Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The day couldn’t get any worse than it already was going. Arthur chuckled a bit out of his frustration, getting drenched in the downpour. He stared down at the groceries he had just gotten, splattered on the ground, as the rain had slowly destroyed his paper shopping bag. A tomato had splattered on his foot.

“Well, isn’t that bloody lovely?” Arthur murmured to himself in frustration.

Arthur took a deep breath in, trying to compose himself, before kneeling and scavenging for what was salvageable. It seemed he would be able to recover a package of scones, a box of tea bags, and a carton of milk, which somehow didn’t combust when it hit the ground. Arthur reached for the carton of milk when his hand made contact with another.

Arthur looked up in a daze and shook his head. He saw a man leaning down, holding the carton out towards him. He wore a deep blue jacket, a matching cloak over it. He had long blond hair, which was drenched in the rain. Peach fuzz traced the tip of his narrow chin under his smile. His blue eyes stared back at Arthur.

“I believed you dropped this, no?”

The man spoke with a thick French accent, but Arthur was able to make out what he was saying.

“Oh. Yes, I did. Thank you, I suppose.” Arthur replied as he took the carton from the man’s leather-gloved hand.

The man knelt and began to assist Arthur in gathering the remaining items, somewhat smiling the whole time.

“You’re not English, are you?” Arthur asked, feeling somewhat of a desire to keep talking to this man.

“No, I’m French. What gave it away?” The man answered in a somewhat sarcastic tone, chuckling to himself a little.

“If it wasn’t the coat, it was definitely the accent.”

The man snickered at Arthur’s response as he picked up the box of teabags, handing them to Arthur. “I suppose we French are just more elegant than you English.”

His response made Arthur giggle. Arthur rarely laughed, unless it was out of frustration. But this man’s banter, somehow, genuinely made him laugh.

Arthur wanted to know more about this man. This man seemed almost alluring to Arthur, in a way he wasn’t used to.

“What brings you to England?”

“My fiancé has always wanted to go. I decided to take her throughout the country before our wedding. We’re here for two months.”

Arthur twitched his fingers a little and held his breath for a second. “Ah, so you are engaged?”

“Oui. We are to marry a week after returning to France.”

“Well, you have my congrats. What might her name be?”

“Laura.” The man’s eyes almost sparkled like diamonds as he said her name.

“Please, tell me about her.”

“She’s the most beautiful woman in all of Europe. She’s currently pregnant; we are expecting shortly after our wedding. She’s a very kind lady, always willing to help those around her. She has the cutest eyes, so green! Her hair is um…it’s like a golden brown, you know?”

Some sort of gloominess came over Arthur; it must have been the rain. Arthur nodded as the man spoke, grabbing the package of scones off the ground. He wiped his pants as he sat up, lending a hand to the man. The man took it, gazing into Arthur’s green eyes.

“And what might your name be?”

“Je m’appelle Francis, Francis Bonnefoy. And what is your name, monsieur?”

“Arthur Kirkland. My name is Arthur Kirkland, Francis.”

The two gazed at each other for a moment, which felt to Arthur like a lifetime, not saying a word, just listening to the rain falling around them. Arthur broke out of his daze and shook his head.

“Oh, sorry. I did not mean to stare.” Arthur proclaimed with a ting of embarrassment.

“Oh no, no. Do not apologize, mon ami.”

Something about the way Francis said “mon ami” made Arthur’s chest feel somewhat tense. He clenched his fist around the milk carton, squeezing as he breathed in. His face felt warm, despite the cold rain around him.

“Well, it is my pleasure meeting you, Francis.”

“It is my privilege, Monsieur Arthur.”

Arthur did not know how to continue the conversation, yet for some strange reason, he wanted to keep chattering with this kind stranger. He thought to himself for a moment before it clicked.

“On weekdays, I work at a local pub. Please, come stop by sometime.”

Francis raised an eyebrow, his finger on his chin. “Oh? Which pub? I’ve seen a few since arriving.”

“Oh, right. I work at The Red Lion. It’s around the town center.”

Francis nodded, placing his hand on his hip. “I’ll be sure to stop by, mon ami.”

That feeling came rushing back. Arthur did not understand why, when Francis referred to him as “mon ami”, his chest tensed, his stomach twisted, and his fingers twitched. Arthur had barely even met this man, and now he was experiencing a sudden and new emotion that he couldn’t place his finger on. God dammit, those bloody French.

“Please do, Francis. I’ll be eager to see you again.”

“Au revoir, monsieur Arthur!”

Arthur waved as Francis walked away, his eyes still on Arthur.

“Until we meet again, Francis!”

Arthur couldn’t help himself from stare at the mysterious French man as he walked off down another street, growing farther and farther every second. Arthur felt his heart beating faster than usual, which didn’t happen often. He certainly found this most strange, but almost enjoyed the feeling. He giggled to himself a bit, the way local girls did when he tipped his hat to them or complimented them. Despite the downpour, despite most of his groceries having been destroyed, despite everything, somehow, someway, this mysterious French man made his miserable day just a little better.

After Francis had fallen out of sight, Arthur continued his journey home in a much better mood than before. His walk home was blissful. He took a moment to appreciate the small wooden houses, the greenery around them, even if said greenery was drenched. He noticed two stray cats cuddled up under a flower stand, nuzzling up to each other. One cat is white with an orange spot around its left eye, the other is a pale blonde with long fur. The stone roads below him were now whimsical, like the stories he was told when he was young. The ones where a princess in distress falls in love with a charming knight, the ones where they end up living happily in a beautiful castle, which was once tormented and gate-kept by a dragon. Perhaps someday, he would find love like in those stories, and he would have children whom he could tell those stories to. That’s all Arthur ever truly wanted.

Arthur arrived at his little stone cottage, furnished with classical furniture which was reminiscent of the Victorian era. He took off his drenched coat, hanging it on the coat hanger next to the door. He removed his shoes and made his way to the bathroom, ready to clean himself off, but also to relax for a moment, as he was still in this giddy mood. His bathroom was small, with only enough room to do whatever was most necessary. Arthur usually found this inconvenient and claustrophobic, but this afternoon, just then, he found it cozy. A little window with a wooden frame lay high on the wall next to the bath, raindrops running down on the outside.

After stripping, turning on the running water, and seating himself in the bath, Arthur lay back and calmly watched those raindrops race against the window frame. He watched one specific raindrop as it joined with another, and ran down the glass quicker than before. For once, instead of the rain feeling miserable and gloomy, the rain felt peaceful, felt calming, felt mystical. Arthur let out a sigh of relief.

Arthur didn’t know what this feeling was, but he didn’t want it to stop. He never did. He wanted to see the world like this forever, and all thanks to that mysterious French man.

Chapter Text

That Monday had a much clearer sky than the previous Sunday had. Arthur rolled up the sleeves of his white button-up shirt and adjusted his dark blue tie. The pub would open soon, and Arthur wanted to present his best. After all, any day this week, that kind stranger, Francis, might show up, and for some odd reason, Arthur wanted to look his best around Francis. Sure, he probably wouldn’t today, but you never know.

Arthur watched as the clock hit 11:00 am and made his way to the big wooden front door of the pub. Arthur stepped outside and flipped over the “closed” sign to its other side, with the word “open” written in fancy black letters. He stepped back inside the pub and made his way behind the bar, where he patiently waited for a first customer.

Man after man, occasionally a woman, came into the pub that noontime and afternoon, most of them being English, but none of them the one Frenchman Arthur so desperately wanted to see. Arthur let out a small sigh as he stared into his reflection on a pint glass. He wasn’t sure why he so desperately wanted to see Francis, but it was all he could think about. What if he didn’t mean it when he said he’d stop by? What if he never saw him again? Arthur couldn’t stand the thought of it. He’d only seen this man once, and he was all he could think about.

While no one was looking, Arthur poured himself a glass of rum, hoping the alcohol would take that charming French stranger off his mind. He quickly swung a sip of the glass down before anyone could notice, hiding it behind the counter. Sure, he worked at a pub out of anything, but he still didn’t want to be seen drinking at work; his boss would kill him.

Just as Arthur wiped the sides of his mouth clean, the pub door opened. He did not dare to hope, but couldn’t help himself from gazing towards the open door where he heard the sounds of a man and woman giggling. To his delight, he saw Francis, hand and hand with a woman whom Arthur assumed to be Laura. But wait, Arthur recognized this girl. She was a nurse at the local hospital. Didn’t Francis say that Laura was Belgian? Arthur tried not to think too much about it. He was just happy to see Francis.

“Francis!” Arthur called out, waving a hand at the Frenchman.

Francis turned as he heard his name called out and smiled as he saw the fanciful Englishman he had assisted the previous day.

“Arthur, mon ami!”

Francis waved towards Arthur with his free hand as he led the woman with him to the bar.

“How’ve you been, you frog? I’ve missed you!”

“Oh, but Monsieur Arthur, it has only been a day!”

Arthur blushed when he processed what had just come out of his mouth. “I’ve missed you”, had he gone mad? God, Arthur could be such an idiot sometimes.

“Oh- sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“Aw, so you did not miss me?”

“No no, I did-“

Francis cut off Arthur quickly. “So you did or you did not? Will you make up your mind?”

Arthur groaned. “Well, what would you prefer?”

“I’d prefer it if you were missing me, mon ami.”

“Then I missed you. How’s that?”

“I missed you, too.”

The woman looked a bit confused before looking up at Francis to ask him something. “You know him? I thought this was your first time in England.”

Francis chuckled to himself a little. “We had run into each other yesterday, Ma Cherie. I said I would come and visit.”

Arthur got that same feeling he had when Francis had told him about Laura, hearing him call this woman “Ma Cherie”. It was the same way Francis called Arthur “Mon Ami”. Arthur twitched one of his eyes, his grip tightening around the glass underneath the counter.

“So, how’ve you been since yesterday?” Arthur asked, trying to distract himself from this strange feeling.

“I’ve been fantastic. I had a wonderful night after we parted.”

Francis winked at the local girl, her face flushed.

“Well, that’s lovely, isn’t it?” Arthur replied, pretending not to know what Francis meant.

For some reason, some strange reason, that feeling intensified. What was wrong with him? Arthur had known this man for barely a day, yet what Francis did behind closed doors bothered him so much. Arthur tried to get the thought of Francis and this local girl close together, kissing, touching, doing it out of his head. It just made him feel miserable.

“And how was your night, Monsieur Arthur?” Francis asked, somewhat smirking.

“I suppose I had a good night's sleep for once. I didn’t feel quite as alone as I usually do.”

“You live alone?”

“Sadly. I used to live with my three older brothers after the death of our parents, but they’ve all moved to other parts of the country.” Arthur wasn’t sure why he was being so open with Francis.

“There’s no special lady in your life? I’m surprised.”

“Surprised?”

“I mean, you’re a very handsome man, Arthur. I assumed you would have a special lady in your life.”

That had been the first time someone other than his late mother had ever called Arthur handsome. He flushed a bit after processing what Francis had said. A thought crossed Arthur’s mind, but he quickly shut it down.

“English girls must not have the same definition of ‘attractive’ as you do…I’ve never even kissed a woman.” Arthur chuckled a little. “But thank you.”

“You’ve never even kissed a woman?” Francis seemed like he wanted to ask something, but Arthur just couldn’t lay his finger on it.

“No, I never have.”

“May I ask how old you are?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Ah. Three years younger than me. I would have thought you to be older if you didn’t say so.”

Arthur’s jaw fell slightly, somewhat offended by Francis’s comment. “And what the bloody hell do you mean by that?”

Francis shook his hand, seeming somewhat nervous. “Oh no, Mon Ami…I did not mean to be insulting…”

Arthur cut him off quickly. “You better have not, Frenchie, or else this first trip to England will also be your last!”

Francis seemed somewhat amused seeing Arthur pissed off. He smirked the same way he did when he mentioned the night he had with the local girl. That made Arthur somewhat embarrassed. He turned his face away from Francis, but could still see him smirking out of the corner of his eye. Arthur could feel his face flushing the way it did when he had a fever. That thought from earlier crossed Arthur’s mind again, but like the previous time, he shut it down.

The woman looked suspiciously at the two men, almost accusingly. “You two seem…close.” She said, raising one of her bushy eyebrows.

Francis shook his head. “We seem close? I didn’t even know his age until a few moments ago, Ma Cherie!” Arthur clenched his jaw behind his smiling lips.

The woman stepped away from Francis before turning in his direction. “Perhaps we could catch up tomorrow. You seem to be occupied with your…new acquaintance.”

Francis turned to her, nodding. “Perhaps so. We’ll meet at the same spot as today, hmm?” He replied to her before taking her hand and kissing it.

The girl giggled, her cheeks turning pink.“Tomorrow then! Until we meet again, Francis!” She called as she walked away.

“Au revoir, Alice!” Francis called back, blowing her a kiss. He turned back to Arthur, his elbows on the counter.

“I thought your fiancée was a Belgian woman named Laura,” Arthur said, somewhat confused.

“Well, I’m going to spend the rest of my life with only one woman, so I might as well flirt a little with a few pretty English girls, no?”

Francis said it so casually, as if cheating on one’s fiancée was just something normal that everyone does. Arthur was taken aback if he was to be honest. This man had seemed so charming, everything Arthur looked for in a…friend, and yet he would do things with other women behind his fiancée’s back? Arthur wanted to call Francis out on this, but he just couldn’t bring himself to; he liked his company too much. “Fair enough, I suppose.” That was all Arthur could muster.

Not knowing how to continue the conversation, Arthur decided to change the topic. “Could I get you a drink?”

“That depends. Do these pubs have wine?”

“Oh, yes, we do. Red or white?”

“Red if that does not trouble you. How many pounds would that be, Mon Ami?”

“It’s on the house.”

Francis took a moment to process what Arthur had said before perking his gaze upwards. “You’re buying me a drink?”

Arthur smiled at Francis as he turned around to grab a glass for the wine. “I suppose I am.” He noticed Francis wasn’t making eye contact with him, but still smiling in his general direction, only downwards.

“Merci.”

“Of course. You’re welcome.”

Arthur corked open a bottle of wine before slowly pouring it into the glass. He couldn’t help himself but stare at Francis’s reflection behind him on the glass; he was just too…Arthur couldn’t think of a word for it. He noticed that Francis was still gazing at him, only this time biting his index finger, slyly, the same way he looked when he mentioned sleeping with that local girl. Was he…no, he couldn’t be. Francis would know better than to have such thoughts about another man. Sure, such behavior was allowed in Paris, but Francis seemed like he was a ladies’ man. There was absolutely no way he was one of those people.

Arthur handed the glass to Francis, who smiled at him. “Merci, Mon Ami.”

“The pleasure is mine, Chap!”

Francis took a sip of the wine before letting out a sigh of relief. “I haven’t drunk wine since the night before we left for England. All this beer tastes horrible; no offense.”

Arthur chuckled. “None taken! So, Francis, tell me more about yourself. I want to get to know you more.”

“Where should I start?”

“Anywhere. Tell me whatever you want.”

Francis sipped the wine and took a deep breath. “Then I shall start from the very beginning...”

Chapter Text

Francis sighed before he began.

“I was born in the French countryside, but not too far from Paris. I have no memory of my father: he went off to fight in the Great War when I was two. Most of my childhood was spent in a catholic boarding school in Paris, so I have very few fond memories of my mother. All I remember is that she was…eh…promiscuous…she had to marry a man from Monaco after ending up pregnant with my little sister. I love my little sister dearly. She’s the sweetest girl I've ever met. Her father, however, I loathe. He left my mother shortly after my sister was born, leaving her to raise a little girl all on her own. Although I do not think of my mother fondly, she didn’t deserve that. When I would come back for the summers, I’d spend most of my time looking after my little sister.“

Arthur was torn by the tragedy that was Francis’s childhood. He stood for a moment, thinking how to respond.

“I’m really sorry. That’s awful.”

“Please, don’t be. My early years weren’t all that terrible. You see, at boarding school I made two of the best friends of my entire life.”

Francis’s face lit up as he spoke, the same way it did when he spoke of his fiancée. Despite feeling that same dreadful feeling once again, Arthur loved hearing Francis talk. “Please, Francis, tell me about them.” That was the only thing Arthur could say.

Francis nodded. “As you wish. Their names are Antonio and Gilbert. The three of us instantly bonded when we realized we all spoke English. Oh, I forgot to mention, I had learnt English from a tutor growing up.”

That sparkle in Francis’s eyes seemed to fade away when he mentioned how he had learnt English. Arthur was about to ask what was wrong, but he was cut off by Francis before he could say anything.

“But I’m getting off topic, am I? Anyway, let me tell you about those two. Antonio was one of the most cheerful people I’ve ever met. He was very skilled when it came to repairing antiques; I could always rely on him. He could be clueless, but he was nonetheless wonderful to be around.

Gilbert was German, but always considered himself Prussian. He had been inspired to be an engineer someday; he always had something on his hands. He was very confident, often boasting about himself, but I did not mind; he was a great friend. I remember vividly, during one of our summers apart, he visited Budapest and fell in love with a Hungarian girl whom he told me and Antonio was the love of his life, only for her to run off with his cousin. He was in shambles that year, but quickly became his bright and confident self when he took in a small pet bird.

The nuns loathed the three of us. We were…how do I put this?”

Arthur blushed out of embarrassment, knowing what Francis meant.

“No need to elaborate…”

“Very well then.” Francis continued.

“We’d spend our weekends out drinking, flirting with Parisian girls, occasionally smoking. Those weekends were some of the best times of my life. Oh, how I miss them both dearly.”

Just hearing the way Francis spoke about Antonio and Gilbert gave Arthur a desire to meet the two of them. The way Francis seemed to care so deeply about them. Arthur liked seeing Francis’s face light up, and if these two friends of his, Antonio and Gilbert, who Arthur would never meet, made Francis light up like that, then he could listen to Francis talk about them all day.

“Please, Francis, keep talking to me,” Arthur uttered, subconsciously gazing at Francis.

“Very well then, Mon Ami. Hmm…what else should I tell you about? Oh yes, Laura.”

Arthur felt that now familiar sinking feeling once again, but he didn’t really care. He just wanted to hear Francis talk.

Francis smiled as he spoke, which made Arthur feel more alive than he ever had, yet simultaneously as if he was dying.

“Laura and I met about a year ago. I was visiting Brussels when we met, and very drunk as well. She was the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on, and I’ve laid eyes on many. I couldn’t resist her; I ran straight to her and told her she was the most beautiful woman in all of Europe.”

“And what did she do after that?”

“I don’t remember much. Again, I was very drunk. The next thing I knew, I was in bed with that sweet Belgian girl asleep beside me. We spent the next month or two traveling around mainland Europe together. Of course, we were cautious, especially considering what Germany is like now, but we weren’t cautious enough. Now we have a little one on our way…”

“Oh, are you not happy about it?” Asked Arthur.

“No, no, I am very happy. I just would have wanted to wait a little longer. But that’s the price you pay for having a good night, am I right?”

Arthur wanted to change the subject. He was fine talking about the deed, but he couldn’t stand the idea of Francis doing it. It just gave him that feeling.

“So have you thought of any names?” Said Arthur, trying to change the subject.

“Oui, we have,” Francis replied eagerly. “If it’s a girl, we are thinking Madeline, and if it’s a boy, we’ve decided on Matthieu.”

“I think those are wonderful names.”

“Enough about me. Tell me about yourself, Monsieur Arthur.”

Arthur paused for a moment. “You want to hear about me?”

“Oui. I want to know everything about you.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

“Then I shall tell you everything.”

“Alright then. I suppose I should start at the very beginning. I was born in this very town, the same town my father grew up in. My mother moved here after meeting my father in London. My mother was half Welsh, half Scottish, my name being after her father, who was Welsh. My parents had my three older brothers before me, who have all moved away. We were raised in a strict Protestant household. I didn’t have many friends growing up, but I was very close with my family. One of my older brothers, Alasdair, would always tell me stories about knights and princesses. He told me that this one castle in the countryside was once guarded by a dragon, who was slain by a knight. The knight went on to marry a princess and live in that castle. He obviously was making all that up, but sometimes I wish I still believed those stories he’d tell me. Life was simpler then, you know?”

Arthur had never been so open with anyone, yet he was completely fine telling his life story to a man he hadn’t even known for a day. He still couldn’t figure out what had overcome him, but it definitely had to do with Francis.

“Did I say too much?” Arthur asked, somewhat nervous about driving Francis away.

“Non, not at all. Please, continue.”

Perhaps Francis was just as mesmerized with Arthur as Arthur was with him, and Arthur treasured that.

Arthur almost didn’t process what Francis said. “If I were a woman, I’d be so jealous of Laura. You’re enchanting.” Murmured Arthur subconsciously.

Francis seemed a bit shocked to hear those words leave Arthur’s mouth. His sky blue eyes widened, his cheeks turned a shade of pink.

“Pardon?”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. All apologies!” Arthur cried, feeling his face become red.

“No, no, Mon Ami, don’t apologize. I’m glad to hear that.” Francis replied, shaking his head.

“Glad?”

“Oui, I am. If I were a woman, I would have loved you at first sight.”

Somehow, those words were both the most beautiful and heartbreaking words Arthur had ever heard in all 23 years he had been alive. Francis had come into Arthur’s life only a little over 24 hours ago, and somehow made him feel the best and worst he had ever had.

The two men talked all night long. They talked about their life stories, they talked about places they’d been, they talked about what they wanted most in life, whatever came to mind. The two would’ve stayed there forever if Arthur’s boss hadn’t told Arthur to prepare for closing. Arthur could only nod, sighing.

“I suppose this is goodbye, Arthur.” Said Francis, sitting up from the barstool chair.

“I suppose so. I had a lovely evening tonight.” Arthur replied disappointedly.

“I must be going. Au revoir, Monsieur Arthur.”

“Goodbye, Francis.”

Arthur dreadfully watched as Francis walked slowly towards the wooden door he had come through that morning. Would he never see Francis again? No, it couldn’t be.

“Francis, wait!” Arthur called out. Francis turned around.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like it if you came to visit me frequently. I like you, Francis. I like being around you. Please don’t let this be the last time we see each other.” Arthur said, his eyes glued to Francis’s.

Francis smiled at him. “I would like that, Arthur. Same time tomorrow?”

Arthur nodded. “Same time tomorrow.”

That midnight, Arthur dreamed of walking through a sunset field, just like he had done growing up in the countryside. He saw a figure in the distance, a female one. Arthur approached her. She wore a long white skirt and a purple cape that flowed in the wind. Her dirty blonde hair was tied in a bun, topped with a crown. Her eyes were purple like the violets around the meadows, and were the second most beautiful eyes Arthur had ever seen. She gazed back at him, her soft lips smiling.

“Bonjour, Mon Cherie.” Said the woman as Arthur stopped near her.

“Hello, my lady.”

“Come on, Arthur, let’s go.”

She took both Arthur’s hands, and the two ran off into the horizon, laughing under the glistening gold of dusk.

Chapter Text

Arthur was about to step outside before he realized there were two little stray cats on the steps, lying down all nuzzled up together.

“Oh goodness! I’m terribly sorry for almost stepping on you.” Arthur cried, looking down at the two cats. One looked in his direction before turning back around, the other paying him no bother.

It took Arthur a moment to realize it, but those had been the same cats he saw under a table in the rain two days prior. “Oh, it’s you two!” He said to the cats, before stepping over them and starting his daily journey to work.

Opening the pub that morning went smoothly. Arthur arrived on time, all his co-workers arrived on time, the place had been cleaned the night before, and the dishes had all been washed. There was nothing left to do but patiently wait for people to show up.

The first hour or two were uneventful, or at least didn’t stick with him. He may have chatted a bit with locals or snuck a pint of rum when nobody was looking, but that happened every day. Arthur just went on with his day, patiently awaiting nightfall, when he’d see oh so charming Francis again.

At some point, Arthur noticed the door open. It was too early for it to be Francis, so Arthur did not pay it much attention. All he noticed was that it was a brown haired woman holding something. Arthur paid more attention to said woman when she walked up to the bar, when he realized the “thing” she had been holding was actually a baby girl.

The woman wore a green dress, which complemented her just as green eyes. She seemed to be in her 20s. Her light brown hair was tied with a white headband. She carried a brown purse on her side. Her baby was dressed in a white dress with puffy little sleeves, lying in their mother’s arms. Arthur couldn’t help but notice the baby had one curl that stuck out.

“Madam, I have no intentions of being rude, but isn’t she a little young to be here?” Said Arthur, wondering if his boss would be fine with a baby in the pub.

“Oh, my apologies. If he will be too much of a problem, I can leave.” The woman replied in a sweet Hungarian accent.

“He’s a little boy?”

“Indeed. My little Feli is a beautiful baby boy.”

Arthur flushed at the realization of his mistake. Perhaps he should have asked beforehand.

“I’m terribly sorry, Miss! I had no-“ Arthur cried, before being cut off.

“Oh no, it’s alright. He’s just a baby, and it’s hard to tell at his age. So tell me, do you serve vodka?” The woman replied.

“Yes, miss. We indeed have vodka.” Responded Arthur, turning around to pour the woman a glass.

The woman smiled. “Oh, perfect. How many pounds would that be?” She said as she opened the purse resting on her hip.

“It’s on the house. I feel sorry for assuming your son was a girl.” Cried Arthur in response.

The woman giggled before closing her purse. “Well, thank you! Please, kind British man, tell me, what’s your name?”

“Arthur. Arthur Kirkland. What might yours be, my lady?”

“Erzébet. Erzébet Edelstein.”

“It is my pleasure to meet you, Erzébet. What brings you to England?”

Erzébet sighed before answering Arthur’s question. “The Germans.” She replied, exhaustion in her voice. “My husband and I lived in Austria before coming here.”

Arthur knew exactly what Erzébet meant. Earlier that year, the Germans had marched into Austria with very little resistance, and just like that, Austria and Germany were now one. It had violated the Treaty of Versailles, which had been made after the Great War, but it seemed no European officials were doing anything. Sometimes Arthur wondered if war would break out, but that wasn’t likely; the world was still traumatized from the horrors of the Great War.

Arthur wasn’t sure what to say. He felt so sorry for this poor woman. He couldn’t imagine leaving everything he ever knew and starting from scratch in a foreign town he’d never been to, having to learn a completely different language too. “Oh, the Germans, huh?” That was all Arthur could manage to say as he handed Erzébet the glass of vodka.

“Indeed,” Murmured Erzébet. “The Germans.” Erzébet’s warm smile drifted away.

“So, how old is your little one?” Arthur asked nervously, trying to change the subject.

“Oh, he’s almost two years old now.” Said Erzébet. She seemed to lighten up when asked about her son.

“You said his name was Feli?”

“His name is Feliciano, but we call him Feli for short.”

“May I ask why he has an Italian name?” Asked Arthur.

“Why, he’s Italian. You see, my Feli is adopted. After finding out I couldn’t conceive, I was heartbroken. My husband and I had wanted a child of our own so badly. We talked about adoption for a while before we decided to visit an orphanage, where I first laid eyes on my little tomato.” Erzébet booped Feliciano’s tiny nose.

“Apparently, his birth parents had died in a fire, but he had been rescued by a local. We were told he had a twin brother who also survived, but the poor things had been separated. By his cute little face, you wouldn’t be able to tell all that he’d been through. I knew the second I held him that he was going to be my son. My Roderich and I adopted Feli as soon as we could. I couldn’t imagine a world without him.”

Erzébet affectionately gazed down at the little boy in her arms, once again smiling. Arthur found it so beautiful how much Erzébet seemed to care for this baby. Maybe someday Arthur would have a child he’d love just as much as Erzébet loved Feliciano.

“Are you in England permanently?” Asked Arthur out of curiosity.

Erzébet nodded. “Yes, we are. My husband is trying to find work in town. He used to be a professional musician back in Austria, performing in orchestras and composing pieces, but all good things must come to an end, must they?”

Arthur nodded back in agreement. “I suppose so.”

“Sometimes, I wish I could find work around here, but that isn’t easy as a woman. Don’t get me wrong, I love my little Feli, but sometimes I wish I weren’t defined by him. I hope that makes sense.” Cried Erzébet, sighing.

Arthur hadn’t ever thought of that. He wanted a family, but he didn’t want his future wife to feel like she couldn’t provide for the family.

Arthur remembered his childhood, growing up in the same cottage he now lived in. When he was little, it was always his mother taking care of him and his older brothers. He remembered her tired eyes at the end of each day, exhausted from practically raising four little boys all on her own. He remembered watching her through the keyholes of his parents’ bedroom door, crying every night. Was that what Erzébet felt? Arthur didn’t want his future wife stuck taking care of their children all on her own. Sure, most people thought it was the woman’s role to take care of the kids, but shouldn’t the father care just as much?

“It may seem odd, but I wonder if when I find a woman to spend the rest of my life with, we could take turns caring for the children. Perhaps we could find work on different days. I hope that makes sense.” Cried Arthur.

“It does make sense. You would be a good father.” Erzébet replied, grinning at Arthur.

“I would?”

“You would.”

Arthur smiled. “That means a lot to me.”

Erzébet once again gave Arthur that warm smile. “I’m glad.”

The two were silent for a moment before Erzébet broke it. “So, Arthur, what days do you work here? I would like to talk again sometime.” Asked Erzébet before she finished her drink.

“I work all weekdays. I’m glad you asked.” Arthur replied.

“Well, I must get going now. It’s almost this one’s nap time.” Erzébet said, gesturing Feliciano up a little.

“Fair enough. I look forward to seeing you again, Erzébet!” Said Arthur, taking the now-empty glass and wiping it down.

“Until we meet again!” Erzébet called out as she turned around to leave the pub.

“Until we meet again!” Arthur called back, waving goodbye.

Now Arthur was alone again. He would just zone out all afternoon until evening fell, and he once again saw Francis. Arthur sighed before continuing to wipe down the empty glass that smelled of vodka.

Chapter Text

After a long afternoon of waiting, Arthur saw the pub door open. And with it, that charming Frenchman and a pregnant woman in a brown dress; a light green ribbon was tied in her hair. She was probably Laura. Arthur had waited for this moment all day, just to feel that same feeling he always got when Francis’s love life came up in conversation.

“Monsieur Arthur!” Francis called out, waving a hand towards Arthur.

“Francis! Good evening!” Arthur called back, waving in response.

Francis and the woman sat at the bar, both smiling ear to ear.

“You must be the Arthur my Francis tells me about. It’s wonderful to meet you. I’m Laura. Laura, soon-to-be Bonnefoy!” The woman cheerfully said with a sweet Dutch accent.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Laura. And you’d be correct; I am that Arthur Francis’s tells you of.” Arthur replied with a forced grin.

Laura leaned her head on Francis’s shoulder. Francis placed his arm around her, his hand resting on her waist. He looked Arthur straight in the eyes, smirking as if he knew something.

Everything felt silent around Arthur for a moment, almost tuning out the chattering around the pub.

“Oh uh, could I get you a drink?” Arthur asked, trying to break the tension.

“Same as last time, Mon Ami.” Replied Francis, pulling out his wallet from his pocket. “How much would that be? Or are you going to insist on buying me a drink again?”

Arthur chuckled. “Seven pence. And no, I’m not buying you a drink. May I get something for the lady?”

“Oh, I’d love to, my throat is very dry, but it might not be good for the baby.” Said Laura with a sigh.

“I could get you just a glass of water if you’d like that.” Replied Arthur, trying to be polite.

Laura nodded. “Oh, I would like that, please.”

“Very well then.” Arthur turned around to pour their drinks. He took deep breaths as he tilted the bottle of wine towards the wine glass. Why did he feel like this? He shouldn’t care that a man he met two or three days ago was with a woman, but he did. He did care. He didn’t want to feel this way. Laura was a very sweet person, and he should be happy Francis found a woman like her, but he wasn’t. Arthur thought about what he had subconsciously blurted out the previous day: “If I were a woman, I’d be so jealous of Laura.” He might not have meant to say that, but he sure did feel that way.

After whipping up both the water and wine, Arthur turned around to the couple, handing them each their respective drink.

“Dank u, mister Arthur. You’re such a gentleman!” Cried Laura, all giggly.

“Don’t fall in love with him and run off on me!” Responded Francis in a humorous tone. All three of them chuckled.

“From the way you talk about him, I’m more worried about you doing so!” Laura chuckled back.

Arthur forced himself to laugh with them, but those words made his stomach knot up. He felt his neck sweat and his hands clench. Everything besides Francis was a blur to him. Arthur wanted nothing more than to melt into the earth right then and there. It was such a strange thing for Laura to say, but it absolutely tore Arthur’s soul apart. He and Francis? Fall in love and run away? Of course Arthur didn’t want to fall in love and run away with Francis; they were both men, but the idea of it must have made a permanent imprint on his head, heart, and guts.

Arthur wiped the sweat from his forehead and exhaled one more forced laugh. “You have nothing to worry about, my lady; I’m not some faggot or anything.” Exclaimed Arthur, visibly red.

Francis seemed off after Arthur said that. His eyes turned towards the ground, and his fingers twitched a little. Arthur noticed this quickly, somewhat concerned.

“Francis, are you alright? Is something wrong?”

Francis perked up his head after hearing Arthur’s voice. “Oh no, everything is alright, Mon Ami.”

Laura looked at Francis with concern and whispered something in French, which he responded to with a ting of frustration in his voice. Arthur couldn’t understand what they were saying, of course, but he knew something was wrong.

Arthur cleared his throat to break the tension growing beneath the three. “So, Laura, tell me a bit about yourself.”

Laura turned her head quickly towards Arthur. “Oh! Well, where should I start?”

“The very beginning.”

“Well, alright! I was born on a farm near the border of the Netherlands. My father had my brother with a Dutch woman he was married to before my mother, who died giving birth to him. Coincidentally, my mother also died giving birth to me. My father remarried once again to a woman from Luxembourg, and had my younger brother. He’s living in Luxembourg now. My earliest memories are all of playing in the fields with my brothers. He is in Amsterdam now. I miss those days sometimes.”

“No kidding, I also have brothers living abroad. Three actually!” Interjected Arthur.

“You do? What a coincidence! What countries?” Responded Laura.

“Well…kinda abroad. One lives in Scotland, one in Wales, and another is stationed in Northern Ireland. The UK is a bloody weird place.”

“No kidding, you guys are all over the place!”

“Enough about me. You tell me more about yourself.”

“Very well then, mister Arthur. Now where was I…Oh yeah. I ran away to Brussels when I was 16.”

Arthur was somewhat shocked hearing those words come out of Laura’s mouth. She said it so nonchalantly, as if most people just ran off as teenagers.

“You what?” Exclaimed Arthur in his shock.

“I ran away.” Responded Laura. My Father was always so strict on me, and my stepmother didn’t do much about it, so I said my goodbyes to my brothers and ran away to Brussels.”

Arthur was still shocked by how calmly Laura mentioned it. “You just up and ran away? What did you even do once you got to Brussels?”

“It wasn’t easy at first. Having no place to stay, I’d spend each night somewhere new, sometimes sleeping at places I’d stayed at before. It usually came at a price, of course, but I needed somewhere to sleep. It was like that for two years, until I met Francis. He was the handsomest man I ever saw, I mean, look at him! I thought I must have been dreaming when he came up to me and told me I was the most beautiful woman in all of Europe! We spent the next few months together, traveling all around mainland Europe. I saw places I never thought I’d see: Amsterdam, Paris, Vienna, Berlin. Oh, how lovely it was! We went back to Brussels for a while when I started getting sick frequently. When we found out I was expecting, Francis proposed right then and there. I told him that I wanted to go to Britain before we got married, and he agreed. We spent the last two months together traveling throughout Scotland and Wales, and now we are here in England. He promised we will go to Ireland after the baby is born, and I’ve recovered, of course.” Laura giggled a bit and kissed Francis’s cheek, which felt like a stone hitting Arthur’s chest.

“Oui oui, ma cherie, we will go to Ireland…” Francis responded, sighing a bit, but still smiling. He rolled his eyes and then looked at Arthur, shaking his head. Arthur, of course, had to react as if he was cool with everything and just forced out yet another chuckle.

“So, Mr. Arthur, is there a Mrs. Kirkland that Francis didn’t tell me about?” Ask Laura, perking her head up from Francis’s shoulder.

“No, not yet. Funny thing is, your frog of a fiancé asked me the same thing. Oh, and you can just call me Arthur, you know.” Replied Arthur.

Laura seemed a bit surprised. “There isn’t? Oh, how come? You are such a lovely gentleman; I thought English girls would be all over you!”

Arthur shook his head. “I suppose I just haven’t found the right woman yet. And you’d be mistaken. I’m not seen as the most attractive man around here.”

“Well, these English girls must not have a sense of taste.” Francis chimed in. Laura began to laugh, her eyes closed, so she must not have noticed when Francis tilted his head back a little and winked at Arthur.

“Well, you better stop flirting with me like I’m some English girl; your fiancée’s right here!” Responded Arthur, winking back at Francis. It obviously wasn’t actually flirting; Arthur was sure friends usually talked like this. He hadn’t had many, so he wasn’t one hundred percent sure, but there was no way an engaged man was one of those people. It was harmless banter.

The hours had flown by, Arthur, Francis, and Laura all chatting, telling stories, Francis and Arthur occasionally having another drink; it could’ve gone that way all night long, but the pub had to close at some point. Francis was in the middle of telling a story about him and his friends from boarding school when Arthur’s boss walked over behind the bar, placing a hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

“Kirkland, pub closes in five minutes.” Arthur’s boss nearly breathed into his ear.

“Alright, we’ll wrap up for the night,” Arthur replied, somewhat uncomfortably. He moved his boss’s hand away from his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur noticed Francis somewhat glaring at his boss, definitely just as uncomfortable as Arthur was.

“I suppose we should head back to our hotel now.” Said Francis, getting up from the barstool seat.

Arthur nodded. “I suppose so. It was lovely seeing you again, Francis. And it was great to meet you, too, Laura.”

“Au revoir, Mon Ami.”

“Until we meet again, Sir Francis!”

And just like that, Arthur was once again alone. Arthur used to like being alone, but ever since Francis came into his life that previous Sunday, he loathed it. He hated the fact that he couldn’t be around that charming frog all the time.

.

Once again, that night, Arthur dreamed of the same woman he had seen the previous day, standing in the same golden field they had the night before. Arthur once again ran to her; the only thing he could do.

“My lady! It’s lovely to see you again!”

“Sir Arthur! I’ve been awaiting you.” She reached out her hand, her loose hair flowing in the wind.

Arthur kissed her hand, kneeling on one knee. “I’m terribly sorry I kept you waiting.”

She smiled at Arthur, helping him off the ground. “Shall we?”

“Yes, my lady. We shall.”

Before the two ran off into the horizon once again, Arthur remembered something he had meant to ask the woman last time.

“My lady, I don’t believe I ever got your name.”

She turned back to Arthur, gazing at him with her lavender eyes. “Francine. Francine Bonnefoy.” She definitely noticed the surprise on Arthur’s face when he heard her name.

“Is something wrong, Mon Cherie?”

“No, it’s just…your name is very similar to a friend of mine’s…”

She paused for a moment, still smiling.

“I know.”

Chapter Text

On one sunset in the fall of 1923, Arthur could vividly remember walking into the countryside with his older brother, Alasdair, hand and hand, through the greenery, tinted gold by the sun in the sky. Alasdair’s dark blue jacket flew in the breeze behind him. He tightly held a book to his chest with his other hand. Young Arthur clutched the buttons of his own dark green jacket.

“Alasdair, where are we going? We’ve been walking for nearly thirty minutes!”

Alasdair didn’t turn to face Arthur. “We’re almost there, Arthur; just keep moving.”

Their parents had gotten into yet another argument, something that had become increasingly common those days. Ever since their father had gotten back from Ireland, he was much angrier, as he had started to drink a lot more. Arthur didn’t know what this argument was about, as Alasdair wouldn’t let him peek into the room of their parents, where the two were having their argument. Connor and Dylan, Arthur’s two other older brothers, had agreed to stay back and keep an eye on their parents, in case things got physical, while Alasdair took Arthur away to distract him from the chaos. Arthur wanted to stay home, but he knew he couldn’t take it, so he agreed to go off with Alasdair into the countryside.

“Alright, Arthur, look straight ahead.” Said Alasdair, letting go of Arthur’s hand to point ahead of them.

It might have been the most beautiful thing Arthur ever saw, at least until that point. Across a lake, ahead of them was a big, tall, stone castle, with vines growing along the walls. The towers stood high up, higher than any building Arthur had seen in their town. The castle and the setting sun reflected onto the lake like the mirrors Arthur would sneak from his mother’s vanity. A swan swam across the lake like one of the graceful angels Arthur saw in the paintings at church. All Arthur could do was drop his jaw in awe and gaze at the beautiful castle across the lake.

“Wow! Is that real?” Arthur asked, turning his gaze towards Alasdair.

Alasdair looked down at his little brother, his brownish-reddish hair flowing in the wind. “Of course it’s real, Arthur. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I just thought only princesses lived in castles.”

“One used to live there.”

Arthur’s emerald green eyes widened. “Really?”

Alasdair nodded. “Really.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Sit down, Arthur. Okay?”

Arthur sat legs crossed on the cold, long grass below him. Alasdair knelt down and promptly did the same.

“Once, long ago, that castle was guarded by a dragon.”

“A dragon?”

“A dragon!”

“I don’t believe you.”

Alasdair snickered at Arthur. “Then how about I tell you the story?”

“I would like that.” Arthur lay his head in his brother’s lap.

“Very well then. Chapter one…”

Arthur missed those times. He missed when he could escape his problems and run off somewhere new with his brother, sometimes brothers. Now, however, he was alone and had to face his problems himself. His problems like his inexplicable rage whenever he thought of one of the sweetest women he had ever met.

Arthur buried his face in his pillow, frustrated with this strange new feeling he’d had for the past few days. His blonde hair was a mess from tossing and turning throughout the night before. Once again, Arthur dreaded getting up from bed, but once again, he did exactly that, only motivated by the hope of seeing that charmingly aggravating Frenchman.

After getting dressed and somewhat fixing up his hair, Arthur practically threw on his coat as he made his daily route to the pub. The morning air somewhat woke Arthur up, easing the clamminess in his chest and cooling down the sweat on his and underneath his shirt. He inhaled the cool, autumn air, feeling the tiredness leave his body as he exhaled.

As Arthur walked along the stone road, he noticed two figures in the distance, both having familiar silhouettes. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure, so he waited until he got closer. When they were clear in sight, it was exactly who Arthur thought it was.

Francis and the local girl he had been with the other day stood in front of a furniture store, facing each other, in conversation. He wondered if he should stop and say hi, but he didn’t want to be late for work. Arthur kept walking, pretending not to see them, when he heard his name called out in a familiar French accent.

“Arthur, Mon Ami!”

Arthur couldn’t help himself from turn around to see the man whom he had looked forward to seeing every day that week.

“Francis! Lovely day, innit?”

Francis gleefully approached Arthur, practically abandoning the English girl, who rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath.

“Tell me, what are you doing all alone on such a lovely morning?” Francis asked, putting an arm around Arthur’s shoulder.

Arthur could feel his blood rush to his cheeks, but tried to ignore it. “And why the bloody hell would you be concerned what I’m doing?”

“I just want to know what a pretty boy like you is doing all on his own on a day like this. Is it such a bad thing to ask?”

Arthur scratched the back of his head, embarrassed by Francis’s words. “Well, if you need to know so badly, I’m on my way to work. Now stop bothering me before I’m late.” He put a hand on Francis’s chest, gently pushing him away.

“From the way you say that, it seems like you don’t want me to.”

Arthur knew deep down Francis was right. He never wanted to be away from Francis; he was all Arthur could think about after all, but Arthur couldn’t afford to be late for work.

“Perhaps in the depths of my heart I want you to stay here, but unlike you, I’m a working man. You'd better come and stop by tonight, though; I mean it.” Arthur gave Francis a tiny wink like he had the night before, in a playfully friendly manner. Remember, they were both men. It couldn’t be flirtatious.

“You open at 11:00, no? You have plenty of time.” Said Francis.

Arthur sighed, not able to resist him. “I suppose I have a bit of time. But you better not make me late.”

Francis put his hand around Arthur's wrist.“Then walk with me for a little; it’s such a nice autumn day.”

Arthur simultaneously rolled his eyes and smiled. “Alright, alright, I’ll walk with you for a little.”

Francis called back to the English girl that he would see her in a bit, like a child running off to school. She hollered back at him to “not abandon her for that bloody bartender again”, but Francis did not seem to acknowledge her. Arthur found that quite rude, but he just couldn’t tell Francis that. Something inside him wouldn’t let him. All Arthur could do was let Francis skip away with him as if Arthur were a dog on a leash.

“And where the hell are you taking me?” Arthur asked, somewhat perplexed by the fact that he was being dragged away.

“God only knows where. Maybe I’m dragging you back to Paris with me.”

“Now, why would you take me there?”

“Some things you can only do in Paris.”

Arthur tried not to think too hard about the implications of that; he just wanted to enjoy the moment.

The two walked throughout downtown, turning heads as the townsfolk saw a loud French tourist drag around that stubborn local man. Arthur heard whispers of “the bloody hell is Kirkland doing with that frenchie?” And “is Kirkland out with the frog that’s been sleeping around with everyone’s wives?”, which he tried to tune out. Besides, Arthur was so content with this moment. He would have followed Francis to the depths of hell at that moment. Arthur never wanted Francis to let go of his wrist. He wanted nothing more than to just follow Francis’s lead like a sheep with its shepherd.

“You know, Francis. We should do something this weekend. That is, if your wife is okay with it.”

Francis seemed to like that idea. “I would enjoy that, Monsieur Arthur. What is there to do in this town?”

Arthur tried to think, but nothing came to mind. “No…not really.”

“Then let’s take a day trip to London. Isn’t it only a thirty-minute train ride?”

Arthur was a little taken aback for a second by how quickly Francis made the suggestion. It was as if he had been waiting for this moment, waiting to say just that.

“What?”

“I would like to go to London with you, Mon Ami.”

It might have been stupid of Arthur. Going into the city alone with a man he just met? Had he gone mad? But Arthur liked Francis too much. “I would like that too, Francis.” That was all he could say.

Francis smiled. “Wonderful. Then let’s go to London this Saturday.”

“Shouldn’t you ask Laura before we make any decisions set in stone?” Asked Arthur, somewhat concerned.

Francis shook his head. “She wouldn’t mind. She lets me do whatever I most desire. Besides, it gives her some time to do what she’s wanted to around town.”

Arthur shrugged. “I suppose. But you better not make me pay for your tickets.”

That made Francis cackle. “Alright, alright. But you’re also paying for your own.”

“Fine, fine. Fair enough, I suppose.” Responded Arthur, crossing his arms. Of course, this also made Francis laugh.

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur noticed another familiar face. Well, two for that matter. He turned around to double-check, and it was who he thought it was.

“Erzébet! Good day today, innit?”

Erzébet turned around, hearing Arthur’s familiar voice.

“Oh, Arthur!” She responded, waving with her free hand, the tiny Italian cradled in her other.

Arthur turned back to Francis, about to tell him who Erzébet was, when he saw Francis with an expression of utter shock. In confusion, Arthur turned back to Erzébet, whose face had a similar expression. Even her child looked up at her with concern on his tiny face.

“Erzébet Hedervay?”

“Francis Bonnefoy? And it’s Erzébet Edelstein for your information. I’m a married woman.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

Arthur was confused, turning his head back and forth between his two new acquaintances.

“You two know each other?” Asked Arthur, confused about what was going on.

“We met a few times when we were younger. We had a mutual…friend.” Erzébet replied with a tense voice.

Francis paused for a moment before adding to her words. “Indeed. A mutual friend.”

They stared at each other intensely as Arthur tried to figure out what to say. He kept turning his head back and forth between them. Erzébet put another arm around her child, who seemed very distressed. Perhaps Arthur was, too. For the first time, he didn’t want to be around Francis.

“I have to head off to work soon…I’ll catch up with you both!” Arthur stressfully exclaimed, pulling Francis’s hand off his wrist.

“Oh well. I’ll see you tonight!” Francis said, seeming to forget Erzébet was even there.

“Feli and I will probably be seeing you soon, too, Arthur,” Erzébet added

Arthur gave an uncomfortable smile before quickly taking off, heading in the direction of the pub. He could hear the two talking as he walked off. Arthur couldn’t quite make out what Francis and Erzébet were saying, but it was definitely not a fun conversation.

.

Arthur didn’t arrive on time, so his boss was not pleased with him.

“Kirkland! The bloody hell are you so late for?” The large man hollered in Arthur’s face. Arthur felt a bit of his boss’s spit hit his lip, which was utterly disgusting.

“My apologies, sir. It won’t happen again.”

“Well, you better not do it again. We will talk about this at closing time.”

“Very well then, I suppose.” Arthur hurried off behind the bar, trying to avoid further confrontation.

Arthur began wiping down the counter with a wet towel, faster than he usually did, knowing he had less time than usual. Usually at this time, he would fix up his tie or hair and maybe have a pint before customers started rolling in, but of course, there was no time for that. When pub goers started to come in, Arthur, of course, did not look like his usual well-groomed self. Arthur knew he was being judged, but tried to play it cool. He just needed to wait until nightfall, when he saw Francis once more, and could give him a piece of his mind. Despite being a little angry with him, Arthur still wanted to see his bastard of a Frenchman. It was the only thing keeping him going these days. Besides, he wanted to know what all that this morning was about.

Minutes felt like hours, and hours felt like days. Arthur forced himself to talk to locals who came in, trying to take his frustration off his mind. His frustrations with work, his boss, the strange feeling he had been getting, and most of all, his confusion from that morning.

That evening, Arthur felt a sense of relief wash over him as he saw Francis walk in through the big wooden door to the pub, waving to him as he entered.

“Good evening, Monsieur Arthur.”

Arthur pouted when Francis sat at the bar, giving him that same sly grin he always did.

“Aw, what is the matter, Mon Ami? Why are you acting so bitter to me?” Francis asked snarky.

“I was late to work because of you, bastard. My boss is probably going to kill me.” Cried Arthur as he poured Francis’s drink, trying not to look at his face.

“Oh, come on. I’m sure you had a nice time on our little date, no?” Responded Francis, resting his head on his fist.

Arthur turned red as the wine in his hand. “DATE? THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU MEAN DATE?”

“Oh, calm down. I’m just teasing you, you know.” Francis smugly replied.

Arthur slammed the wine glass onto the bar, almost spilling it a little. “You better be, you tiny pervert.”

Arthur couldn’t stay mad at Francis for long. Francis was able to smooth-talk his way back into being the center of Arthur’s world with his charismatic words and those looks that gave Arthur an unfamiliar sensation between his thighs. Arthur tried to act like he was still angry, but Francis could see through his facade. Arthur couldn’t keep it up forever now, could he? Eventually, he gave in to Francis, leaning close to his ear.

“Francis, do you remember the other day when you told me if you were a woman, you’d have loved me at first sight?”

“Oui. I remember that quite well.”

“If you were a woman, you’d be quite the temptress. Women must go mad when you look at them the way you look at me.” Arthur said this all quietly, at a volume only Francis could hear.

“I fear you do as well, Mon Ami.”

Chapter Text

Waiting for that Saturday felt like an eternity. That Thursday and Friday, all Arthur and Francis talked about at the bar was the day trip awaiting them that Saturday. Despite the short commute, Arthur hadn’t been to London since his teenage years. He remembered taking a trip there with his brothers when he was about 14, sightseeing throughout The Big Smoke, complaining when he couldn’t drink with his brothers in pubs, the soothing train ride there and back; Arthur couldn’t want to relive those times with Francis, except he would be able to drink this time.

Arthur usually slept in on weekends, having worked all week long, but he got up at the crack of dawn that morning. Arthur put on a green suit and spent nearly five minutes fixing up his tie. He combed his hands through his blonde hair until it looked just right. Arthur through his coat around his arms before stepping into his shoes and making his way to the train.

Arriving at the station, Arthur practically ran towards Francis, waving his hand in the air.

“Francis, Francis! Over here!”

Francis turned around to see the eager Englishman pacing towards him, with the same smile he always had when he saw him.

“You’re eager to see me, aren’t you?”

Arthur through his arm on Francis’s shoulder, catching his breath. “Of course I am, you idiot. What have we been talking about for the past two days?”

Francis let out that laugh which drove Arthur crazy. “Well, what are you waiting for, Mon Ami? Let’s go!”

Francis took Arthur’s hand, heading towards the train. The two handed their tickets to the ticket inspector. They sat next to each other, Arthur at the window seat, in one of those mini rooms with the wooden door. The seat was covered in soft, navy blue felt, which was relaxing to lean back on after practically running across town. The floor was lined with older carpets, which had definitely been there for a while. The room around them smelt of wood. As the train began to move, Arthur couldn’t help but collapse into the seat, his head on Francis’s shoulder.

“Don’t tell me you are tired already. We have a whole day walking around London ahead of us!” Francis exclaimed, turning his head to look at Arthur.

“I just need to rest a little. I’m not going to fall asleep or anything.” Sighed Arthur.

Francis shook his head, holding back a giggle. “Whatever you say, Monsieur. Don’t be surprised if I wake you up when we reach London.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, moving his head off Francis. “Shut up, you frog.”

Arthur gazed out the window at the scenery outside the window. It was the time of year when the leaves turned orange and began to fall from the trees; a very beautiful time if you asked Arthur. He rested his hands at his side as he looked out the window, his right hand next to Francis’s left. Occasionally, Francis’s pinky would brush against the side of Arthur’s, the leather of Francis’s gloves running down Arthur’s skin. It may have been subconsciously, or it may have been intentional, but Arthur’s pinky began to slide over, touching the tip of Francis’s. The two’s fingers began to graze against each other, Francis’s rubbing below Arthur’s nail. Arthur’s other hand began to twitch, and his face became warm. Arthur sighed, giving into the magnetic pull of Francis, and crossed his pinky over Francis’s, then his ring finger brushed over Francis’s hand, then his middle, then his index, and then his hand rested on top of Francis’s, their fingers slowly interlocking. As the train moved, their hands slowly moved to the side of Arthur’s leg, eventually making contact with it. Ever so casually, Arthur slid Francis’s hand onto his knee, his own hand still over it. Before he knew it, Arthur felt Francis’s hand make its way up to his thigh, before resting there for the rest of the train ride. Arthur could see Francis’s surprised expression out of the corner of his eye. Arthur looked back out the window, not even daring to glance at Francis again.

“Arthur…”

“Shut up. Just enjoy the view.”

Arthur slid over until he and Francis were side by side, legs touching. Arthur once again leaned onto Francis’s shoulder, watching the autumn view from the corner of his eye. He felt safe, secure, and comfortable. If he could, Arthur would’ve stayed in that moment forever, just him and Francis, hand and hand on that peaceful train ride to London. Arthur thought he would be excited when they finally arrived in the city, but his heart ached, knowing that the intimate moment between him and Francis had to come to an end. The two awkwardly parted hands when they heard the conductor announce they had arrived in the capital city.

“So this is London, innit?”

“Oui. Where else would we be? Boston?”

“Thank God we aren’t. I couldn’t live without tea.”

The two walked off the station platform and took a moment to admire the city. Cars drove across the roads, and buildings stood much higher than anything Arthur saw in his little hometown. Men in suits walked the streets holding suitcases, while women’s skirts flowed in the fall winds. Big signs in yellow and red stood above the doors of businesses. Arthur breathed in the city air as it blew across his coat and played with his hair.

The two stopped at a tourist stop and picked up a map, both not being too familiar with the city. It was then that Arthur discovered Francis spoke English much better than he could read it. Francis’s face twitched after taking a map.

“Arthur, there doesn’t seem to be any maps in French. Would you be a dear and read the map for me?”

“Oh, of course. Can you not read English?”

Francis somewhat tensed up for a moment. “No, no, I somewhat can. I just…”. He paused for a moment, “Don’t like to.”

“Oh, why not?”

“It’s not important. Please, just read for me.”

Arthur shrugged before taking the map from Francis’s hand. “Very well then. I’ll read for you.”

Arthur opened the map, trying to locate where they were. “So we left the train station, which is around here on the map, so we should be about here, so we should be…oh, I’d forgotten. We never really discussed what we wanted to see first, did we?”

Francis seemed to lighten up again, as if he had forgotten whatever gloomed over him. “Well, what would you like to see, Mon Ami?”

Arthur thought to himself for a moment before tracing over the map to see what big sights were the closest. “You know what? We’re quite close to the Palace of Westminster. That’s where the Big Ben is.”

“Then please, Monsieur Arthur, show me the way.”

“I will,” Arthur answered, pausing for a moment. “You must promise me something, though.”

“Oui?”

“Someday you’ll give me a tour of the Eiffel Tower. I’ve always wanted to go.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Arthur. Of course I will.”

Arthur took Francis’s hand in his. “Come along now.”

.

After a few minutes of walking, the two were close enough to have a good view of the Palace, which was oh so beautiful. It was designed with Gothic architecture and stood like a castle in the sky. It was painted this golden brown color, as if time had eaten at it. There at the side of the castle, standing high, was the clock tower, the oh so famous clock, towards its peak. The pointed top was a rusted greenish-blue, with little points on its corners. The clock itself was a white circle, with black detailing marking the time. The two men stood there for a moment, hand in hand, admiring the detailed building in front of them.

“It’s quite beautiful, isn’t it?” Arthur asked, turning to Francis.

Francis uttered something in French, which, of course Arthur couldn’t understand. One, because Francis was too quiet, and two, well, of course, Arthur couldn’t speak French.

“What was that? Sorry, I didn’t quite hear what you said.” Asked Arthur.

“Oh, uh. Oui, it’s quite beautiful.” Francis replied, a slight tone of embarrassment under his voice.

“It’s so fascinating. I could be anywhere in the world right now, and I just so happen to be with the man of my dreams at this beautiful palace in one of the most famous cities in the world. I’m truly a lucky man.”

Francis turned his head to Arthur with a somewhat confused expression. “Man of your dreams? You speak of me like I’m your husband.”

Arthur smacked Francis’s hand away from his. “Don’t get any ideas like that. We’re not in Paris yet.”

“Yet? So you will run off to Paris with me?”

“You’re bloody mad. One, I’m a straight man, and two, you have a fiancée. So if you think for a second that I-“

Francis cut off Arthur. “Ohonhon! I love it when you get so worked up! You do know I’m only teasing you, no?”

Arthur grabbed Francis’s hand once more. “I hate you sometimes.”

Francis put his free hand close to his chest. “I know you don’t. But it’s quite cute when you act as if you do.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, holding back the chuckle forming in his chest. “God, you’re insufferable.” He replied teasingly.

“I know!”

“Anyways, where should we go next? We have so much to see.”

“What’s closest to us?”

“Westminster Abbey is actually quite close, perhaps we should go there?”

“Lead the way, Mon Ami.”

That day must have been one of the best in Arthur’s lifetime. Whether the two were gazing up at the beauty of Buckingham Palace, admiring the carefully crafted churches, chattering in pubs, or shoulder to shoulder as ships along the River Thames went by, it was all Arthur could have ever wanted. He could spend a lifetime, an eternity just like this. Just hand and hand in the city with the best friend he ever knew. At one point, the two stood on London Bridge, the breeze running against their coats. Francis’s long hair danced in the fall air the way a woman’s would. His blue eyes practically sparkled. Despite the beauty of the world around them, all Arthur could look at was Francis. Beautiful, charming, alluring Francis. Perhaps if Francis were the woman Arthur wanted him to be, he would’ve fallen in love with him right then and there. But Francis was a man, and so was Arthur, so all he could do was admire him as the acquaintance he was, and that pained Arthur. It pained him so much. It pained him so much that on the train ride back, when only Francis could see him, Arthur couldn’t hold back the forming tears from his eyes.

Francis turned to talk to Arthur. “It is so lovely, isn’t it?-“ Francis paused when he noticed the tears in Arthur’s eyes. “Arthur, Mon Ami, what is the matter?”

Arthur would have lied and said everything was fine, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t lie to Francis.

“Why do you make me feel this way?”

Francis was a little confused about what Arthur meant. “Arthur, I don’t understand.”

Arthur couldn’t hold back what he had been feeling ever since their first encounter that previous Sunday. “You understand me so well. You make me feel things I have never felt before. I’ve known you for only six days, yet I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Every day I wait and wait and wait all day for you, just to feel so alone when you leave. God. Why do you make me feel like this?”

Arthur couldn’t see Francis’s pained expression. He didn’t know those words pained Francis just as much as they pained him. But don’t blame him. How was he supposed to know it did?

Holding the ever-growing pain back, Francis came closer to Arthur and whispered in his ear, “Arthur, I hope you realize what I have before it’s too late.”

“Realize what?”

“I cannot say. I’ll just push you away from me, and I only want for you to stay.”

“Nothing could ever push me away from you, dammit!”

Francis paused for a moment before inhaling. “I fear there are some things that may do just that.”

Arthur couldn’t take it anymore. He buried his face in Francis’s shoulder, sobbing, wanting to be as close to him as possible.

“I’m so confused, Francis. I’m so bloody confused.” Arthur cried, not even sure if Francis could understand his sobs.

Arthur felt as one of Francis’s arms wrapped around him, the fingers of his other hand running through Arthur’s now messy blonde hair. “Shh, it’s okay. I am here, and that’s all that matters.”

And that was all that mattered to Arthur. All that mattered to him was the fact that he was here in Francis’s arms, slowly moving back towards his hometown. There and then, at that moment, Arthur felt completely safe. He was able to be vulnerable, emotional, and pained, and Francis wouldn’t judge him whatsoever. Nobody got Arthur like Francis did. Not his late parents, not his brothers, not anyone from his hometown, nobody. Getting off that train that night was even more painful than when the two men usually parted ways. It hurt Arthur so much. When he arrived home after bidding adieu to Francis, Arthur wept all night until the gentle touch of sleep overcame him.

Chapter Text

A month or so had passed since that Saturday, and things between Arthur and Francis were different after that day in London. The two men were physically closer than most friends would be, often holding hands or touching the other’s arms, ever so often resting a hand on each other’s knees, although it was usually Francis doing so to Arthur. Some nights, Francis would stay late at the pub, far after it closed, just so he could have time alone with Arthur, usually holding the Englishman in his arms as the two men sat behind the bar, and Arthur couldn’t get enough of it. The way Francis would wrap his arms around him always left Arthur yearning, craving for the Frenchman’s touch. Lying in his bed those nights, Arthur often found his own right hand venture to regions of his body it usually wouldn’t. On those cold, dark nights, the dreams of that woman, Francine was it?, became more frequent. On this particular night, Arthur dreamt of himself and the woman nude, him lying beneath an apple tree in that same field. The woman knelt over him, her wavy blonde hair covering her breasts. Her soft hand stroked the side of Arthur’s face.

“Mon Cherie, what is the matter? I see the sorrow in your eyes, and that breaks my heart.”

“I don’t mean to speak ill of you, My Lady, but you eerily remind me of someone I know. It’s somewhat uncanny.”

The woman seemed amused by Arthur’s response. “Oh? Tell me about him, Monsieur Arthur.”

“How do you know I’m talking about a man?”

“Arthur, I know who you mean.”

“You what?”

“Don’t ask me such silly questions, Arthur. Just tell me about him.”

Arthur inhaled before continuing to the woman. “You see, that friend I said has a similar name to you…”

“Him? Oui, go on.”

“You just act so much like him. You call me ‘Mon Cherie’ the way he calls me ‘Mon Ami’, you have similar hair colors, you act like him, and well, of course, your name. It’s just so weird.”

“Arthur, have you considered why that might be?”

Arthur shook his head. “No, I haven’t.”

The woman got close to Arthur’s ear, whispering. “I think you know why.”

.

Arthur was awoken by a knock at his door. At first, he thought he must have been hearing things, so he rolled back onto his side and closed his eyes once more. Arthur perked up when he heard the knock once more, louder this time. Begrudgingly, Arthur pushed himself up and rubbed his eyes before slipping his feet into his slippers and making his way to the front door of his little cottage.

Arthur opened the door, frustrated. “Who the hell is it? It’s 7:00 in the morning on a Sun. “

He bit his words when he saw three faces he hadn’t seen in quite a while, all looking at him with different expressions.

“Alasdair? Connor? Dylan? Why on Earth are you three here?”

Alasdair’s green eyes glared at Arthur. “Invading England, of course. What else would we be here for?”

Arthur shook his head to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. There was no way his brothers who he hadn’t seen in over a year, were just showing up at his cottage. They all had lives across the country…or countries…the UK is a bloody weird place. Besides, Connor was in the army; he wouldn’t be allowed to just up and leave base, would he?

“Tell me what you three are here for right this instant; I demand to know!” Growled Arthur, his hands on his hips.

“We just wanted to see our little brother. What’s wrong with that? Now let us in, it’s freezing out here!” Arthur’s brother, Dylan, chimed in, a somewhat nervous tone behind his voice.

Arthur groaned, opening the door a little more. “Get in, you three. But you’re getting a hotel room; I don’t have room for you.”

“Oh come on, Arthur! All four of us lived here until last year. I’m sure you have some room, don’t you?" Responded the third brother, Connor, as the three brothers entered Arthur’s little cottage.

“Maybe he’s gone and found a missus!” Exclaimed Dylan, turning to Connor and Alasdair.

Arthur sighed. “No, no yet.”

All three of the older Kirkland brothers gave each other a look as if they knew something.

“We all thought you would’ve at this point. I remembered the local girls being all over you growing up.” Added Connor, making a similar expression to the other two brothers.

“Everyone always says that, but that’s simply not true. I don’t think any woman has ever shown interest in me.”

“Are you kidding me? They did all the time. You’re just too stupid to pick up on it. At first, I thought it was because you were young, but turns out, it’s just because you’re a fucking idiot!” Alasdair exclaimed, somewhat teasingly, somewhat seriously.

“Oh come on, Alasdair, cut him some slack. He may be a bit dense, but that means we still have our little brother all to ourselves. Besides, if he got some girl knocked up, we would have to be uncles, and we’d all be terrible uncles!” Connor responded, making himself along with Alasdair and Dylan chuckle.

Arthur rolled his eyes before remembering what he had been meaning to ask Connor when he first saw him. “Oh yeah, Connor. How the hell did you get up and leave!? You’re in the armed forces for crying out loud!” Arthur hissed back.

“Oh, I never told you, did I? Well, I left the British army and started a publishing business with an Irishman in Dublin,” Connor said this ever so casually, like he was just stating the weather.

“YOU WHAT?” Arthur must have processed the words that just came out of his brother’s mouth incorrectly.

“I left the British army and started a publishing business with an Irishman in Dublin. Now don’t make me tell you a third time.”

Arthur simply refused to believe Connor. “Nice bit, Connor. Now tell me the real reason they let you off.”

Connor paused in between each word as he spoke. “I left the British army and started a publishing business with an Irishman in Dublin. I told you not to make me tell you a third time!”

Arthur wanted to be angry at his brother, but he couldn’t. With the growing tensions between the United Kingdom and Germany, he didn’t want to lose Connor in the ever-so-slight chance of war breaking out. Even if he didn’t lose him, Arthur still remembered how his father had acted towards the boys and their mother when he got back to England after the war with the IRA, and Arthur couldn’t stand to see Connor end up like that.

Alasdair glared at Connor before turning to Arthur. “Dylan and I found out the same way you did, Arthur.” Groaned Alasdair, shaking his head.

Connor turned towards Alasdair. “Hey. Arthur and I may be a bit stupid, but at least we aren’t you and Dylan. You two still argue over where King Arthur was from at your grown ages!”

Dylan and Alasdair were taken a bit aback, but Arthur couldn’t help but laugh along with Connor. “Oh god, they’re still at that?” Arthur practically slapped his knee.

Dylan was visibly offended by the comment.“Be quiet! Arthur is a Welsh name; of course, he was Welsh!”

“So does that make our brother Welsh?” Alasdair bickered back, pointing towards Arthur.

“Might I ask you where our Grandfather, whom the boy was named, was born?”

Alasdair paused for a moment. “…Wales.”

All four brothers burst out into laughter at the absurdity of the argument, unable to be angry with each other.

Despite their arrival being somewhat surprising, Arthur was quite happy to have his brothers around him once again. He had missed all three of them oh so dearly. He missed Alasdair’s affectionate stubbornness and captivating storytelling, Dylan’s stupid but sweet ideas, Connor’s sarcasm and playful jabs at everyone else, and now Arthur had all three of them back, back at the place they all grew up. The little cottage where all four of them had been born, where they’d play their games about dragons and unicorns, where they’d hold each other when the others began to cry, and it was beautiful.

“Would you like it if I made you some tea?” Asked Arthur as his brothers made themselves comfortable.

“I suppose I’d like that. Not quite sure how those two are feeling.” Alasdair replied, crossing his arms.

Connor nodded in agreement. “I suppose I would like that as well.”

Arthur nodded back. “Alright then, I’ll go boil a kettle.”

“Hey! You didn’t ask me if I wanted any, did you?” Pouted Dylan

“Well, I’m horribly sorry. Would you like a cup, Dylan?”

“Yes, please…”

“Very well then.”

Arthur made his way to the kitchen, which was connected to the living area, so he could still hear the conversation going on between his brothers.

“So, Arthur, what have you been up to?”

“Honestly, not much, Alasdair. I’ve been spending my time with a French tourist for the past month, and occasionally talking to this Hungarian woman who moved into town a little over a month ago.”

“So you are seeing a woman? What’s her name?”

“God no, Dylan. She’s just a friend. She has a husband and a son for crying out loud. But her name is Erzébet. She’s a very sweet woman; she usually stops by to see me at the pub with her son. But no, I’m not seeing any women.”

Connor cut Dylan off before he could respond to Arthur. “Now hold up. What about this French tourist? Could it be a lady you speak of?”

That unpleasant feeling of gloominess once again overcame Arthur. “No, he’s a man.”

Arthur responded, trying to hide his painful expression. But Alasdair had known Arthur. He’d known him since he was the tiny baby boy he used to cradle in his arms, and he could tell something was wrong.

“You alright, Arthur? You seem a wee bit blue.”

Arthur felt the kettle in his hand somewhat shaking. “Me? Oh, of course I am. Everything is alright. Why'd you ask?”

“Your tone just got all sad and depressing. I can worry about my little brother, you know?” Responded Alasdair, leaning his head towards the kitchen.

Arthur sighed, knowing he couldn’t just tell his brother not to worry about him. “I know, I know.”

“But please, tell us about this French man.” Alasdair continued.

“His name’s Francis, and he may be the most interesting person I’ve ever met-“

Arthur saw Dylan ready to argue out of the corner of his eye. “…besides you three, of course.

You see, he’s quite handsome, the local girls seem to really like him, and he sure likes that. But here’s the thing: he’s engaged, and not only that, she’s pregnant! I like him, of course, but I don’t know about her. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a lovely person to be around, but I always get this unpleasant feeling whenever she’s mentioned. It’s so odd.”

The three brothers looked at each other, then at their younger brother.

“…Please, continue, Arthur.”

“Very well then. You see, last month this Francis and I went to London together, and I think it was one of the best days of my life. I mean, I had been to London with you guys, of course, but something about going with him just…I don’t think there is a word for it. I started crying, and he just held me as if he were my wife or something. He already made me feel things I’d never felt before, but I think something just…changed. That feeling intensified, whatever it might be. I know how stupid I must sound, but it’s truly how I feel about him.”

The four brothers were silent for a moment, the three oldest giving each other glances. The only thing that could be heard in that tiny cottage was the sound of inhales and exhales. It stayed like that for a hot minute before being broken by the sound of a boiling kettle.

“Well, tea's ready. Let me pour you all a cup.” Arthur said, turning off the stovetop.

Alasdair took one more deep breath. “Arthur, if there is anything you feel like you need to keep from us, you know we only want to help you.”

“What makes you say that?”

Alasdair paused once more. “We just worry about you.”

Arthur chuckled a bit as he poured four cups of tea. “Worry for me? Now, why the hell would you be worried about me?”

This time, Dylan responded. “Just the way you speak about this man is very-“ but before he could finish, Alasdair hushed Dylan, who was quite intimidated.

“Very…interestingly.”

“Interestingly? How so?”

“Oh, just…in general…”

Dylan leaned towards Connor, trying to whisper in his ear. “He really is a…-?”

Connor shushed Dylan, clearly not wanting him to say anything further. “He can hear you, you dumbass!”

Arthur groaned as he handed a cup to each of his brothers. “Alright. What’s up? I know you three are keeping something from me.”

“Well, we believe you may be keeping something from us.”

Arthur was quite a bit shocked if he were to be honest. What on earth did they mean?

“And what could I possibly be keeping from you three? Spit it out.”

“It’s just…the way you speak of this man…”

“Why is that so concerning to you?”

Alasdair paused before continuing to speak. “Arthur, is this man perchance, more than a friend?”

Arthur nearly choked on the tea in his mouth, having to spit it out so he wouldn’t do so. “I beg your pardon?”

“Now now, Arthur. We wouldn’t be mad at you if that just so happened to be the case-

“Nono, elaborate. Elaborate on what you mean by ‘more than a friend.’”

“…Arthur, are you perchance a uh…a homosexual?”

Arthur slammed his hands on the table, utterly disgusted by the words coming out of his brother’s mouth.

“Me? A homosexual? Where on God’s green earth did you get that idea?”

Alasdair, Connor, and Dylan all looked at the ground, not daring to make eye contact with Arthur.

“Well, a local woman may have sent us all a letter saying you’ve been acting…you know…with this French tourist…”

Arthur walked his way towards the front door of the cottage, holding it open. “All three of you, out, now.”

Alasdair walked towards Arthur, trying to calm him down. “Arthur, we aren’t mad…”

Arthur simply refused to listen. “Out.”

And thus, all three of the older Kirkland brothers left the tiny cottage, bidding stressful goodbyes to their now furious younger brother. Arthur slammed the door as they left, before leaning back on it and slumping down. Arthur sighed, holding his head in his hands. He felt awful, and for too many reasons. Perhaps later on, he might go and apologize to them for snapping. But right then and there, all Arthur could do was cry.

Chapter Text

That Monday at the pub was miserable. Arthur couldn’t force himself to make small talk with the locals like he usually did; he just shut down any attempt anyone made. Every “the weather’s nice today…” and “so, Kirkland, how’ve things been?” was met with a “not now,” or “not in the mood,” as Arthur practically threw drinks into others’ hands. Perhaps it was Erzébet who made him open up a little more, coming into the pub once again, son in her arms. At this point, Arthur knew to pour Erzébet a glass of vodka, as she always asked for the same thing.

“Why hello there, Arthur.” Said Erzébet, sitting down at the barstool chair across from Arthur.

“Good day, Erzébet. How might you be?”

“I’d say my day has been good. Feli and I just got back from running errands. How are you?”

“I’ve seen better days.”

“Oh, well, what’s the matter, Arthur dear?”

Arthur released a sigh before speaking. “I had an argument with my brothers because they thought I was a homosexual,” he uttered softly to Erzébet.

“Oh, Arthur, I’m so terribly sorry to hear that.” Cried Erzébet in that soothing voice.

“Some local, I’m not quite sure who, though, wrote to all three of them saying that they thought Francis and I were…you know…” murmured Arthur, gulping after he spoke.

Erzébet began to whisper, making sure only Arthur could hear. “Were you not ready to tell them?”

Arthur made a “hmm” sound, perking up his head. “Tell them?”

Erzébet got closer to Arthur’s ear. “That you two have been…?”

Arthur felt his face flush at the idea. He and Francis? Together? It seemed silly, but the thought of it ate at Arthur. Sure, he’d considered what it would be like if one of the two men were a woman, and maybe even the idea of Francis being a homosexual had passed through his mind, but the two of them? Together, as men? The thought of it made Arthur’s entire body feel funny. He and Francis are kissing, dancing together, touching, god, even doing it. Arthur wasn’t quite sure how it worked between two men, but he pictured Francis taking the more dominant role; that just made the most sense to him. Arthur shook his head back into reality when he realized what he had been thinking of.

“Erzébet! Where on earth did you get the idea that we were…that?”

“Well, just the way you two act together, I figured you might be…”

“Now don’t be silly. That’s just how friends act together. There isn’t anything but pure friendship between us.”

Erzébet looked at Arthur with an expression of perplexity. “Arthur, I’ve seen the way Francis acts around friends. I was once actually in a relationship with a good friend of his. Trust me, the way he treats you is in no way platonic.”

“And how is it not?”

“Holding hands, cuddling up behind the bar after closing time, the way you look at each other; he doesn’t just do that with friends. Now, Arthur, your love life is none of my business, but have you considered you might…” Erzébet got close to Arthur’s ear “fancy him?”

“Erzébet! Again, he’s just a friend. What’s your deal?”

“I’m not one to judge! I believe there is nothing wrong with two men loving each other.”

Arthur was taken aback. “What? How could you possibly not see anything wrong with that?”

“Well, people back in Austria had a problem with Roderich and me being married, but does that mean I love him any less?” Questioned Erzébet, trying to get her point across to Arthur.

“Well, of course not. You could light up the darkest room with the smile you get when talking about him.”

“Exactly. I believe if two men truly make each other happy, then I have no reason to judge.”

Arthur hadn’t quite considered that. Growing up, his parents had cautioned Arthur about the dangerous consequences that lusting after another man carried. It was disgusting and an abomination to God. But Erzébet, Erzébet with her ever so easing words, made it all make sense. She truly loved Roderich, no matter what rhetoric she had been told, and Arthur was just glad to see such a nice woman so happy. What difference would it have made if a man made another man feel the way Erzébet did about Roderich? Perhaps there wasn’t. If there was a god out there, why would he be disgusted by something so pure? In the end, it didn’t hurt anyone, so there was no reason to be so disgusted.

“I suppose so. Thank you, Erzébet.”

“Of course, Arthur.”

Arthur thought about all he had been feeling, and it all began to make sense. Maybe that local girl knew something even Arthur didn’t. If loving a man wasn’t the crime he always thought it was, then maybe what he felt for Francis was love, and perhaps deep down, in the darkest corners of his heart, Arthur knew that all along, he just didn’t want to accept it. But Erzébet's words could make Arthur forgive himself for the sin that was love.

“I’m going to apologize to my brothers for the way I acted. I’m not sure if I’m ready to tell them, but it’s a step in the right direction, isn’t it?”

Erzébet gave Arthur her smile like the sun once more. “I think that’s a good idea.”

The world seemed so much calmer than it had earlier that morning. Arthur’s groans became breaths of air, and his frustration became contention. Everything was going to be alright. Arthur and Erzébet just stayed silent for a moment, taking in all that the other had said to them.

The silence lasted for a moment before processing some of the words that came out of Erzébet’s mouth. “I was once actually in a relationship with a good friend of his.”

“Wait, wind back a bit, you dated a friend of Francis’s?”

Erzébet nodded before taking a sip of her vodka, clearing her throat. “Yes, I indeed did.”

Arthur became curious. “Would you mind telling me about him? Not that it’s any of my business.”

“Oh, of course. You see, his name was Gilbert Beilschmidt. He was quite a confident young man, often boasting about how terrific he was. He had this hair so light blonde it was practically white. Oh, and he was quite muscular as well. We met in Budapest the summer I was 15 years old. He was from the eastern part of Germany, but went to a boarding school in France. He had come to spend the summer in Hungary with family, I believe…it feels like so long ago. We met at a museum, where I had been studying the arts. He praised me for my art skills, saying my work was almost as beautiful as I am. Being a young girl with strict Christian parents, I had never really interacted with a boy that way, so right then and there was when I fell in love for the first time, and that night I had my first kiss. All that summer, the two of us would take long walks through the city, admiring the architecture. My parents would’ve killed him if they ever found out I was seeing a boy, so I would often sneak off in the middle of the night to see him. When summer came to its end, we would write each other quite often, both in English and German. That winter, I snuck out my window on a cold midnight and took the train out to Paris to see him at his boarding school, where I just fell out of love with him. Well, it wasn’t quite him, it was more…something else. We parted ways for good after I met his cousin. Well, that cousin was Roderich, whom I fell in love with at first sight. After that winter, Roderich and I ran away to Vienna and got married. It may have been a young and impulsive decision on my behalf, but I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Gilbert, Arthur recalled Francis mentioning that name. It took a moment for Arthur to remember what Francis had told him, but it took him by surprise when he did. “I remember vividly, during one of our summers apart, he visited Budapest and fell in love with a Hungarian girl whom he told me and Antonio was the love of his life, only for her to run off with his cousin.” It clicked. Erzébet was the Hungarian girl who ran off with Gilbert’s cousin. That interaction last month began to make sense. Francis probably disliked Erzébet for breaking his friend’s heart. Arthur wasn’t sure how to feel, what to say, what to say. “Oh” was all that managed to come out of Arthur’s mouth.

“Are you alright?” Arthur heard Erzébet’s voice ask him.

“Sorry, just remembered something. That’s all.” Arthur responded, coming out of his daze.

“Very well then. Might I ask why you asked me about Gilbert?” Asked Erzébet before taking another sip of her vodka.

Arthur blushed a little. “I suppose I just want to know about someone who makes Francis light up the way he does, talking about his friends from that boarding school in Paris.”

Erzébet chuckled. “You’re so ridiculously in love, aren’t you?”

No longer being able to deny it, Arthur gave in. “I suppose I am.”

Finishing her glass of vodka, Erzébet released a small sigh. “Well, I suppose I should be heading home now. I’m glad I could see you today.”

A little disappointed, Arthur nodded. “I suppose so. Tell Roderich I said hi.”

“Of course. Farewell, Arthur.” Replied Erzébet, getting up from her seat.

“Till we meet again.”

.

Seeing Francis that evening was quite awkward, knowing what he knew now. Arthur was quite anxious, his index finger running back and forth on the bar. He could feel sweat run down his neck and down to his back like the rain on the day the two men met. Arthur tried to play it cool, as if there was nothing to hide, but despite Francis only knowing Arthur for a month, he knew him like a wife knew her husband, and could clearly tell something was wrong.

“Arthur, you seem quite distressed. Is something wrong?”

Arthur nervously scratched the back of his head. “Me? Something wrong? Hahaha! Nice one, Francis. I can assure you there is absolutely nothing wrong-“

Francis cut off Arthur. “Do not lie to me; I can tell some is wrong.”

“Yeah? And if something was, why would it concern you? Frankly, I think it’s none of your business.” Pouted Arthur, slamming his hands onto the bar

“You just seem horribly nervous. Come on, talk to me. What is the matter?” Cried Francis, sliding his finger over Arthur’s hand.

Arthur swatted Francis’s hand away. “Nothing is the matter, that’s what. Now stop pestering me before I kick you out!”

“Oh, Arthur, you should see yourself when you get all angry! Seriously, it’s quite adorable.” Responded Francis, leaning his head on one of his hands.

“I’m not responding to that. You’re just trying to get a rise out of me.” Fussed Arthur, crossing his arms.

“Ah, but you were responding to that.”

“You drive me mad.”

“I know!”

Arthur sighed, his head in his hand. “What am I ever going to do with you?”

“I have a few ideas.”

“Yeah, and what might that be?”

“Ah, some things you can’t say in public.”

“Then come over to my place after my shift is over. We can sit down and maybe have a few more drinks.”

Francis peered up to Arthur, raising an eyebrow. “You want me to go to your place?”

Arthur knew what he was getting himself into. He knew how this was going to end. Deep down, Arthur knew Francis had the same intentions as him, and those intentions were the kind that ended friendships and started something anew. Arthur knew this was wrong, knowing how much it would hurt Laura if she ever found out, but Francis was irresistible. Magnetic. Alluring. “Yes, Francis. I would like you to come to my place tonight. Would you be up for that?”

“Oui, I would love to.”

And thus, after an hour or so, after wiping down the last glasses and cleaning up the tables, Arthur made his way outside to see Francis, smoking a cigarette outside the pub. Taking his hand in his own, Arthur gestured in the direction that led to the little cottage.

“You ready?”

“By all means, Monsieur. Lead the way.”

“I shall do as you say, then. Come along now; we haven’t got all night.”

Chapter Text

Leading Francis into the cottage, Arthur closed the door behind them, and now the world was just the two men with the whole night ahead of them. Arthur sat Francis down at the table before taking out a bottle of wine and pouring his company a glass, just like he always did at the pub. After pouring himself a glass of bourbon, Arthur sat down at the small table, across from the Frenchman he so desperately craved. Sitting cross-legged, Arthur took a sip of the bourbon, clearing out his throat.

“So, Francis. Tell me, what ‘ideas’ did you have in mind?” Asked Arthur in an almost teasing tone. He knew where this was going, and he was tired of resisting his emotions.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Responded Francis, snickering to himself.

“Oh, come on now. We’re all alone; nobody is in our way anymore.” Whined Arthur in an almost begging tone.

“You would strike me across the face if you knew. Why should I tell you?” Francis bantered back.

Arthur took a swing of bourbon and practically slammed it onto the table. “You know I’d never do something like that, Francis. Now come on, tell me.”

Francis followed Arthur, sipping the glass of wine in his hand. “You swatted at my hand tonight, did you not?”

Rolling his eyes, Arthur released a sigh. “I suppose I did, didn’t I? Maybe I could make it up to you with a few more drinks.”

“I suppose you could. That would be oh so kind of you.” Exclaimed Francis, running his finger around the rim of his glass.

“Alright then. Are you sure Laura won’t worry about you being back at the hotel so late?” Arthur asked, trying to seem concerned. But deep down, he knew it didn’t matter to him.

“Oh, trust me, she won’t be too concerned.”Responded Francis in that ever so flamboyant manner.

“Alright then. I suppose I’ll keep you company tonight.” Responded Arthur, winking in Francis’s direction.

“Well, that’s wonderful. I’d rather be here with you than doing what I usually do on nights like these.”

“What? Shagging a local girl while her husband’s gone?” Sneered Arthur.

“Ah, you know me too well, Arthur,” Francis responded, shaking his head.

“Or maybe you just talk about it all the bloody time. You couldn’t keep it in your pants for the life of you.” Teased Arthur,

“You wouldn’t know how lovely the touch of a woman is, so why judge?” Francis almost mockingly asked Arthur.

“Well, I’m sorry, I want my first time to be with someone I actually love! I assume you’re not familiar with that.”

“Trust me, Arthur, I would have had it that way,” Francis responded, somewhat somberly.

That somewhat confused Arthur. What did Francis even mean by “would have had it that way”? Why did Francis get so eery when the subject came up? He was always so open about the times he had shaken the sheets, but now he was so…unsettled. Perhaps Francis just regretted his first time. It was frankly none of Arthur’s business. Arthur was going to ask Francis if he was okay, but he didn’t quite have a chance to. You see, Francis began to talk.

“But anyhow. I’m curious, Arthur. What would you want your first time to look like?”

Arthur took another swing of the Bourbon, wondering if drinking would help him open up. “Oh. Well, I want it to be more romantic than anything, like more out of love than lust, if that makes any sense. I’d like lots of kissing and telling each other how much we love one another. Just being in the moment with the other person. I’d want it to be slow-paced. I feel like it would be ruined for me if it were rushed.”

Arthur paused for a moment before looking at Francis, noting everything Arthur said, his finger on his lip.

“Is that too much?”

“No, no, continue.”

“Alright then, as you wish.”

Arthur thought for a moment, unsure what else to say, before it came to him. He usually wouldn’t say something like this, but the alcohol had tainted his brain, making his usual filter all foggy.

“This is quite embarrassing to say, but I’d want the person to be a bit more experienced than me so they can guide me through it. I wouldn’t quite know what to do, and I want it to feel good for both of us. Oh, and I don’t want to just part ways when it’s over. I want to hold the other person in my arms and for them to do the same to me all night long afterwards. That next morning, I’d want to wake up by their side, reminiscing on the night before.”

Arthur looked at Francis once again to see him gazing back at him, awe in his eyes. “I think that is beautiful, Arthur.”

Those words made Arthur perk up, his face the same pink as a rose. “You-you think it is?”

Francis’s smile was as warm as the glistening golden sun. “Oui. I do.”

Arthur didn’t know what overcame him, Francis or the alcohol, but he was so exhausted from all the emotions he had been repressing. He couldn’t hold back anymore. Arthur wanted Francis; he wanted him more than anything. More than food, more than sleep, more than water, more than oxygen. It was all a blur, except Francis.

“Francis, I need to talk to you about something.”

“Go on, Mon Ami.”

“You see, today at the pub, I had a conversation with Erzébet.”

“Alright, about what?”

“Well, I had an argument with my brothers on Saturday-“

“I thought your brothers lived away?”

“Oh, right. They came here for…a reason…”

“And that reason is…?”

“A local woman had written to them because she thought we were…”

“We were…?”

Arthur’s silence spoke volumes.

“Oh.”

“Indeed. That was the reason I was arguing with my brothers in the first place.”

“Do you know who might have been that local woman?”

“No. Not a clue. It doesn’t matter to me, though. You see, what matters is what Erzébet made me realize.”

“What Erzébet made you realize?”

Arthur nodded. “Indeed. You see, Francis, I’m not sure how you feel on the matter, but she convinced me that there is absolutely nothing wrong with two men loving each other.”

“You don’t see anything wrong with it?”

Oh no, had Arthur messed everything up now? Maybe he should apologize when he had sobered up. What was he thinking, saying something so idiotic like that?

“I- I mean…”

“Oh, thank goodness. You see, Arthur, from a young age, I knew something was abnormal about me. Even if homosexuality is legal in France, my mother was still a strict catholic, and drilled it into my mind that there was something wrong about two men being together. Unknown to her, I had always felt odd around boys in my small town, the same way I did around the pretty girls. My heart would beat so fast, and my face would feel warm. I thought at first it was just allergies to the flowers of the countryside, but oh, how wrong I was. I think I must have been…ten? Eleven? Sometime around that age, when a boy in my small town asked me if I wanted to kiss him.”

“And…?”

“I told him I would. I kissed that boy, and that’s probably when I realized what I had known deep down all along.”

“You’re a…homosexual?”

“No, no. I think the term ‘bisexual’ describes me better. I’m attracted to women and men, Arthur.”

“Oh…thank god. I thought you were going to be mad at me for…you know…”

Francis placed his hand on Arthur’s, their eyes meeting. “Arthur, I could never be mad at you.”

One last time, before saying what he had wanted to all that night, Arthur took in one last breath, and that is when things were never the same again between Arthur and Francis.

“Francis, about my conversation with Erzébet…”

“Oui?”

“You see, Erzébet also made me…question something about myself…”

“Oh?”

“Francis, I don’t know if I’m as…heterosexual as I thought I was.”

Francis looked as if he had been wanting to hear those words all his life, relief across his face. “Is that true?”

“Yes, yes, it is. I don’t know if I’m a heterosexual.”

“Well, why are you telling me this?”

“Just put two and two together, will you?”

Francis gave Arthur a sly grin, which made Arthur go mad for him. “Oh, I have, I just want you to be the one to say it.”

“Alright. If you know what I mean, then why not just tell me?”

“I find it quite adorable when you get all embarrassed.”

Arthur groaned, knowing that if he didn’t just say it, Francis would be willing to play this game all night long. “Francis, I want to know what kissing a man feels like.

Francis raised an eyebrow seductively. “And you are telling me this because…?”

“Well…I want you to…you know…”

“Come on now, use your words.”

“Kiss me…”

Francis smiled, knowing he had won this little game. “You’re asking me to kiss you?”

Arthur gulped, nodding his head. “If…if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Oui, of course I wouldn’t.”

Arthur stood up from his seat, his stomach in knots. “You mean…you would really be okay with…?”

Francis stood up as well, making his way next to Arthur, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Arthur, it would be my pleasure.”

This was it, this was the moment Arthur had waited a lifetime for. Turning to face Francis, wrapping his arms around his neck, gazing into his eyes like an angel’s.

“Please, make this special. This is my first after all.”

Francis moved his hand from Arthur’s shoulder to his cheek, his other around Arthur’s waist. “Just tell me when you are ready.”

Arthur closed his eyes, taking a whiff of oxygen. “I’m ready.”

Arthur leaned into Francis as if his was magnetic. When their lips finally touched, it was everything Arthur had imagined and more. Heaven, Hell, and Earth all could’ve stopped in that moment, and Arthur wouldn’t have noticed, because the only thing that mattered in that moment was Francis, beautiful, handsome, charming Francis. Arthur shivered a bit when he felt the suction on his lower lip; he shivered from the thrill of the sensation it gave him. Arthur pulled Francis even closer to him, their tongues intertwining in his mouth. Francis’s saliva that tasted of the wine which still lingered on his breath mixed with Arthur’s, running down his tongue and into the back of his throat. Arthur could’ve drowned in the waters that were Francis, but he needed to come back up for air at some point. The two men parted for a moment, catching their breath. Francis moved his hand from Arthur’s cheek to his waist, along with his other hand. Arthur tucked one of Francis’s golden curls behind his ear, then ran his hand down Francis’s cheek. There was no need to say anything; they both pulled the other in for more. Arthur winced, feeling Francis bite down on his lower lip, his hands running up and down his waist. It was beautiful. Oh, so beautiful. Perhaps Arthur shed a tear or two from the beauty of it all. He would’ve stayed in that moment forever if he could’ve, but that just isn’t possible, now is it? Once again, the two men parted lips, air rushing into their lungs. And thus, at twenty-three years old, Arthur had his first kiss. Not with one of the local girls he’d always thought it would be with, but with Francis, Francis Bonnefoy, and he couldn’t have been happier.

“Well, how was that?” Francis asked, running his hand up and down Arthur’s back.

Arthur wrapped his arms around Francis, his face buried in his shoulder, releasing the rest of his tears. “Oh, Francis, that was incredible.”

Francis kissed the top of Arthur’s head, breathing his scent in. “Arthur, Mon Amour, do not cry!”

“Don’t tell me what to do, you idiot.” Arthur practically chuckled in response.

“Now, now, I just want to make sure you are okay. Can I not do that? No?”

“‘Okay’? God, I’m so much more than ‘okay’. That was…incredible, Francis. You’ve absolutely shaken my world.”

“Oh, Arthur, I really have?”

“Absolutely. You don’t know how much that meant to me.”

“Then it means so much to me as well.”

The rest of that night, Arthur lay in Francis’s arms in the same bed, the very same one where Arthur had done quite unsavory things with his hands, that very same Frenchman on his mind. Francis’s fingers gently played with Arthur’s hair, Arthur’s face buried in Francis’s chest, legs intertwined. It was somewhat awkward for Arthur, considering Francis slept nude, but maybe in the depths of his heart, and perhaps his other organs, Arthur was fine with that. Arthur wanted to stay awake, to treasure this moment for as long as he could, but at some point, the sandman made his nightly visit, and Arthur let the nightly darkness consume him, drifting off to sleep like a sailboat in the windy sea.

Oddly enough, Arthur didn’t have any dreams about the woman that night. But at this point, he knew why. He didn’t need to dream up some fictitious woman to make up for his desires towards Francis. He had the actual man, right here in his arms, so there was no need to.

Chapter Text

Arthur awoke that next morning, Francis beside him, sitting up, smoking a cigarette. Noticing Francis was nude, Arthur quickly panicked, bolting up from the bedsheets. Had they gone the extra mile? His first time, and Arthur didn’t even remember it!

“Good morning, Arthur,” Francis uttered calmly, much in contrast to Arthur.

“MY GOODNESS! Did we do it?” Arthur exclaimed, frantically reaching under the cover to see if he still had his trousers on.

Francis let out his now quite familiar chuckle, which might have been the Frenchest laugh Arthur ever heard. “Ohohon! There is no need to panic, Mon Amour. We did nothing more than touch tongues. We haven’t gone all the way yet.”

Arthur nudged Francis, both annoyed and flustered by his remarks. “I remember the first part, but the bloody hell do you mean ‘yet’?”

Francis turned, now facing the Englishman. “Arthur, we made out and then slept in the same bed, well, I was nude, mind you. If things keep up like this, I’m going to be between your thighs at some point. That is, unless you want to forget everything.”

“You are one perverted wanker, Francis. My goodness.” Even if that was true, Arthur truly loved him, and didn’t mind his pervy remarks. Honestly, he was somewhat relieved to hear Francis say that, as now Arthur wanted his first time to be with him.

Arthur would’ve lain in that bed the entire morning, one, because Francis was beside him, and two, because he was extremely hungover. But of course, it was a Tuesday, and Arthur had work. Arthur pulled the covers off himself and sat up. Francis was a little stunned by this, not expecting Arthur to get up so quickly after waking.

“Monsieur Arthur, where are you going?”

“Work, of course. Where else would I be going?” Responded Arthur, skimming through his closet to find work-appropriate clothing.

Francis seemed unhappy with Arthur’s response. “Oh, come on now, Mon Cherie. Don’t run off on me now! You must have a bit of time to lie here with me, no?”

Arthur wanted to give in to Francis’s whiny demands, but his boss scared the ever-loving hell out of him, and Arthur remembered how it went the last time he gave in to Francis. “Might I remind you what happened last time I let you drag me off before work?”

“We made plans for a nice day trip into London, did we not?” Responded Francis, gesturing with his cigarette.

“And my boss yelled at me for coming in late! I didn’t even expect you to be here by now. I thought you would’ve gone back to the hotel. Laura is probably worried sick that you were out with some English girl- oh, right.” Arthur became quite flustered when he realized that he was now the English “girl” Francis was out seeing.

“I assure you that woman is clueless. We could’ve done everything we did last night right behind her back and she wouldn’t have the slightest idea.” Francis responded before taking a puff of the cigarette.

“Well-“

“Arthur, Laura is oblivious. Wouldn’t you be suspicious if your fiancé wanted to spend two months in a relatively unknown English town and was spending practically the entire trip away from you? No?”

“I suppose I would be.” Responded Arthur, throwing on a fresh button-up.

“Well Laura isn’t.”

Arthur just stood there, unknowing of how to respond, his hand midway through reaching for a pair of trousers. What did one even say to that? He knew that was a terrible thing to say about one’s own fiancée, but could Arthur really judge Francis for saying such a thing? For heaven’s sake, they had shared saliva not even twenty-four hours ago. If Francis was a sinner, then Arthur was his sin. Arthur sighed, resting a hand on the trousers he was reaching for.

“Don’t look; I’m changing,” Arthur called to Francis, pulling off the trousers he had fallen asleep in the previous night.

“Don’t look?” Francis repeated back, ironically looking right at Arthur.

Arthur placed a hand on his hip, tipping his head forward. “Precise.”

“Why not?” Francis practically whined.

“Because I’m making you wait,” Arthur responded, somehow not even hesitating to say what was on his mind.

Francis arched an eyebrow. “Wait for…?”

“Shut up. You know what I mean.”

And there was no need for Arthur to say it. Because, like he had said, Francis knew what he meant.

“Alright, alright. A man can wait.” Responded Francis, turning around.

Switching out his trousers, Arthur couldn’t help himself from glance over his shoulder to peek at Francis, who was looking out the window, the sun rising over the world around them. Francis looked like how Arthur had always imagined the angels he was told about in church when he was little; the most beautiful man, no, not just man, anyone Arthur had ever seen. Perhaps Francis could’ve been an angel, sent down by God in hopes of making Arthur see the beauty in life. But Francis was no angel. He was but a man, and man is a sinful species.

“Oh, uh, it’s fine if you look now,” Arthur said, practically in a daze.

Francis turned back at Arthur, examining his clothing before meeting his eyes. “Alright then- My my, Arthur. You look so handsome when you aren’t all worn out.”

“You’re just saying that.” Arthur bantered back, just wanting Francis to assure him he did.

“Maybe I am, maybe I am not. Who knows?” Responded Victoire, grinning smugly.

“You-you don’t find me handsome?” Cried Arthur, quite distraught.

“Ohohon, I’m kidding! Of course, I find you handsome. You should have seen your face; it was hilarious.” Francis exclaimed, his hand in front of his chuckling lips.

Arthur made a “hmph” noise, his hands on opposite elbows. “Very funny; now get dressed. I’m heading off to work.”

After kissing their goodbyes, the men parted ways at the door. Arthur, in the direction of the pub, and Francis, in the direction of the hotel. At least that’s what Arthur wanted to think. There was no need to think about it. Arthur just needed to follow the stone road he always did, and he’d make it to the pub. And once he finished work, he could go to the hotel and at least try to find his brothers.

.

Around 2:00, or at least it felt like it, Arthur hadn’t really been paying attention to the clock, and the big wooden door swung open. It wasn’t Erzébet, and it wasn’t Francis, so there was no need for Arthur to pay it any attention. If the ginger man in a green coat and a dark gray flap cap sat down at the bar, Arthur would just force himself to make small talk like he usually did.

Well, that man did sit down at the bar, letting out a breath as he sat in the chair. Getting a closer look, Arthur could see that the man had hazel eyes and freckles along his nose. He wore black leather gloves and a brown vest and smelt of smoke, probably from cigarettes blown outside.

Arthur grabbed a glass from beneath the bar, ready to up a drink for this man. “Good afternoon, sir. Shall I get you a drink?”

“Good afternoon, my lad. Could I trouble you for a Guinness?” The man asked with a thick Irish accent.

“Oh, well, of course. What’s a pub without Guinness?”

“That’ll be perfect. Thank you.”

“You are ever so welcome.”

Handing the man the glass, Arthur tried to start a conversation. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”

The man laughed, slapping his knee. “Ahaha! Quite the contrary. I’m coming here from Dublin. Have to keep up work with my business partner who’s here seeing family.”

Business partner? Seeing family? Wait a minute. The dots connected in Arthur’s head. Didn’t Connor say he started a publishing business in Dublin with an Irishman? Oh, this must’ve been him. Connor never mentioned that his business partner would be in town with him, but that was a very Connor thing to do.

“This may seem strange, but…is your business partner named Connor Kirkland perchance?” Asked Arthur, trying to make sure his assumptions were correct.

“Ah, you know the bloke?” Asked the man in response, a bit surprised.

Arthur chuckled before responding to the man’s question. “Quite well, actually. He’s my older brother.”

“Ah! You’re the wee brother he was telling me about.” The Irishman exclaimed.

Arthur nodded. “I assume that would be me.”

“Well, I’ll be damned! What a small world it is.”

“It sure is. Please, sir, introduce yourself.”

“Very well then. The name is Ciarán, Ciarán McReynold. What might yours be?” The man responded, tipping his flat cap.

“Arthur, Arthur Kirkland. But I think you could’ve guessed my last name.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Arthur.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, too, Ciarán. Please, tell me more about yourself.”

“Hmm, alright then. Just give me a moment to think about it.” Ciarán responded, tapping his fingers on the bar top. “Ah, got it. You see, before starting the whole publishing business with your brother, I was a farmer in Leitrim. I would spend my free time writing all sorts of things, both in English and Gaelic. I moved to Dublin to try and get some of my writings published.”

“Well, did any?”

“No. In fact, most publishers hated them.”

“So what did you do then?”

“Then I took a trip to Belfast, and that’s where I met the other Kirkland.”

“Well, I assume you mean Connor.”

Ciarán nodded to Arthur. “Indeed, I do. We instantly got along, and he even liked the stuff I wrote! When I told him I couldn’t get it published, he came up with the idea of starting a publishing agency together. Well, I agreed, and we made our way to Dublin. Turned out somewhat successful, and that’s how we formed Kirkland & McReynolds.”

“So that’s the name of your agency, huh?”

Ciarán chuckled to himself. “Connor didn’t tell yous the name, eh?”

Arthur let out a mixture of a laugh and a groan, shaking his head. “No, no he didn’t.”

“Classic Kirkland.”

“He can be an idiot sometimes. Still love him to death though.”Arthur snickered before remembering something he should have asked Ciarán the moment he found out who he was.

“Oh, Ciarán, question.”

Ciarán took a sip of the beer and wiped his mouth. “Please, ask anything.”

“This might seem a bit strange, but…do you know what room he’s staying in? I need to talk to my brothers later today…”

“Oh, you don’t know which rooms they’re in?” Ciarán replied, some confusion in his voice.

“No, not really.” Arthur cried, somewhat woeful.

“Don’t worry about it, lad. He’s in 134. Not quite sure about your other two. He’ll probably know.” Responded Ciarán.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. Thank you, sir.”

“It’s a thankless job. Might I ask you a question, though?”

Arthur shrugged. “Ask anything.”

“Forgive me for being so intrusive, but the other Kirkland seemed quite panicked when he told me he had to head off to town. Is everything alright in the family?” Ciarán asked, sounding concerned.

Arthur gulped, feeling his stomach tense up. “Oh. Just…family emergency. We’re going to resolve things this evening, though. I assure you, Connor’s alright.”

Ciarán nodded in acknowledgment. “Alright then. Glad to hear he’s doing alright. The bloke is like a little brother to me. I’ve been worried sick about him.” Arthur could tell by the way Ciarán talked about Connor that he truly cared for him, and that made Arthur happy.

“I promise you, he’s gonna be okay.” Arthur once again reassured the Irishman.

“Thank you. I’m relieved to hear it.” Ciarán exclaimed, exhaling.

“Of course. I can tell he means a lot to you, and he means a lot to me as well.”

“He truly does. I never really understood what having a brother felt like until I met him. Known him for only two years, but feel like we grew up side by side.”

“Trust me, consider yourself lucky you didn’t.” The two men laughed together, slamming fists on the bar top.

Arthur came to know Ciarán that afternoon. He learned that the Irishman had been raised by an old man who had fought in the IRA. Ciarán had almost followed the old man’s steps before falling in love with writing. Ciarán, like Arthur, also had quite a vivid imagination growing up, often imagining mystical creatures like fairies and leprechauns befriending him. Perhaps it wasn’t so odd that Arthur used to imagine himself playing with the creatures Alasdair read to him about; those and the “flying mint bunny”, whatever that was. Ciarán was also fluent in Gaelic, a language that Arthur’s father used to speak so vulgarly about. Ciarán even sang Arthur a song in the language, “Óró Mo Bháidín”, which sounded quite beautiful. Oh, and Ciarán was a pretty good singer. All those misconceptions Arthur was told about the Irish from when he was little now all seemed so silly to him. Of course, Arthur had known all that his father said about the Irish was nonsense, but Ciarán, Ciarán was all the proof Arthur could ever need that the Irish weren’t the potato-munching savages his father so angrily spoke about. Arthur just couldn’t understand how someone could be so hateful towards another group of people. Perhaps everyone would come to that realization someday, and the world could be at peace.