voice as a defence mechanism Arthur.

“Ah, so you want me to leave? Could have said sooner, you bastard!” he hit the table with his remaining strength, but made no attempt at standing up. He was trying to preserve his dignity with this strategic decision.

“What the fuck is your actual problem Bonnefoy? Can you finally explain what’s going on?” Arthur couldn’t help but notice how Francis slipped back to last name basis before, and it felt inappropriate not to reciprocate it, no matter how unnatural it felt. He was almost sad.

The Frenchman bit his lower lip hard, probably saving Arthur from hearing a good round of profanities. When he spoke again, it felt closer to venomous hissing than anything else.

“Not. Your. Fucking. Business.”

“It is my business! You disappear for weeks, then when I see you again, you’re always full of wounds, some horrid news make their way around the city and now you expect me not to be curious?” stepped Arthur closer to the sitting man, asserting authority with his gained height advantage.

“Yes, I actually do. You shouldn’t mess with things way out of your league, otherwise the price would be greater than you can imagine.” The blue eyed man grabbed his shirt, pulling him down to the same level immediately, not letting him take an advantage of his injury. Even now, he was like a proud lion.

“Oh yes? And now you are threatening me? One bloody word, and you are locked away and executed for good, don’t you get it?” Arthur was obviously bluffing, though he wasn’t convinced Francis acted the same way. He could very well imagine Master Bonnefoy killing him because he stood in his way.

He had the audacity to chuckle at that, while looking fiercely into his eyes, the old fire igniting in his gaze again. Only just now did Arthur notice how unnaturally close they were. He could perfectly see every detail of Francis’ delicate skin, every imperfection which made him all the more beautiful. And shit, they were barely a few centimetres apart.

“Huh? I think I perfectly well get it, Kirkland.”

It happened in an instant. Arthur couldn’t even react properly – not that he knew how to act correctly in this situation.

He saw that mischievous, cheeky glitter in his eyes. And the desire burning in them, melting all the ice away.

Francis pulled him closer, closing the gap between them finally. It passed in a second. He didn’t even leave him enough time to reciprocate, or push him away. Like it never happened to begin with. An eyeblink, and it was gone with it.

Arthur blinked a few times with eyes wide as the whole world, frozen completely. Francis, seemingly just freshly realized too what the hell had he done, and blood rushed up into his face in a second. All the cockiness fell off his face the moment he leaned away.

And then Arthur couldn’t help himself but gathered enough courage to do what he wanted to since a good while. If this whole thing was like a dream come true, it might as well have been a dream. So he didn’t give a fuck anymore, and now he was the one grabbing Francis by his shirt to a kiss lot deeper, and more emotional.

Hell went loose. Francis immediately slipped his hands up into hair, grabbing Arthur’s lesser soft locks, but seemingly enjoying himself more than ever. He pulled it hard, out of pure and raw emotion and want, and Arthur yet again couldn’t seem to care whether it hurt or not. He felt Francis closer than ever, and that was more than enough.

Arthur greedily put his hands on Francis’ waist pulling him up from the chair onto his own chest, then he let his fingers roam around freely, up and down on his back, hugging him closer all the while, even if it was physically impossible. His body was way softer than he expected. He felt frail under Arthur’s touch, and he craved to know what his skin felt like too. Probably soft, unlike his calloused fingers.

Lord, just how perfect this man was.

They would have probably continued for hours, had it not been for their lack of breath, and the little hiss that escaped Francis’ mouth, breaking them apart.

Shitshitshitshit—

Arthur hadn’t even realized that that was actually the worst thing one could have done with someone wounded. He quickly slipped his hands forward, finding Francis’ own, while he slowly pushed Francis back into his seat. Though, he couldn’t just leave him like that.

It was the perfect opportunity to run away, to get bandages but he couldn't do that after what he’d done, could he? If his knightly virtues still meant something, then he shan't leave. And judging by the fact that Francis was still firmly holding his hand, he wasn't going to let him go either. He was the one who usually left, so that was kinda ironic honestly.

"I'm-"

"Sorry." finished them each other's sentences.

An awkward silence set into the room, and Arthur couldn't help but shift uncomfortably, trying to regain his composure. He was like a sinfully horny teenager, wasn't he? All of this was just so improper and hideously wrong that shame was already eating him away, and not even a minute passed since their… encounter.

“Shit- I, you are bleeding. I have some bandages in the kitchen, just a moment and I’m back, is that alright?” Arthur really couldn’t ignore him further, not wanting Francis to develop some long lasting issues from him neglecting his condition.

Francis absently nodded along, words dying on the edge of his tongue. He didn’t look like he was here, again. So the only logical thing for Arthur was to rush to that stupid cabinet in which he stored the bandages, because he couldn’t leave him for long.

When he got back, Francis was still sitting in the same slumping position, glaring in front of himself. Like he hadn’t even blinked since Arthur left.

The man approached him more gently than ever, carefully kneeling down before him to access his bleeding arm more comfortably. He tried to smile at Francis, which he hadn’t reciprocated, but he knew better than to get the wrong idea. It didn’t even look as if Francis noticed him.

The misty blue eyed man didn’t wince throughout the process of caring for his wound. Arthur kind of admired him for this, because he handled being injured better than most man in the army he knew. Francis truly wasn’t born to be a priest.

Arthur honestly tried to suppress all his sinful thoughts while tending him, but he was guilty as charged at admiring the pure delight his touch was. Luckily, only the lower part of his arm was hurt, so unclothing was way less complicated than it would have been otherwise. He didn't want to hurt him more than what was necessary. Because even if he feigned indifference, nobody was truly that numb to pain.

"So, what was about that?" Asked Francis first even though Arthur had just as much reason to.

"I don't know. Something."

"Do you want it to be anything?"

"I-I don't know either. Maybe."

"You're so goddamn oblivious, I can't even believe you." Laughed at him simply Francis, while Arthur flustered to hell and back.

He was the oblivious one? No, Francis was the one being way too vague about everything!

"Shut the fuck up." He wasn't truly angry per se, but being defensive was like a reflex to him now.

"Gladly." He answered with a mischievous smirk, grabbing Arthur's shirt again, pressing their mouths violently together. It somehow felt even more emotional than before now that their teeth were clinking roughly together. Arthur would describe it as fighting more than kissing though. A fight for dominance, a fight for their life - just like how they fought every day against each other. Because of some twisted thing this actually turned him on even more, and this time he was the one to grab Francis' very much soft and nurtured and perfect hair.

Francis was just so perfect as a whole.

Somehow, they stood up again and ended up in Arthur’s bedroom, their fierce passion almost burning up everything besides them. And somehow, Arthur couldn’t bring himself to feel himself ashamed because of that. It no longer mattered to him that they were enemies by the law, that he should turn Francis, a mere criminal with the façade of justice in, that they both were men. None of that mattered to him, because he was just so goddamn happy to love and be loved even just for a few hours. This was all he ever wished for, and he wasn’t going to ruin it with overthinking.

*

The morning came faster than it should have. But well, waking up besides Francis who was snuggling to his chest was worth being an early bird for. Not that he could even complain about him waking up a lot later, because not so long after Arthur woke up, Francis followed with the sweetest of smiles. Arthur wanted this to be an everyday occurrence.

“Shame on me, but I really have to go, dear.” Ah, that was expected. At least Francis’ expression genuinely looked regretful, as if it physically pained him to go. Maybe it did. For Arthur, it was that way.

Francis began to dress up while talking, wanting to appear nonchalant. Arthur was still lying in his bed, relishing the view before him, but not finding the strength to actually stand up. Luckily, the sight of Francis was more than enough to entertain him.

“Can’t your revolution wait a few hours? Or days?” Arthur knew that resisting was pointless, but he tried in spite.

“Ah- no. You know that very well. And even if you don’t think that way, the things I do are actually important! It’s not just humbug unlike your own job.”

“Sure, sure.” Answered dismissively Arthur, not even wanting to start an argument. It was pointless to argue with him about things which he felt strongly for. “You know, there’s something which I wanted to ask you about quite a while ago, but I didn’t think you’d answer honestly.”

Francis perked up a bit at the question, dropping the dismissive attitude. “Yeah?”

“Have you ever killed someone?” It wasn’t even about collecting evidence against him or such, Arthur was genuinely interested in what he’ll answer, although he could probably guess it now. It was just good to have reassurance of his postulations, nothing deeper than that.

Francis stopped in his tracks at that for a split second. “What do you think?”

“I’m convinced you did. That man at your spot at the forest, it was you, wasn’t it? And it wouldn’t surprise me if there were more. That’s why you disappear constantly, I think. To fewer the line of enemies.” answered Arthur thoughtfully.

“I’ll neither affirm nor deny your claims. Think what you want about me, I don’t really care. There’s one thing that matters, and you only will know that when time comes. But if you are so certain, I don’t think you care either, if my assumptions are correct.” Smiled back Francis, as he finished pulling up his trousers.

“It sucks to be the dumber out of two. I can’t seem to get you at all sometimes.” said with a deep sigh Arthur, while also making an effort at dressing up.

“You are not dumber!” refuted him a little too fast for his nonchalant attitude Francis. “I’m just being directly vague.”

“And pretentious as hell.” cut in Arthur with an endearing tone. “I hate you.”

“Me too sweetie.” Francis winked at him adorably, then leaned down to get his cape at last.

A loud thud echoed through the room.

Francis became visibly panic, eyes darting around to find what fell out of his pocket. Arthur didn’t understand at first why the frantic hurry, but he began looking for the unknown object too.

But luckily or unluckily, he was the first one to notice it. The blue eyed man was probably too nervous to even see correctly, so it wasn’t a surprise Arthur beat him in it. But well, Arthur couldn’t decide if he cursed Francis’ clumsiness or his own attentiveness more.

He took into his hand the little seashell pendant that landed quite close to him. Arthur knew that motive all too well.

“Huh, ‘Coquillards, rebecquez-vous de la Montjoye’?” quoted Arthur directly a then-nameless poem what he found during one of investigations in a bitter tone. Oh, of course he should have known that Francis wasn’t even an ethical criminal, just an average robber-murderer from that bloody gang! How the fuck could he actually believe that he was acting in the name of greater good or some cliché bullshit?

Arthur felt himself so betrayed and angry like never in his life, and he actually wanted to cry. Just now, that he evidently began trusting in him, let him closer than anyone else, and started deluding himself in the fantasy that they could stay together forever, this comes out? That he was part of the Coquille, and none of that persona he built up before Arthur was true? He loved the fake Francis all along. That person didn’t even exist, and god, he didn’t know if he wanted to scream in agony or hit Bonnefoy to death more.

Francis simply froze when saw the realisation on Arthur’s widen and fearful eyes. He bit down on his lip, thinking how exactly could he explain himself after this, but he kinda knew that it was pointless. But still, he knew he had to try, because he didn’t want to lose Arthur this soon either.

“No- it’s not what you think it is! I hadn’t written that and I am not-“

“Shut up and leave. Now.” Arthur wasn’t even looking at him, but his tone was firm and icy, while Francis looked more desperate than ever.

“Listen to me first! This was my father’s, and not mine! Please, believe me! You know I wouldn’t do things like that! I’d rather starve than to rob from the poor!” he tried holding Arthur’s hand, but he snatched his own away, as if Francis carried some sort of contagious ailment.

“Sure. Yeah. This is exactly what your criminal record shows.” answered Arthur sarcastically, not a single word of Francis’ petty explanations coming through his head.

“But you know I’m not like that! Please I-“

“Bonnefoy. I don’t care. Now leave and never come back otherwise you’ll really end up on the Montjoye.”

Both of the men were heartbroken. They knew if Francis leaves, that will be the end of what they could have had. But Arthur didn’t want him to stay either, because Francis stepped way over the overstepped line. They had no more business with each other if of course he wouldn’t catch Francis red handed at something. And if he really stopped turning a blind eye, it wouldn’t be hard to get him convicted. And he had to.

Maybe he just imagined things, but he saw a sole drop of tear slide down on Francis’ face just before he turned towards the door and rushed out just as if he was chased.

He rushed out just how fast he came to his life to destroy everything. Like a whirlwind, he stormed in and out, and he laughed at the end. Even if he insisted on pretending to the bitter end, Arthur couldn’t let himself believe him once again.

As soon as he heard the front door slammed shut, Arthur merely collapsed right beside his bed, and started veiling as loud as his lungs let him. His head hurt, his eyes burned from tears and he wanted to hurt back anything or anyone. There was just so much disappointment and fury residing in him, that he could no longer continue sealing his emotions away and he wanted to leash out. That’s the least he deserved, right? All his pathetic attempts at living a normal life; having a friend, a lover dare he say, he should have deserved to have it all! And who did Francis imagine himself to be to take this away from him?

He barely noticed that he was still gripping the seashell pendant. He wanted to crush it, throw it against the wall, burn it up and stomp on it, but he somehow couldn’t get himself to actually go through any of his ideas. That was all what was left of him after all. The very thing that destroyed everything. Arthur felt so pathetic and laughable that he wanted to die but still clenched it to his chest.

And the was a greatest ridicule is, that he hadn’t sinned more than Francis did against him.

Chapter Text

Arthur wasn't even surprised anymore that the news of a soldier stabbed to death caught his ear on the station. Again, he was handed out to the task - his failure a few months ago was admittedly not entirely his fault, because there was no tangible evidence other than his word. Now, he wasn't about to make a mistake once again.

It's still weird that months passed since then. And since they've been ignoring each other with Francis. Of course, it was impossible to fully avoid the other, but it's not like they spared more than a glance. Like they were complete and utter strangers.

Arthur contemplated hard whether to give Francis in or not. Maybe he should have sooner. Then, this wouldn't have happened yet again. Another life was taken just because he couldn't separate his feelings from his job. So, even if he disappointed his people and himself on multiple occasions, he couldn't continue this cycle anymore. It would be inexcusable, and unforgivable; to let down the ones he swore to protect any longer.

He gave Francis way more than enough chances already, and he clearly hadn't appreciated any of it. He gave life, and Master Bonnefoy answered with death. It wasn't fair how Arthur tried everything, risked his job and all, and he hadn't cared a single bit. Guess his naivety was partially his fault after all. He clung to the first person who gave the smallest attention to him, and his judgement was clouded because of it too. He deliberately ignored his sober, logical brain.

But everything has to end one day. So he locked the cage holding his heart for good and braced himself that they'll probably next meet again after the bell tolled with the chiming of the end. He had given up on Francis already, so it wouldn't hurt to see him hanged, would it? Bonnefoy was as good as gone even now. Actual death wouldn't and quite frankly shouldn't change a thing. They were nothing but strangers. Like they should be.

He didn't even want to think how he honestly felt about the situation. Numb was better than acknowledging the whirlwind raging in him. The whirlwind he stood alone in since the start. It was liberating not to resist. To let himself get taken away, founding a ground no longer, and just be dragged like the puppet he was. He felt free being trapped there.

So that's why he hasn't hesitated any longer when he was asked to find the possible culprit.

When he went home, he couldn't even get himself to make tea, or anything else. He just laid at his table not where he usually set, but at the one Francis did. Recently he hadn't really slept in his own bed. It was kinda uncomfortable that way, but he was even less motivated about doing something against it. And his bed reminded him of Francis.

It wasn't fair that he was the only one sulking and feeling depressed. Afterall, a relationship was supposed to go both ways. The pain of ending it too. But it didn't seem if Francis regret anything. He didn't seem like he cared during the past days, while he disappeared again, or when he was apprehended.

Not that Arthur was there at the exact moment, but he could guess. They hadn’t acknowledged each other whatsoever. Because of something, it unbelievably stung to Arthur, even though he’d been sure before that he let all his feelings go with the wind.

When he went home, he opened the bottle of whiskey he got as an appreciation of his good work a few months ago, and his gift was also gone faster than it should have been. Two days before, he wanted to stop drinking for good after realizing he didn’t have enough money to go to taverns.

His lack of sobriety during the haze he lived in since they parted ways with Francis was apparent in many ways. He lost track of the days, and everything just seemed mudded together. Like he couldn’t even remember anything distinct other than the never-ending pain piling inside of him. He didn’t know if today was supposed to be Monday or Friday. It was all the same without Francis.

He didn’t want to live a life like this. Everything just seemed to be slipping apart, and he felt himself so hopeless trying to scramble it back together. It wasn’t even worth trying, because he knew that it’d end in disappointment.

Francis was sentenced to be hanged.

*

Arthur was tired of the investigation. He knew Francis was responsible for killing that poor man, but without him leaving a single trace it was more than hard to prove his guiltiness or even his existence. He has been alive at some point, but now he just didn’t exist. He shouldn’t even. He was a mere outlaw.

Of course, Arthur wasn’t born yesterday. He had his own morality and stuff sure, but that being said, he also got a knack about how things worked in this world if there wasn’t any evidence. He just didn’t feel like doing anyone favours anymore and not being a dickhead instead. Nobody thanked him for resisting what was expected of him – even if that should have been the bare minimum. At least some appreciation would have been alright. Arthur was too tired to continue this, and honestly? He couldn’t care less if innocent people were publicly humiliated and ridiculed to scare people away from committing actual crimes. They for sure wouldn’t be anymore. A tad bit radical, but it did the job anyway. And it was pointless to play the good guy.

Why should he be decent? He’ll be laid out, anyhow!
Why shouldn’t he be decent? He’ll be laid out, anyhow.

The answer to this question was quite simple. It wasn’t worth being decent even if he realized this way too late. Because decency was what other people expected but never gave back to him. It was expected from the weak, and he wasn’t that. Not anymore.

The last people who returned what he gave were his parents, and they long ago smelt the violets from the nether side of the earth. That was it. He got the short end of the stick or something, but he didn’t even care anymore. His pity party wouldn’t make a change to his miserable state.

He had to bring back someone else if he couldn’t find Master Bonnefoy.

Those three he managed to get weren’t innocent completely either. Not guilty of murdering that soldier, but not innocent in other crimes. A serial rapist, a robber and an assaulter. Scum of the earth, whose crimes weren’t taken enough seriously. They deserved what they’ll get, but it was annoying anyway that Francis wouldn’t be the one he could present. The one who should really suffer.

He was still a phantom though, a flimsy little monster who only lived in his head. It would be actually funny if he was long dead, and just his pitiful brain imagined him existing. But sometimes he felt that was the only explanation of his whereabouts. That it was just a clean period for Arthur’s psyche.

He arrived to the station kinda down because of this. Francis was going to show up anyway when he chose to. Someday. Any day. He always came back, whether one liked or not. And then they could finally end it for good.

Arthur was almost hungry for the end, even if he himself had no idea what he meant by that. Did he want Francis dead? No, he wasn’t that heartless even after everything. He just wanted some gratification. Some kind of acknowledgment of his suffering, and finally him laughing at the end only.

Because it was really due now. To win once.

He pushed the suspects towards the station with aggressive, threatening force while he was practically screaming orders and humiliating insults at them, waving his sword up and down like a maniac. Francis stole his sound mind. But the fear in their eye was worth making a fool of himself. No one would dare to bring this up against him at least, and after this much time spent in passive hatred, he didn’t care if they were whispering one more thing about him. It wouldn’t be something never said before.

He released most of his frustrations by the time they reached the station luckily. Of course, he still had energy to interrogate if he had to, but anyways. At least he felt himself a bit better, and couldn’t give a shit if he could have been deemed as cruel. They were criminals, and he did not care for their reasons at all. Criminals were criminals, and they all deserved punishment. This included Francis.

Though, Arthur was still grumpy by the time he arrived, again understandably. It’s not like the suffering of those monsters gave him a particular satisfaction; he just needed to release some frustration. And no, he refused to do that at a brothel, because of obvious reasons.

He was Francis’ and Francis was his.

He didn’t want to change or try to hide that fact. They gave themselves to the other, and Arthur didn’t want to do anything ever with others. He was a sore loser, wasn’t he?

It was stupid. Really stupid, because he should have done literally everything to get over him faster, but he still chose to rather stay attached. All his shine of pitifulness burnt brighter than ever. No, trying and surely failing to move on wouldn’t be fair towards his next partner. Francis was his first and last love, the strongest and purest of all –

Francis eternal.

If he were alone he would have even chuckled at that. The phase seemed too shallow after what happened. Still, he could never look at the sky and not see his eyes, at a wheat field without being reminded of his hair or go to patrol outside the walls of the city and not thinking constantly about the man who ruined his life.

Francis was Laura to his Petrarch and Beatrice to his Alighieri. Someone who was almost but a mere image he fell in love with. Because Francis was a bad man. Just simply a horrid person, a mere criminal with no values whatsoever. Undeserving of love – at least more than Arthur for sure.

So why was it he who was punished for this all?

Maybe you shouldn’t have been this fast at throwing him out. Maybe you should have listened to his excuses after all. – a small part of his heart tried desperately scolding him, trying to blame the outcome on himself.

No, he would have only succeeded in manipulating you to not be snitched out. Are you really that stupid to believe in a Coquillard? – but the rational part of him was always stronger. More dominant, because he was in fact a logical and rational person. Normally, he didn’t let his emotions sway him – or anything else on that note. No bribe, no threats no nothing.

So then why, why was Master Bonnefoy there, jolly to ruin his perfect rule with the wrongful exception of his existence?

He absent-mindedly listened to his superior instructing him to escort his suspects to a cell. And he overheard some talking of his colleagues that an execution would be held for some of the criminals the next week. The usual stuff.

Arthur was never particularly moved by the death of criminals. It wasn’t some tragic thing needed to be mourned, but also not a celebration. Just a plain old day, like the rest. He sent way too many people to the gallows to care, even if he had never directly murdered anyone. It wasn’t really the executioner who’d be sent to Hell, but the mastermind behind it. One could argue he was only following orders too, but just like in Francis’ case; he had more power and freedom than he was accredited for. Than he should have quite honestly.

He clearly wasn't fit enough to make sound judgements and was way too attached to the wrong person. And who's to say if Francis would really be eternal - maybe Arthur will repeat the same mistake sometime. That was ridiculous to even think about considering how smitten he was still, but Kirkland became suspicious towards his very own self.

He started playing with a funny thought. What if Francis was really caught and sent to be executed with that bunch his coworkers talked about?

After all, that would be a bit too real. Now, he perfectly well understood that neither of them want to do anything with the other from that point. They were dead to each other. But that was not real of course since they let the slimmest bit of chance change anything. It was an option to forget and forgive. Death was a pit of void. Things fell through and never returned. They'll never have a chance to make up.

If Francis died that would be the end of him too. He barely could bear a life without Francis this way but if he died-

It was cruel towards himself if he kept thinking about this. And it was a stupid postulation. He knew that man less then more, but if one thing was sure than it’s the fact that he was cautious and wouldn’t let himself get behind bars. Not until he was done with whatever purpose he had in this world.

He could almost see how he turned away from him with a cheeky smile, standing far from him and his blue cape blowing just like his golden hair. The prince of deceit and dishonesty.

Maybe the only purpose he had was to have fun, and that was okay. No, on another thought it wasn’t, but whatever. Arthur didn’t want to give a fuck anymore.

He finished his job diligently. The criminals were locked in their designated cells – planned to be held there until their show trials took place, and then they’d be publicly humiliated. Arthur would make sure they aren’t let go, even if innocent in that certain murder. Then, they’d be executed. They will die but Francis will not.

And Arthur would be still waking up at the dinner table feeling drowsy from hangover. Nothing will change, because this was a plain old day for him. One he’ll forget before it even ends. It wasn’t worth paying attention, and he let the time just pass by. Way better than actively wishing for things to end for him.

But he hasn’t completely zooned out, and that’s where problems started. Because as he turned away from the cell to sat on the chair by the door where his spot for the rest of the day was as the supervisor of prisoners was, he saw something he shouldn’t have.

The monotony of dirty walls were tainted by a mop of shiny yellow and the bluest eyes ever. He was faintly smiling at him, suggestively glaring at him, still having the old aura of superiority around him. Like he was at least Alexander the Great. He sat on the floor, one leg pulled up to his chest while resting the corresponding arm on it. The man didn’t look uncomfortable at all, like he was at home in the stench of the prison. Like he’d been here before.

His face looked fresh as ever, and the moment he realised Arthur finally noticed him, he pulled the edges of his mouth in a wide chelsea grin. Arthur realised that he fell in love with a lunatic. He was completely nuts by the looks of it.

And then the next thing which hit him was the faint line of information he caught before.

Ah, Francis would be executed soon.

Maybe that’s why he was laughing. Because he actually burst out laughing and Arthur couldn’t decide if it was genuine enjoyment or his mind breaking from the stress and desperation of his inevitable lonely death.

He couldn’t even start thinking about that on a deeper level or something. The next thing he remembered that he collapsed onto the chair, frantically grabbing the wall to get a grip on the world, while all sounds died down but the maniac laughter of Francis. If he didn’t start hyperventilating, he might have noticed a single drop of tear escaping Francis’ eyes, but he everything was too much to pay attention to little and meaningless details like that.

All that mattered is that Francis was going to be executed.

And Lord, did Arthur curse thy name at that moment harder than anything, because this way plainly cruel. And he desperately regret ever thinking anything bad about Francis.

That day, he hadn’t talked at all. They set next to each other on the ground, back turned against the other’s silently and wordlessly without a care what inmates thought. They didn’t utter a word, yet both of them knew that the other’s love and soul only burnt for the other. And Francis knew that Arthur will mourn him soon for sure.

Chapter Text

“You know, I’ve been working on a new poem recently. Do you want to hear it?” Francis’ voice cut through the gloomy atmosphere, although they were still sitting back to back. It was Arthur who radiated the most misery though, Francis didn’t seem particularly bothered, even if the situation should have been reversed.

“No.” Arthur was grumpy as ever, and this coated yes received a dry laughter from Francis. Of course he’d be interested in hearing it. It was better than the silence anyway, and the clock would at least thick a bit faster. Maybe that’s why Arthur was that afraid to kill the time.

“ ‘Stealing the day is oh-so wrong’: don’t get where you’re coming from. Give me breakfast, wine and bread for free – and I’ll get out of bed! It’s your sin and mine is not, that you left me all alone. Give me money, peace and rights, I’ll shout then: I shall not die!”

It’s been a few days since they got to know the inevitable end of their flimsy little relationship. They haven’t talked though for the most of it. Arthur couldn’t handle seeing Francis eye to eye, that’s why the both of them sat on the dirty floor. And because he had special connections and privileges, he managed to get Francis transported into a more secluded cell, where no one would bother them. And the others wouldn’t stare at them with those prying gazes. It made Arthur feel uncanny. It reminded him that what he was doing was stupid and wrong.

“It’s total crap. You’ve lost your edge poet boy.” rolled Arthur his eyes. It wasn’t crap per se, but he hated the theme. All he heard during these days is Francis quietly praying trying to repent for his sins or whatever. He didn’t take the man for the religious type. It seemed too genuine and all.

“Guess so. You know, I can’t write a better one if my muse is all sulky and gloomy. It’s boring.”

“Be happy I even entertain you. I actually do have other things to do. If you don’t want me to be here this much, I’ll happily leave.” He rather didn’t comment on the muse stuff, because it uncomfortably sounded like flirting and he didn’t know what to do with that. He thought Francis got the signal and acknowledged the fact that whatever was or could have been between them was long ago over.

“We both know you wouldn’t do that. Don’t you think it’s a bit silly that you’re still lying to yourself at this point?” Francis was sharp as ever, and it’s not like he could ever let Arthur have the last word in anything. He was just as petty as the Englishman.

“What a hypocrite you are. It’s because of your dishonesty that we are here anyway.” the Frenchman only chuckled at that.

“Hold on Kirkland. I wasn’t trying to call you out. It’s not that serious. I was just pointing out a tiny discrepancy in your testimony after all. Like on a fair trial. Rings a bell? The one I’ve never got?” His voice turned bitter at the end. It was stupid again. He didn’t deserve to be this bitter by getting what he brought upon himself. What he wanted.

But it still felt so, so bad that he got called by him on his last name.

“You’re doing that now. I haven’t actually got you behind bars. And you gave me no reasons ever to stand up for you anyway. Shut up and deal with it.” he spouted those words sharply and cruelly “Can’t believe you are still only thinking about your fucking social justice bullshit…” he murmured quietly, but of course Francis couldn’t not hear that sentence.

“It’s because of the lack of social justice I’m here. Whether you believe it or not, I don’t consider myself a bad man. Not even morally grey. At least I’m better by miles than any of you, even if I had my fair share of mishaps when I was younger.”

“Just because you’re self-righteous and pretentious, it doesn’t mean you have the right to judge me too. Think whatever you want about yourself but you can’t judge a whole people by your biased standards.”

“Is this self-righteousness? My hands are purer than all of yours combined. Tell me, what did I do wrong? Why is that I deserve to die, while you corrupt assholes get to live longer on this slump of filth, we call Earth?” his voice was laced with poison, actually seeming annoyed and angry. It’s the best emotion Arthur could got out of him during the week. Actually, this was the first time he wasn’t being sarcastic about his execution and truly seemed humane. He feared death just like all of them.

“Since when would you categorise killing and robbing innocent people fair and just? You know, I get it. You hate this world, right? And you hate aristocrats, priests, soldiers, believers and just about anyone who contributes to holding up the status quo. You think their deaths are justified because you do a favour to society by ‘cleansing’ it. I really get it. But it doesn’t change the fact that it’s plainly wrong and stupid just like all your ideals.” Arthur sure as hell hoped that his words finally reached him. He actually was convinced he had the upper hand for once, being quite confident about his psycho analysis.

Francis wasn’t that mysterious and enigmatic when you made an effort at solving him. Because despite everything, Francis wasn’t a god. A plain old human with the plain old flaws and sins; pride, lust and vanity. He was just merely unapologetic about it, that’s what made him different from the rest. That he didn’t even try to hide it.

“As much as you think you understand me, unfortunately you do not. There is a very simple reason for that, but your stubborn and oblivious head never seems to get that. Funny, but I think things like this would happen much less frequently if education was accessible to anyone freely. You learn not to only accept what you see but ask questions. It’s a crucial skill you are very clearly missing, darling.” his voice was fierce and more annoyed than ever.

Actually, Arthur would like to have his last name back. Even asshole is better than that cynical way of saying a pet name. Like a reminder what Arthur missed out on.

“I don’t get. You did this, didn’t you? Perhaps not the newest killing, but you certainly are no innocent man. You know, no one will understand you if you don’t even try to defend or explain yourself. Say something if you want otherwise, you’ll remain silent forever.”

“You really don’t get this.” Francis had the audacity to start laughing carefreely “You already decided that I’m the killer. The most evil person alive. I was never intended to have an honest and fair audience. You are merely blind if you don’t see this.”

“Why am I even trying with you if you can’t take me seriously? Fucking Coquillard. Not everyone is a smartass like you or whatever. Mostly, nobody cares for cracking your code when everyone has their own issues. Play mind games with those who are entertained by them. Not with the justice system.” Francis snickered at that expression again “Seriously! I don’t even get why I’ve put up with your mystic schtick for this long. You didn’t fucking deserve it at all.”

“Okay. I guess I can be okay with that. Maybe I didn’t. But neither did you. I thought – Well whatever. I’m gonna die today. I never honestly thought this could work out, this thing between us. But who am I to try to hide my feelings? I’m a poet, even if a shitty one.” Arthur felt a knife sharply, but slowly and painfully stabbed into his chest. He didn’t want him to continue.

“I guess I always fell for the wrong person. My biggest mistake was to think that you are intriguing. I loved our encounters, because you managed to entertain me. I thought you’ll get me, being cast away by everyone. Even if there were precipices between our morals and thoughts, I didn’t care nor was adamant about changing you. It’s kinda lame how this all turned out. You judge a bit too fast. You are dumb and naïve. I –“

“Shut up. I get it, you hate me now. You claimed the prize, and now I don’t matter to you at all. I don’t care about your trash talking. You were this hateful since the beginning, weren’t you? You never actually cared about me as a person, you just admitted.”

“You don’t know me at all.”

“Yeah, I don’t, because you never let me get to know you.”

“What do you want to know about me, huh? I’m Francis Bonnefoy, illegitimate son of a bitch and a priest, enrolled to Sorbonne to become a priest at the age of sixteen, now kicked out in my final year, local resistance and student protest leader, mediocre poet and a petty thief. My biggest desire is to eat three times a day, and I love to have sex. I’m in love with the most dense, stupid absent-minded git on the whole wide world. That’s fucking all to me, and yet you still managed to miss out on it. Have I ever lied to you about a crime I did? Have I ever given you a reason to not trust me?” his voice was becoming more desperate and hysterical, but Arthur wasn’t going to let him get away without a fight.

“Yeah, you did. You disappear for weeks, people turn out to be dead all around you, and if you are not by any chance cursed, I’m inclined to believe you have something to do with all of that yourself. You never tell me anything, you are rude, most of the time seeming to hate me for no fucking reason and you can’t think about anything else than your unrealistic ideals without a single touch to reality. You made me risk my job on multiple occasions, you probably cheated on me more times than you can count and you can’t tell right from wrong while also-“ Arthur was very much keen on continuing but Francis interrupted harshly.

“Me cheating on you? God please, my dear and all mighty God bring my execution date sooner to reunite with thy holiness because I just can’t with this man.” He clapped his hands together mimicking a prayer while singing like priests did during mass. He even started spouting some Latin nonsense Arthur couldn’t understand at all. “First of all, I haven’t fucked with anyone after you, nor since shortly after we met. I gave up on bloody stealing for you, while you didn’t give a shit about me, but you are always so stuck up in your ass that you haven’t noticed anything around you. And I don’t want anyone if it isn’t you. I thought I could never love anyone truly after Jeanne was murdered by the likes of you, and here it is what it brought upon me. Well, fuck whatever. I don’t give a single shit anymore.”

Arthur couldn’t bring himself to answer to that, he was simply so taken aback by what he told. Maybe he really thought of him too lowly, he admitted silently. Sure Francis still wasn’t the moral high ground he claimed to be, but he wasn’t half as bad if he had to be honest. No, he was unfair after all, and more importantly, they never fucking talked to each other raw and honest like now. Actually it was kinda pathetic that Francis has to die for it to happen.

Maybe they could have avoided their fate.

“Finally got you shocked? Flabbergasted?” snickered Francis “Tell me than, what do think of me?”

“I-I don’t know. I mean, I don’t believe half of what you say usually, but like- Fuck. You know, I admit some of this my fault, okay? But you also never tried communicating with me before without all your charade of enigma.” Arthur sensed that he said the wrong thing immediately, because the temperature seemed to drop in an instant. The previous heat of argument was gone in a flash, like a thunderbolt crashing down, and all it left was a frozen wasteland.

“Funny, how you continue on criticizing me, while you admit that even when I’m telling you the truth, you refuse to believe me.” said Francis harshly after a brief pause “Not just that you haven’t listened to me when I tried to explain things, but you flat out don’t believe me from the start. Yeah, I get it now. I’m a good whore myself, am I not? That’s the only thing you needed me for, and you just dropped me at the first fucking chance you got. Well, congratulations.” Francis stood up, flinching away from the touch of Arthur’s back in an instant, and the green-eyed man just couldn’t miss the way his voice cracked at his last sentence.

Arthur jumped into action, and turned towards Francis, who started pacing around the tight cell he was forced to spend his last hours in.

“No Francis, wait! You know I didn’t mean it like that!” pleaded desperately, knowing very well that Francis just wanted to get back at him. And it was an even shittier feeling that he got that, because the guilt made it all the more unbearable.

“Now who is the dishonest one? Seriously I can’t even believe you.” snapped the poet at him.

“For fuck’s sake, Francis I believe that you love me, and so do I. That’s what you wanted to hear, right? I love you even though everything. But it’s not easy for me neither, because you go against everything I believe in. My whole worldview and livelihood. You can’t just expect that everything works out perfectly like in a novel or something, and that I can easily throw everything away because of you! Maybe I would, eventually, but it isn’t fair that you expect me to change to who you want me to be instead of accepting who I am and learn to cope with it. What do you love in me to begin with, if you want me to be somebody else? I may be similar to your late wife, but I’m just not her. And I can’t nor want to be her.”

That made the golden haired man stop in his tracks. He started chewing on one of his fingers, while brushing his eyebrows together, frowning at the wall in front of him.

It was truer than everything that was said before.

Francis sighed deeply while closing his eyes, and making his way determinedly back to where he sat before, only this time facing Arthur boldly, with a fierce expression.

Arthur was more than confused at first at the sudden change of heart, but apparently Francis’ mood switched faster than the weather in spring. It was sunny one day, then it started pouring cats and dogs, then it was windy and only warm at certain places where the veil of clouds loosened up. It was weird, unconventional and confusing, but Arthur didn’t let it turn him away from Francis even though he knew it should.

“Okay. Sorry. I am truly sorry. Would you mind if, I don’t know, we started anew? Get to know each other and shit, because apparently both of us took things half-assed and we prematurely thought that this was enough for a relationship. So, can we restart once again? So, you know. If I get to be reborn once again, it’d be nice to meet you again again, especially if I don’t harbour any ill feelings towards the old you.” smiled at him gently Francis, without any trace of the anger before.

Arthur blushed at that furiously. "Yeah, that'd be nice. Okay." He held out his left hand, his face was still burning brightly and he couldn't bear to look at him.

Francis merely giggled at his dorkiness at first, then accepted the hand before him gently. His palms were comfortably warm, and the same size as his, just like their height. Arthur liked it pretty much this way, that they could see eye to eye perfectly, because it reminded him that despite their differences, they were equal to each other.

And they were perfectly made for the other.

"So, the most beautiful afternoon, I'm Francis. I'm me and that's all you have to know." He tilted his head a bit sideways while he talked in a singing-like voice and was childishly grinning at him, which was goddamn cute in Arthur's humble opinion.

“Hi, I’m Arthur. Nice to meet you, my darling stranger.”

Arthur couldn’t help but get lost into the warm ocean in his eyes, warming every single bit of himself. He smiled so dearly to add onto the kindness plastered on his face, that it just made his heart melt, like the flickering of the fire on a harsh winter day. He was just so happy to be with him, to stare at him, to hold his hand and all. He would be content stopping the time forever in this very moment.

The most peaceful and heartfelt moment they ever had. He didn’t feel the same kind of distortion in his heart he usually did when interacting with him, even if they weren’t arguing. He was just too blind to see this sooner, that Francis wasn’t entirely at fault for how things turned out to be. And that he had to learn to trust him more, and everyone else too if he wanted to have human relationships.

But still, did they really have to end up here for them to come to terms with themselves and the other? Couldn’t it have happened sooner, because of which they could avoid this? Or were they doomed from the start? Those bloody Moirai were truly cruel if they were. The both of them deserved a bit of happiness after all the suffering they put each other through, and this wasn’t even mere whining, but a fair want. They had to have their happy ending.

One thing still bothered him a bit though. This reconciling was nice and all, but that didn’t explain the question of Francis’ innocence in the first murder. Arthur didn’t want to ruin their moment, but time of his execution was nigh. In a few minutes the bells will toll and then the guards would come and take him away.

Arthur would be unable to do anything.

It isn’t like Francis expected him to be the knight in shining armour; he was surprisingly indifferent for someone who was half foot in the grave. He never once pleaded with him or anything. It would be out of character from him admittedly.

“What’s it Arthur?” asked him Francis, as if he could sense the disturbance reappearing. There was nothing to be hidden now.

“Francis, please be honest with me. The first man by the clearing, you killed him, didn’t you? If I had been in his place… would you have killed me too?” Francis’ eyes turned bleak and unreadable again. Arthur knew he shouldn’t have pushed further, but he also knew that there wasn’t going to be any more chance to ask that. And he wanted to know. The first half of the loaded question wasn’t going to change the fact what he thought of Francis, but he just needed some fucking answers. Just this one. For the second… he wanted to know which was more important; him or his ideals?

The bells started chiming for him.

Francis burst out laughing as guards flooded the room to take him away for an eternity.

Arthur stepped aside with lowered head, and the other man did not resist at all when his wrists were bound again, and he was roughly showed out of his cell. He only tried to hold himself from being dragged away for a second, during which he turned back with a jeering expression, and said his last worst which burnt to Arthur’s head for ever on and on. Which had been already said before when he asked about this thing.

“What do you think?”

*

Francis was defiantly standing in a line with other dead man. He couldn’t concentrate on what was being said, but he certainly didn’t want to show an ounce of despair or weakness to the audience. As if it was a play or something. He hated to be seen weak, so he wasn’t going to until his last dying breath.

He was actually proud of himself. If that was the price of him not shutting up his mouth, then so be it. It’s not like the fire he started would lose its spark, no, his death would only fuel it to burn brighter than ever. He was certain that all his life wasn’t going to be in vain.

At least, that’s what he hoped.

Yes, he did waste a lot of time mindlessly away, he was far from perfect and didn’t always do the right thing per se, but he wished for nothing more than to leave a legacy his comrades could build on. He almost wanted to smile, because despite change being still a bit far away, farther than what he would have liked it to be, but it was still happening. He left a grave impact for the better and that was enough for him, who haven’t even reached the age of Christ.

He would have stood there with a smile had it not been for the fact that now he left Arthur all alone. Quite honestly, he felt an unbearable guilt that he couldn’t completely repair the things between them. That no matter what he did now, he should have done it much sooner. But well, at least they wouldn’t be parting with a grudge between them. Yeah, that was the best for both of their souls, even though it was the very least.

He absently started searching around the gathered folk with his eyes to find the familiar mop of blonde he grew a bit too fond of. Seeing Arthur made him calmer a bit, although he wasn’t particularly panicking before. He just wanted Arthur to be the last thing he saw on this earthly realm.

It’d be more pleasant if he was smiling a bit. He looked rather close to crying actually, which wasn’t an uplifting scene, but whatever. If their roles were reversed, Francis would probably act the same way, if not worse. There is only so much his pride of composition can handle.

There were five of them, all standing in front of their respective ropes. Francis clutched on the rosary cross he last minute could grab from his pocket. Some habits died hard, and praying was a thing exactly like that. Maybe he hadn’t completely given up on believing, if he had to be honest with himself. But that was fine.

He hated only his father, who he wasn’t even sure was his father though. That hadn’t changed even now. It was either him, or that Coquillard guy his mother used to bang before, but that hadn’t changed the fact that that bloody priest brought him up, not his only sure, and other potential parent. That’s how he got the necklace anyway. When he died his mother kept it, and he was given that shit at one of his birthdays. It was weird that he kept it throughout the years, when he felt the least connection to any of his goddamn relatives who never gave a shit about him. Of course, that only brought misfortune at him as it seemed, but whatever. Everything was sorted out, and it wasn’t worth being pissed off again because of it.

But it would have been nice if Arthur listened to the true story too. That he was neither a Coquillard nor a killer. He was as innocent as his living conditions let him to be.

But whatever. It didn’t make a difference anymore as it seemed. He wouldn’t be the first to die innocently.

Ah, someone placed the rope into his neck. Soon, it was time. So he started for the last time quietly murmuring.

“Pater noster, qui es in caelis…”

“STOP AT LAST!”

Francis snapped his eyes open, while the breath he just tried to exhale stuck in his throat. That was…

Someone rode in on a white horse with a dramatically large paper and started shouting the new orders given from Charles d’Orléans himself.

All felons are given amnesty in respect to a grand victory soldiers achieved this day. It all happened in a flash, in fact everything was so fast that Francis didn’t even have the time to comprehend that he was given an other chance. The next second the rope was off his neck, his wrists unbound, and he started stumbling forward instinctively, where his legs took him.

He was free and alive.

Of course, his legs brought him to Arthur. Always and forever. He didn’t even care for the crowd’s burning gazes, or disapproving muttering or anything. He just had to hear Arthur say anything, because he couldn’t quite believe that it was real. That he wasn’t going to die anytime soon, even if his neck was still itching from the disgusting texture of the rope.

He almost collapsed into Arthur’s arms, had it not been for the fact that his self-preservation could withstand the ten disasters. The green-eyed man looked just as flabbergasted if not more than him, so neither of them found their words. Francis’ mind was still foggy and hazy, wanting to scream in relief and euphoria, or just simply kiss him or anything, but he wasn’t able to move simply. He just couldn’t.

“I-Arthur I-“

But Arthur snapped out when he heard him stumbling on his words.

“No.” he refused to even look at him, and Francis just completely shattered. What? Just a few minutes ago everything was alright and he was freed and alive and –

“Ah. So you think ‘yes’ is my answer, don’t you?” Francis was still out of it. The words didn’t seem as if they came out of his mouth. It was dry and lacked the usual cynical teasing. It lost the edge.

But that was the only logical conclusion. Francis didn’t even need to think twice. It was quite a shame though; it seems that Arthur hadn’t changed at all.

Well, was it even worth trying if he thinks of him so badly that he couldn’t even feel the bare minimum towards him, meaning that he didn’t want to kill him? That he couldn’t even kill an animal, let alone another human being who he loved more than anything?

At this point, the problems weren’t with him, rather Arthur, who was convinced he was the worst of the worst. It hurt so fucking much.

He couldn’t be this bad, right? He wasn’t the asshole for wanting Arthur to prove him that he finally fucking believed him?

Honestly, fuck Arthur at this point. If he didn’t want anything to do with him, then Francis wouldn’t force it any further. It was pointless.

He wanted to go home, but then again he remembered that there wasn’t such a thing as home for him. He was alone and will remain that for the rest of his life.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been that bad to die. It certainly would have been better than whatever this is. Once a blessing, now he cursed the prince more than anything. And this radical change happened under less then five minutes. He felt sick in the stomach, and he seriously considered begging to the executioners to kill him, or he’ll do it himself. He’ll throw himself into the Seine or burn himself up in front of the fucking palace, but he can’t just do this anymore.

He was a dead man anyway, wasn’t he?

So he walked away, after he woke up from the trance. Somewhat. He was still on auto-pilot though for the rest of the day, and he couldn’t remember where he ended up sleeping that night. It didn’t even matter anymore honestly.

Arthur fled way before him from the scene, and he haven’t even noticed.

Maybe he did die, and this was just a special hell made just for him. It was worse than freezing to death again and again while Satan chewed on him for sure.

Chapter Text

1455, somewhere in France

Arthur’s life returned to normal in the past few years. Nothing has been happening really, it was bland and boring just like before he met that hellfire of a man. Just like he enjoyed it. That was what he desired for during his time with him after all, wasn’t it?

He liked getting back the order in his life. Getting up, working, sleeping; no more distractions, pain or confusion. Just the plain and ordinary life he’d been always dreaming of. In retrospect, he didn’t understand at all why he even tried with Francis. He turned inside out, forgetting about every rule and principle he set before himself, and failed to execute his job properly. He was the broken cog in the machine, and the malfunction had deadly consequences. He was lucky that he wasn’t replaced before he could correct himself. And the machine continued moving forward like the cog of time.

To be honest, most of his life was a blur, including these three years. It was comforting, albeit the monotony. Because of the monotony.

He carefully locked his heart since then and threw the key to it in the Seine. The beautiful and diligent lady the Seine was, she destroyed it with glee, along with all his stupid thoughts and hopes of his. Afterall, someday, somehow, he had to grow up.

Arthur couldn’t be the naïve little boy he always acted as. The one who cried himself to sleep because he missed his parents, the one who mourned the love he never had. It was such a waste of his time. Of course, he had a lot of time to live up, but that still didn’t mean he should spend it wastefully. Suffering and blaming himself for things outside of his control.

Because it wasn’t his fault. It was Francis’, it was Gods or Fates or whatever controlled how or who he was born as, it was the governments, – those sleazy bastards could play with him like marionettes – his superiors, and he could continue blaming everyone to no end, but it still wasn’t his goddamn fault! He acted just as he was supposed to, made mostly right decisions and knew when to stop. He really did, no matter how much self-control he needed. He was always good at that, wasn’t he? Act like the goody two shoes he was. No, even he let some of his control slip, because he didn’t get that bastard murderer executed.

Ah. He reminded himself that he oughtn’t think about him again. He gave an answer that day, however unclear, no matter how much he wanted to sugarcoat it. Arthur saw it in the eyes of that lunatic, that he wasn’t afraid to do anything against someone who stood in his way.

And Arthur did that with his whole existence. They were mortal enemies. An oxymoron. A relationship between them could never even exist, because they couldn’t coexist as two separate persons either. They were doomed from the start.

So it wasn’t his fault obviously, even if a voice at the back of his head said otherwise.

He had enough of being the one in the wrong always, who just had to suck all the hurt up. He deserved to be right in finally just one thing!

So did his days pass without him noticing it at all. Sometimes the Seine washed up some of his hidden thoughts from the bottom of his heart. Then, and only then, he felt horrible again, and let himself to be torn up by the absence of his special one. It wasn’t that bad when he let himself be a human once in a while, or not?

*

Something curious happened though on day. It was worth to be noting, because rarely ever did happen such. He wasn’t even working that day, which was already quite remarkable, not much the fact that he was only getting his groceries. Even a puppet-like person as him needed to meet basic needs to survive.

He never had a particular reason to survive, he just knew he had to. That was the natural order of thing; to die from an illness or in war, not suicide. So he ate, even if none of the food he consumed had any taste. Arthur still remembered how fine water was, so that was okay.

So, the thing was, when he was just heading back from the market, this guy bumped into him. He was unremarkably remarkable, unlike Arthur who was just a plain and simple background character. See, he was dressed in fully dark clothing, in a huge overcoat which hugged his frame into complete anonymity, and his hood was enveloping his face from chin to forehead. Not a single distinctive feature would escape the heavy fort surrounding him like the limes protecting Rome.

Of course he was suspicious for that reason. Like he wanted to pretend to blend in and be unnoticeable, but he failed so badly that just the opposite happened. It was a dorky attempt at best, and a big ass failure if he didn’t give the benefit of the doubt to that man. Because he could get as much that he was a man from the amount of muscles his arms had which bumped into him, and he was around the same height as him. Although Arthur wasn’t particularly tall, but still, it was highly unlikely of a woman to grow as much as he did.

Still, he most likely haven’t done a lot of actions like this, otherwise he would have known just how laughable this attempt was. The most logical explanation though is that he really needed to hide his face in front of Arthur, and he also had a good idea why.

He got a letter from him. The problem was, Arthur was quite illiterate, and there was only one person who would rub this in his face while perfectly well knowing that Arthur liked a good challenge, and he’d make an effort at finding the contents of it out.

So, that’s what all it took to figure out that it was his one and only darling, Francis. Arthur couldn’t quite honestly decide what the fuck he should have done with that information, because it was too little and oh so fucking much at the same time. It made him feel squeezy, his chest tighter and found breathing just a tad harder. Francis was back, and he made an effort to contact him even if well; it was just something Francis-esque.

Arthur tried, really tried to figure out what the letters meant, he made an effort to imagine how all the letters from his spoken words looked like, but he gave up playing detective after around half an hour. But anyways, that was more than what most would have spent on stupid shit like this. He wasn’t even exactly sure why he was trying at all when he didn’t in fact give a shit about Francis. Not at all.

In spite of this, he found himself knowing on the door of the widow lady next door, whom he knew to be more acquainted with the deal of literature and such elegancies. Her name was Marianne, and before his husband was taken away by TBC, he was a researcher. Naturally, that came with open mindedness, and the opportunity for his wife to study, and she was damn lucky for that. At least that’s how Arthur saw at. She always seemed delighted too, like she just walked on clouds, carefree and lively. That’s what was missing from the most nowadays. Liveliness despite their lives being shitty like always.

Anyways, he knew that she knew how to read, and isn’t going to talk no matter what was written there. The ordeal was a bit inconvenient, because admittedly, they almost never conversed and these few things he noticed about her where through only that; simple observations. Again, he was illiterate, not dumb.

And he was kind of hopeful that his gut instinct was right about her shutting her mouth up. They were freemasonries perhaps with her husband. Or rebels. Or something, but they were up to something at some point for sure, Arthur understood that very well. He was still embarrassed by coming to her, because he didn’t want her to think he was also some sort of hidden insurgent because of an association with Francis. Every fucking one from this part of Paris knew who that man was.

He weighted the pros and cons hard before actually going through his plans, because the logical side of him was just shouting at him in agony, knowing that the emotional portion of his brain committed the worst mistake of trusting that garbage of a man again, despite all his previous betrayals. This time everything would be different. Everything has to be different, so that he could say all these days spent in misery weren’t in vain. That the waiting and wasting himself away was worth it for that whirlwind of a man whom was still an enigma to him.

It wasn’t worth it, was it?

His heart wouldn’t take another disappointment, otherwise he’ll completely break down; he couldn’t doubt that statement. He rather bound an iron shield in front of his eyes just so that the truth couldn’t poke it out. He was such a dumb, dumb little boy.

Marianne almost didn’t look surprised at all when she saw him. There was a hint of amusement hidden on her lips the whole time he spent with her, and that knowing eye of hers made him feel all the more uneasy. He didn’t like the thought of her maybe magically seeing his memories and thoughts like they were just pages of an open book. He wouldn’t be surprised though.

She was the woman people were usually wary of. Marianne had curly, ginger hair, and the sliest green eyes one could imagine; she stood out and demanded respect with her presence. He barely interacted with women at all quite honestly, and this encounter just reminded him why that was. Women were just always quite incomprehensive to him; and it was like there were miles between them. He just couldn’t see himself spending a lifetime with any of them, he realized that at quite a young age. But that was whatever. There were things that you just born accursed to. Like Marianne to her ginger hair, which albeit was beautiful, people associated it with witchery. Arthur was in a way, just like her. A victim of a cruel grand master called Fate. Then again, would he rather love someone else then Francis?

It wasn’t actually a long period he spent at hers, because of which he was more than thankful. Because of Francis, the letter was of course a cryptic poem which he spent the last few hours cracking.

“And so as my days go by
To Hell, an eternal fight for life
Oh I shan’t forgot my dear
Ugly fights won’t tear,
Rage and tears won’t make,
Such an old tale of fates
Pleased to end in vain
Or suffer without gain. -
Thy eternal flame.”

Yeah, he was at loss of words. Like yes, he got it. Francis was sorry, he didn’t mean it, but what was the point of getting this to him without any substance. Without any leads, or messages, or anything. He knew this wasn’t like Francis, to give him something as meaningless as this. Okay, he was sorry. He wanted to get something off of his chest, relieve his conscience, that wasn’t a weird concept.

But the text said that he won’t let it all end like this. Like how things stagnated since they first met. Arthur knew this part was a double meaning message to him, and also served as a question; did he want to leave things as they were, or try again, one last time? It was daring, bold felt as the final chance to make a change.

Francis asked him for a dance, and it was up to Arthur whether he’ll accept it.

And maybe, by pouring all that time into figuring the code of that fucker out, he could prove it to him, that maybe, he admits being wrong a bit.

Arthur took a deep breath, memorized all the words carefully – Marianne was kind enough to let him stay until he was sure he hadn’t forgotten anything – and went home to try thinking about it. He just knew that something was there that he hadn’t noticed. It cannot be, that nothing was there.

He also kept the letter of course, in spite of his inability to read. What he noticed quite fast, that there weren’t much punctuation marks in the text. He recalled Francis showing him some poems some time, and he was quite sure that they were more frequent in those ones. Also, thinking about it a bit deeper, the lines didn’t really make all that sense.

Like, they had a message, but it was unnecessarily long and overcomplicated, instead of the usual short and witty lines Francis wrote. It’s just be maybe the fault of the fact that those poems he heard were mostly political in nature, or directed against him, but now he expects Arthur to work together with him.

Still, the lack of honest coherence and logical structure was apparent. Arthur tried to say it out loud multiple times, but it seemed that he hit some kind of dead end. Something just was missing, and he couldn’t for the love of his life figure out what it was.

Fuck Francis.

The time he didn’t spend cracking the code was used up like usual; spent reminiscing about Francis. He tried calming himself with the explanation that it had some practical use, because he might as well remember the key to solve the puzzle too. Even if it was quite a flimsy explanation.

He felt himself as such a dick. One moment, he wished Francis to burn in hell in the greatest of agonies, and the next he wanted to cry out his name, begging for him to come back. One time he was black and the next moment he switched to white.

Francis was stupid to chase after him, when he clearly was the worst choice possible for a lover. This saddened him a bit, admitting to his fault, but Francis deserved this. And if they manage to meet again, he’ll surely say this. He has to.

Afterall, all that they've ever done was to hurt each other. They knew where and when to stab, what triggered the other, what left them confused and scared. They were at each other's mercy. Theoretically, he should have had the upper hand, but he lost it the exact moment they've met. Now, he no longer minded that. It would have been worse actually, were they not equals.

Time should have done its job by now healing their wounds made for each other. Still, Arthur had no idea what he would say or do if they manage to meet again. Should he greet him with a kiss or keep the respectable distance coldly? Would Francis want anything from him other than spilling clean water into the glass finally? He was almost afraid to know. It would be quite frankly shitty if he just finally got him back and lost him too all at once.

No, it's stupid to think about all that. He could never get what in that man's head was, and he wouldn't have any luck now either, three years later. Francis may have changed, and he might as well did the same. He's sure that if he wanted that much to meet, then it's about something serious.

And Arthur had a better job to do then trying to solve Francis himself; he had to get his riddle right at first. That was the first step to forgiveness and rekindling what they had. Arthur swore to himself that he wouldn't ruin that chance once again. He shouldn't have feared that Francis would murder him if he stood in his way; he would have done it sooner if he wanted.

That was his final judgement. All this bullshit only happened because he was afraid of trusting someone finally. Afraid that if he did, then he would get the short end of the stick by losing them faster than a lightning its life. Francis prevailed after everything, and he dared to put his trust into Arthur again, and he was so goddamn happy. So, he had to make the most of it. He just had to.

Ah. He got now. All the while, he quietly murmured the poem again and again from front to back, and now he finally fucking noticed it. Goddamn Francis made his job harder than he should have, by knowing it was even harder to notice this without knowing how to read. But then again, he liked to show it into his face so he should have expected something like this. He just had to laugh at it. All this seemed almost innocent when thinking about it.

Like as if Francis was just a cheeky little boy who pulled her braids. Maybe, something hadn't changed after all this time, and it wasn't even that bad. He smiled a bit, then a thought suddenly dashed into his mind.

There wasn't a time or date written. He didn't want to waste anymore time, deducing that that only could have meant that the time was now, and he left his house in a hurry, without caring how he looked or anything. He was just still gripping the letter tight, not wanting to let it go, like it was at least as precious as Francis' hand. Arthur just ran and ran, faster than he should have really, but it felt wrong to waste any more time than he already did.

Every second was a waste if he was not with him. Because he wanted to feel alive, and his world was only colourful and bright when he was with Francis. That was just a mere unbreakable fact that only became apparent in these hazy years spent in blur. He had to wake up one day, and he felt as if this was that long awaited awakening.

It didn't matter at all if passersby thought of him as a lunatic because of the frantic hurry. He didn't care about anyone or anything anymore, and it felt righter than ever. Arthur just had to smile, no matter how out of breath he was.

Yeah, he's coming finally back home to their place to Francis.

Chapter Text

Arthur was out of breath by the time he arrived at their spot. The adrenaline rushing through his veins made his hearing deafen, heart beat at an almost hurtful rate, and he felt close to fainting. He blessed his luck for once that he wasn’t on duty and wearing a uniform, because the rush would be simply unbearable that way. It was enough bad now, that he had to lean on a tree to regain some breath, when normally he was quite the fit person.

But it was all worth it, wasn’t it? He slowly raised his head up, trying to spot that taint of blonde in his vision engulfed with black dots. With his last strength, he took the last steps forward, before he did collapse finally beside him. Only because of this did he let himself relax – or well, at least catch a breath properly, because he was almost choking himself from the hurry.

“Fucking…fucking hell Francis…I-“

“No. Don’t speak a word. Just-just let us end these war games.” Francis stuck a finger in front of Arthur’s mouth, pointedly starting at his eye, trying to find something there. Something he only could in his eyes.

Arthur couldn’t keep himself in check any longer, and he collapsed forward, kissing the man with all his emotions, frustration, passion and love. It wasn’t something to be described in mere words. He didn’t have it in him anymore to do anything else, so this was the only way he could convey everything. All the words he never said, the words of honesty.

It was way more than a kiss. More like a fight than anything, Francis slipped his hands into Arthur’s hair, pulling it almost painfully, grasping like his life was on the line, while Arthur tightened his grip so much, that his nails dug into Francis’ waist as if they were needles. None of them cared though, they just wanted to be closer to each other, more than it was physically possible. God, just how much did they miss this.

All ended too soon. But, unfortunately, Arthur was out of the breath to being with, and the lengthy and hurtful show they put on did no good in that matter. So, the moment Francis realised that Arthur needed to stop, he let the green eyed man just rest on his shoulder while he continued hugging him.

“I hate you bloody git.” muttered Arthur into his chest, still not finding the strength to look up.

“Hm. Then we’re even.”

Francis started drawing circles onto his back, letting Arthur know that he was there, and not about to leave anymore. He somehow just knew this is what the other yearned for, to be caressed and given all his attention.

“You have some audacity to play dead then reappear.” The green-eyed man slowly slipped further down, to lie into Francis’ lap, feeling too happy and secure despite everything.

“Didn’t really think you’d want to see me. And I wasn’t sure if I want to see you either.”

"You're really stupid, you know? I think I have more reason to be angry at you. And I'm even angrier because of the fact that I can't get myself to be angry." Arthur started tearing out grass from the ground, not wanting his frustration to hit Francis.

“But you’re even stupider dear, and I’d be lying if I didn’t hate you as much as I love you.”

"I know, believe me. I don't want my miserable, insecure ass ruining what we have or had again. I just- it's really better if I keep my mouth shut."

"That's it. The problem is we keep blaming someone. Idiotic. We both are at fault, okay? And I don't want to hear sorry explanations and excuses again. I don't care who started or who what did."

"But is it really okay? I mean, I hurt you on multiple occasions, and I guess I just want to be held accountable. Like, you should value yourself more than to accept everything I do." Arthur turned from sideways to his back, so that he could face Francis somewhat, who was still rather avoiding his gaze.

"You realised this yourself, hence I believe you aren't that blind anymore to do something against it. We're far from kids now, love. And even if I shouldn't, I do trust you."

"No, you shouldn't. I mean it. I was a dick, and you shouldn't be offering what, the third chance already? It's almost degrading to me, that you think of yourself so lowly." Arthur, with his new gain strength finally lifted his head, to look him in the eye defiantly.

"But you came. Surely not just for the sake of telling me to fuck off."

"Exactly. Francis, I just want you to know, that I know well that I'm a bad man, without any self-deprecating undertones. It's a fact. And I don't want to hurt you anymore. But my obsession with you is greater than my conscience."

"Now say, if you really are that bad, why are you so worried about me? And I guess, you shouldn't underestimate me. I know when to stop, usually anyways."

"Nah, you artist types are addicted to misery and toxicity." Said Arthur while gripping on Francis’ hand. He liked how diverse it was. His palm was softer than a cloud, while his fingertips were hardened from the good amount of writing he had done. It was like Francis, hard to define or describe it simply.

"Am I though? I missed you too, not just the misery. And you, soldier types have serious inferiority complexes."

"What? I don't-"

"Okay Mr. Villain, who is the sole cause of every harm coming my way."

"Shut up." Francis had another idea of shutting up than what Arthur meant. He pulled the other blonde close again, kissing him just as intently as before. Ah, he could get used to this easily.

It was a bit more gentle and emotional this time though, almost as if it was some make-up kiss. It felt almost foreign, how unlike it was to their usual aggressiveness towards each other.

Arthur lay back down into Francis’s lap afterwards, while the other started playing with his hair. The domesticity was heartwarming, something that Arthur wanted to feel every and each day from now on. The drug that if one tasted they never can get off of it again. Francis was simply addictive.

"Hey so...like what was the real reason behind your letter? Why now Francis?" Arthur didn't really want to ask that per se, but he couldn't help himself. Even he was hungry for honesty once in a while.

"Heh, you're smarter than what you credit yourself for, you know that? You know, I love you, I really do."

"Aha, but?"

"No buts, I love you. I just want you to know this before I say anything else."

"Oh, Francis, for God's sake please! You can't do this to me, you sound like you are going to kill yourself tomorrow." Arthur was shattered. Broken to million pieces again, now that he believed everything was solved for once and all.

"Eh, might as well, although I don't explicitly plan to. It's not like I dragged you here to bid farewell, cause that'd be a dick move even to my standards. No, I want you to help me. That is, if you are ready yourself to say goodbye to your life as you know it."

"Don't beat around the bush. Just say what you really want." Arthur sat up to properly face Francis, expression now stony and cold again, full with discontent.

Francis looked ashamed, and tried his best to avoid his gaze though. He was positively afraid of Arthur's reaction not baselessly.

Was this a euphemism to ask whether Arthur was ready to get kicked out from work at least, or at worst die for him? Perhaps with him? That's why Arthur disliked artsy types. They were full of shit for not wanting to see reality.

"You know before everything, I want to make one thing clear. I haven't killed anyone yet, but now I have no choice. I don't care what you think, because I have to do this. I have no fucking choice." Arthur wasn’t surprised anymore. He should have honestly figured this out much sooner, but at last he cleanly said it out loud. Francis was an innocent man, and Arthur was pretty damn happy that he wasn’t that headstrong that he got Francis convicted. Otherwise well, he’d have turned out to be just like his wife, like a self-fulfilling prophecy.

"Nah, first you should realise that you always have a choice. Who forces you to kill that person besides yourself?"

"Revenge. Justice too, but mainly revenge. I managed to find out the name of the judge who got my late wife convicted. She did nothing wrong, so I cannot forgive him. And honestly? Every parasite that dies brings us closer to the utopia. Killing parasites means killing corruption and injustice."

"Francis, do you think she would want you to stain your hands for petty things like this? Is any cause worth you ruining yourself?"

"Yeah, I asked myself this multiple times before, but there is only one conclusion I ever came to. I don't care what Jeanne would think, cause I made up my mind. And this is the only way I can ever let her go. So please, help me."

"And why exactly do you need my help? Why don't you ask one of your comrades or whatever?"

"I want your help because I know you are capable to. We don't have any paramilitaristic groups, my insurgents are a people's army. I planned to shoot him, but we lack proper weapons. That's when you come into play; you get me a gun, help secure the area, while I pick the lock on his door, and ta-da! I shoot him, and we leave. Don't care at all about the money, because it is against my principles to rob from a dead person. That being said, if I can get some before he's dead, we can use that to run away from here. We can than travel to Marseilles, a brother rebel group is stationed there. It's far away from Paris, but has everything we need, and there, we can start a new life. Or we should go to Le Havre, sneak onto a ship, and go to England. Maybe, if things go sour, some German province will do it. I have a good friend, who’d be willing to help.”

“Shit, you really are serious about this? I…Francis I don’t want to assist you killing someone. Why don’t we skip that part, and just get away from here as far as we can? I’d be content giving up everything for that reason, but not for this…”

“Arthur please, I could never live in peace if I wouldn’t do that. You know, all the years since then, it was all spent with me searching for the identity of that monster, and I’m not lying when I say that I did everything to finally get it. Now, I know where he lives, when is he home, and when is the perfect opportunity to kill him and have enough time to run away.”

“So that’s what you spent your time with when you randomly disappeared? To let yourself get eaten by your guilt that you couldn’t protect her then?”

“Don’t even start the psychoanalysis. You don’t understand anything, and you don’t even have to. You won’t, even if you try. But no, I did other things mainly, this was… a side hustle. You know, I kinda didn’t want to do it, but I no longer have the excuse.” he buried his face into his hands, clearly ashamed of himself.

Arthur couldn’t understand him at all, like he said. Why, just why would he throw away their newly gained chance together so fast? And okay, he swore that he won’t let his insecurity ruin everything again, but it was worrying that this was the sole reason why Francis wanted to meet him. Not to talk or to be together or something, but to get a gun from him, that he himself didn’t have?

He wasn’t even a front soldier, just stationed back at home all his life. He’d have to steal from one of his superiors, or the station, which would for sure get him into trouble –

But well, being an accessory to murder was way worse after all.

Fuck Francis, honestly.

Arthur didn’t want to outright refuse him, but this was too much. Francis was a bastard, if he seriously asked this from him.

“I lied about how she died. It was because of me. She was accused of being an insurgent and murdering some government official, just like I was accused that time. Someone has it out for me, and had it even then, which I’m not surprised by, but this is another level of disgusting. Jeanne never took part in my business, and she was the one who got punished for it.”

“So, I was right about my psychoanalysis. You feel yourself guilty because of her death. Listen Francis, I don’t say you should ever forgive and forget, but you shouldn’t let your life be weighted by vengeance. And neither should you weight Jeanne down. Consider it; she can never be free in the afterlife if you never let her go.” Francis’ breath stopped the very moment he began to say that sentence, looking more heartbroken than ever. Ah, Arthur really needed to learn how to shut up once in his life.

“Don’t you dare say something like this ever again. I don’t want to let her go! Fuck yourself if you can’t accept that!” He actually slipped a bit farther from Arthur, probably quite angry with the English man.

Now, Arthur understood that they were quite incompatible; this was proven on multiple occasions, but he didn’t want to give up trying in the finishing line. He cursed his stupid head for falling in love with such a dick. He took a deep breath to calmly continue, not wanting to make things worse, but also very well knowing that he can’t stay silent forever.

“Francis, darling, please. Don’t be like this. I just- don’t want you to ruin yourself, because I love you. And you know, if you think of it in another way, what good would you do with killing that judge?” Francis looked as if he wanted to interrupt, so he quickly shushed him. “Why give him an easy and painless death, when if he lives, he could get some incurable, painful disease, see loved ones die and such? Isn’t death a mercy, especially if you are so engulfed in greed that you barely are a human anymore?”

Francis stared at him with such pitiful expression, that he started feeling himself almost bad. All his face was blank except from his eyes, and even they were shadowed over by his hair from the setting sun. It was getting late, while none of them realised that even a minute passed.

At last, the blue eyed one sighed and closed his eyes, before ending up in the same position Arthur was before.

“Fine. You win. For now, at least. But I don’t forget.”

“You are the most infuriating person I know, you realise that?”

“Sure, that’s what you like in me the most.”

Arthur couldn’t help himself, but want to hug that stupid man, so he lifted his head up from his lap, while he himself lay down beside him, pulling Francis closer. It was a whole another experience feeling the warmth of his body pressed up against his own, while hearing the little breaths at his ear.

“You can’t imagine how much it means to me that you stay.” murmured Arthur lowly and sensually, meaning every single word.

“Hm, guess so. I just hope I won’t regret it.” Arthur left him at that, not wanting to provoke him further. It was enough that he was more than less convinced to do the right thing.

“Are you perhaps still up for moving away from here?”

“Let us think about that later, okay? Now I just want to be with you and not let anything else bother us. Don’t wanna argue or something anymore.” Francis’ voice was sleepy, exhausted from the emotional hustles of the afternoon, which Arthur totally understood, since his own eyelids started closing more often than not.

“We should go home to my place. You still don’t have one for yourself, do you?” asked Arthur, while starting to play with Francis’ hair he oh-so-loved to admire.

“No, I’m squatting wherever I can. It’d be fine to sleep in a bed after all these years.” The Englishman didn’t even want to imagine how much shit Francis was through during those three years shrouded in mystery and well – misery.

“Last time we met, we agreed to start over again. Actually, there aren’t a lot of things I know about your personal likes and such other than your distaste for the government, but that’s not a dish. So, what do you want to eat when we get home?”

“Bread.” he said almost too eagerly, which made Arthur smile a bit. It too innocent how his eyes lit up at a food most would consider the most basic. “It’s just that I can’t remember the last time I ate fresh bread. I miss it. And it’s filling enough to survive off of it for a good few days.

“It’s more grim if you put it into that way.”

“But it’s true. And I never was one for eating cake while others couldn’t even afford bread.”

“If I like one thing more about you than how infuriating you are, it’s that you stick to yourself to the bitter end. It’s admirable, even if I think it’s stupid sometimes.”

“I just have a big ego. It won’t ever let me back down and besides, I hate to be at your mercy and shit. I don’t like to feel as a burden, or someone to be taken care of.” with that sentence, Francis rolled away from Arthur’s arms, and stood up, reaching a helping hand to the one still on the ground. Yeah, it’s getting really late.

Arthur took his hand, but hadn’t commented on Francis’ statement. Of course, nobody liked to be treated like a delicate doll to be pampered and all, but the golden-haired prince was in a sticky situation. Since he was known in this goddamn city everywhere, getting him a proper job was next to impossible, and knowing him, he wouldn’t even last in a job for a long time. Firstly, he would have to learn to stick to a place, and shut his mouth, both of which were the antonyms of who Francis was. Maybe, if he went to a priest and tried to beg himself in to work…

“So, I have one question left.” interrupted Francis Arthur’s thought process. They slowly started walking back to the city gates, while they never let go of each other’s hand. Just how happy would Arthur be if he would never have to let it go, even when they were around others.

But that was a luxury he couldn’t afford himself, but he could be okay with that. For now, he was happy with the fact that they could be each other’s in secret. To people casted out by everyone, finally finding the other now permanently. It was a weird thing.

That Francis would stay, and Arthur wouldn’t chase him away. They should have done this sooner, now Arthur was sure. It felt as if something broken finally repaired itself, and became whole again. And although it was weird, the hot tingling in his chest was worth everything; Arthur was happy again in a long time.

“Are we like… dating? Or what do we call it? I mean, when I was courting Jeanne, we got married around a month later. We didn’t call our relationship anything until that, but we two obviously cannot get married.”

“Aren’t you the priest guy? Say some shit about saints and God and voilà. That’s all what marriage is honestly. You can even write it down on a piece of paper so it’s almost as if it’s official, isn’t it?” Arthur replied jokingly, although Francis very much seemed to be considering it seriously, which was just merely sweet.

“Nah, I don’t think I can do that, since I’m not a proper priest. Though, it would be fun to have a wedding again, dress in fancy clothes, then fuck. But no, I don’t think that fits us. And not that I want to do anything with that part of my life ever again.”

“Then life-long partners? How about that?”

“Or soulmates. Life-long soulmate lovers.” giggled Francis, while the conversation flew on.

Arthur was just so, so damn happy that even he deserved happiness – or rather they. He would have never imagined being so casual with Francis before. Right now, he wasn’t that mysterious fellow, who was just a vague image of a fearful leader, but a normal twenty-something year old, who was having the time of his life. It honestly fit him so much better that he looked this carefree, without any wrinkles on his forehead. Now, his eyes were livelier than all living beings, and he melted because of the sheer love radiating from them. Being as sweet as him should almost be criminal.

The walk back was spent cheerfully, them chatting just about everything and anything, during which Arthur realised that the two of them weren’t even that different after all. At least way less then he initially expected. If they weren’t outright arguing – bickering was a different case though, that they couldn’t stop themselves from – they got along pretty well, especially now that everything was clear between them.

Other than the moving away issue, but they could deal with it later. It’s not like any of them had any money to do that. It was a sweet dream nonetheless, and Arthur was uncharacteristically giddy about even the mention that they could go to England. As he grew up in France, his parents didn’t even teach him English, just resorted to speaking French at home, so he’d be lost there, but he still felt some sense of longing to the land that never was his. Despite the fact that people would accept him there probably even less, he just wanted to see the place where his parents grew up.

But as of recently, weird sentimentalism wasn’t that far away from him. Maybe it was just Francis’ personality rubbing on him or whatever, but he didn’t particularly mind that, because his world became colourful at last. And by so sudden and drastic changes, who wouldn’t feel a bit sentimental at least? Things were more beautiful this way too – he almost couldn’t believe how much he missed out on before.

Except of course Francis, who was always colourful even in his liar little vision. But then again, he stole a special place in his heart for himself, like a gruesome thief, who he managed to love despite everything at the end.

He only hoped he meant the same to Francis, and he was serious about not executing that stupid plan of his. Arthur was afraid of loosing him more than anything, and this fragile thing they had going on. It just wasn’t fair if this was all for naught and again, they could enjoy their happiness for no longer than a few days. They had to break the cycle, and for that both of them had to make sacrifices. That was the only way.

But this nigh, he managed to sleep well, and soon. After they finished their dinner, both of them collapsed onto Arthur’s bed, and they fell asleep snuggling to each other without letting a single ounce of worry into their heads.

Chapter Text

Francis sat on a sole tree with a slight smile. He always loved climbing up on them for a frankly egoistic reason – he loved being up high while he could look down on everybody and everything else. It wasn’t for a particular distaste for humanity or anything, but rather the acknowledgment that he was for better or worse, but different from other people. At least he thought so.

Arthur liked to argue that he just wanted to feel special, and it was an inherent trait of artsy types. That this difference only existed in his head because he scarcely interacted with like-minded people, but he definitely wasn’t a one-off case. He just wore his emotions on his sleeves and that’s all.

Maybe that’s what his greatest tragedy lay in– that he wasn’t some victorious hero of a fairy tale like Tristan, or a tragic example of extraordinaries like Antigone, and neither a chosen genius like Dante, but a mere and simple drunkard with a preference of poetry. Afterall, how many of university students ended up dropping out to the same hole Francis did?

There wasn’t some mysterious force behind him, just he himself, and a want for fame and change. He alone wasn’t able to change the world, and he understood that at last. But he wasn’t even at the half of his life, and he had too much left to close everything.

For example, he enjoyed his life with Arthur very much. It was far from perfect, and they bickered still a lot, but it was more than he would have ever asked for. He used to be convinced that any kind of stability was just a waste of time and creative potential in his life, but now he could confidently say that it was just his juvenile stupid rebelliousness what even slapped away the helping hand from arrogance.

It was a bit scary to realize that this kind of thinking sounded a tad bit too mature usually, but now it became his norm. The one who always rejected norms now had one – it made his chest tighten a bit.

Of course, it was soon to write his testament yet, but when he writes it one day, he’d like it to start it with this anecdote of the lost boy finding his way finally. He never liked writing about himself though, so after maybe a further questioning from Arthur, if he was ready, it would be from his point of view – at least let him throw up one last construct of tradition before he goes out.

But well – he may never know when he meets his last day, for as long as he lived, there was the hangman lurking in his shadow, because death at the end of the day doesn’t discriminate. He never thought of death as a bad think per se, even if he often cursed how unfair it was. Because a human was a human, death was inevitable.

Life was but a small projection of history. From the beginning phase, the ancient equality amongst all, to the return to that state in the end. Because everyone was born as an equal, and should have equal rights hence, and everyone shall be buried in the same soil when the last judgement comes.

Francis slammed shut the book he was holding.

He rubbed his right lower arm to help to release the tension build up from the diligent writing. Arthur was sweet for urging him to find a job, and helping him in the process, but copying was tiring. Francis didn’t like to complain though, because well, Arthur had it a lot worse than him being on construction sites the whole day.

Because it’s a funny thing, but he gave up his job for him, which was absolutely the sweetest of him. Francis never particularly asked for it, and honestly, he was a bit mad at the rash decision at first, but he understood his disillusionment. Anyone would be if they endured hearing Francis yapping about his politics for this long.

Maybe, just maybe, they could break the cycle this way.

He continued on with his mission though but toned down by a lot. Francis understood that there was a primal difference between the two of them, meaning Arthur wouldn’t be happy to die for a cause opposed to himself, so he exhorted more caution to not drop dead himself. Because Francis knew exactly how shitty it was to lose a loved one, and he wouldn’t want anyone to know how hurtful it is.

One day, even he will probably falter from his cause, and they could finally live in complete calmness. Although, this was the closest Francis ever was to peace, and he now knew why people yearned for it. As it was with maturity, he also feared peace, because it sounded lame that he had no cause anymore to fight for. Like it was the end of the history, and he would be happy to die the very minute.

Now though, he knew that peace was an addiction, and those who didn’t yearn for that were mere greedy tyrants who deserved nothing but death. For most, this could feel as an oxymoron, but Francis thought of it as something perfectly justified. He still was convinced that without radicalism no change could be implemented, and he refused to change his mind no matter how many times Arthur tried to argue with him.

Maybe it was stupid. Maybe it was just vigilante justice and a lust for revenge, but Francis didn’t seem to care at all.

That was just how he was.

The man who wasted his only chance to stumble upon something much bigger. Much more worth going on for. Now, he just looked down at the uninviting gates of Sorbonne filled with wasted potential – and waste. Sure, it was good to learn, but not in a world like this. In a different universe, where he just shut his mouth, he may have had graduated, and would have had a doctorate to his name, but then he also would have had to cut his hair, and dress in ugly cleric uniform.

No, he wouldn’t have kept the oath of poverty, purity and humility for even a day. Except poverty – but that was whatever. Those who had money were the most corrupt kinds, and this includes wasting money on spectacular cathedrals and the like. He was never destined for that.

But it was still funny though. Just three years ago he thought that fate had no lines on his hand anymore and he’d die the same winter. He lived through all, and now he’s happier than ever. Guess even he, the damned of the damned deserved some happiness after all.

Ah, the bell began to toll six. It was time to go home.

Living with Arthur became more comfortable as he got used to his quirks. They were polar opposites in the need for routine though, but Francis gradually started taking on habits thanks to Arthur. Eating dinner around six was a thing like this. But so was waking up early, whereas Francis used to hate that. It was worth though, if the first thing he saw at morning was Arthur. And he could see how Arthur also appreciated this by the little smiles on his face which he only showed when he thought that Francis wasn’t looking. The blue eyed was too attentive for that though, and he was very glad for this talent of his.

He jumped down from the tree with ease and began to make the way. It took around a quarter of an hour if he wasn’t particularly hurrying, which he usually wasn’t, since he loved enjoying every glimpse of nature he could see. He wasn’t born to be locked into a small office or monastery after all.

Francis didn’t even bother at the glazes burying into him as he made the familiar way. Word has been going around about the nature of their… sinful relationship, which made Francis honestly just laugh at all of it. Only if they knew what they missed out on.

Though it was most likely the fault of Arthur quitting. They say that Francis is some kind of witch cursed by his also accursed mother. That it was a bad omen already that he was born on the very day Jeanne d’Arc was burnt at the stakes, bringing misfortune to the whole of France. And of course, that Arthur is under the influence of his black magic, and Francis made him the enemy of the state or something. Pretty pathetic all in all, and it never failed to amuse Francis how far human imagination can fly when they have a deep-rooted fear or hatred towards something or someone.

Despite everything though, he was pretty grounded in reality in some aspects, and he knew that their ability to stay here is shortening with every passing hour before someone takes it into their hand to do something against them. Just like with his wife. Francis wasn’t about to let that happen ever again though, so he connected with his old chum Gilbert, who was willing to accommodate them for an indefinite amount of time, without any reservations.

Everything was under control this time, and he just couldn’t slip it from his hands. He realized that going with the flow wasn’t always the best choice by now, from loosing that much. Even if at the end, Arthur stayed, he seriously thought that he would lose him too, so it was enough of a lesson.

This was more important than everything he was taught at university.

He enjoyed the breeze catching his somewhat shorter hair, playfully caressing his cheeks. It was more convenient to have his hair short when copying, although he missed its old length. And he could tell Arthur did too, no matter if he complimented him every day. Maybe, he could take up some teaching at a house when they get to Gilbert’s, to one of the various kingdoms left by the collapsed Holy Roman Empire. He spoke some German, although there was still room for improvement, but hey, French was a chic language, and what way is it better to learn a language, than on the said language? The pay would be surely better, and he wouldn’t have to care about the length of his hair at least. That’d be neat.

That was the song of the future still though, and right now he wanted to eat whatever the origin of that good smell coming out of the windows were. Maybe this night he can propose the idea, and they can get ready while both of them finish their last commissions. And then, they can be freer than now at least a bit.

After that? Francis had no idea. Going to Britain seemed a good start, if he went by his observations, because Arthur’s eyes lit up especially brightly that time he mentioned that. Ah, but for that to come true, maybe he should really get Gilbert to teach him proper German. And prepare for cramps in his upper arm.

But that was whatever, as long as he could be with Arthur.

Icy se clost le Testament
Et finist du pouvre Villon.
Venez à son enterrement,
Quant vous orrez le carillon,
Vestuz rouges com vermillon,
Car en amours mourut martir ;
Ce jura-il sur son coullon
Quand de ce monde voult partir.