[fanfiction] Two Weeks 16/17
Chapter 16
Arthur was never a fan of planes. He loved long flights, as they were just an excuse for an eight-hour nap, but the short ones, where there’s barely enough time for a complimentary drink and cookies, be loathed those ones.
Not to mention he was seated with, perhaps, the worst seat partner ever. He smelled funny and kept hitting on the stewardess (which was not reminding him of Francis) in a loud and accented voice. The Englishman just tried to focus on the novel he had picked up at the airport shop; another bad romance, but not near the terror of The Very Virile Viking.
“So why are you going to Rome?” Arthur looked up, finally getting a good look at the man beside him. He was heavy-set and his tanned skin was a deep chocolaty brown. His dark hair, almost black but not quite, was in a delicate crown of dreadlocks, held back by a large band. He seemed friendly despite his large countenance and booming voice.
Arthur put down his novel down and cleared his throat. “I… am meeting someone there. I have to apologize.”
The man chuckled. “A girlfriend or wife?” He caught Arthur’s small flush and awkward shift, “Ah, don’t worry, I gotcha. So, you’re going to apologize to him? What did you mess up?”
“I…” Arthur took a sip of the complimentary watered-down cranberry juice, and considered spewing lies about missing a six-month anniversary and how his lover had escaped to their villa in Italy, but in the end, he thought the truth might be better, “I really fucked up, actually.” For the remaining fifteen minutes of the flight, during descent and taxiing into Leonardo da Vinci -a silly name for an airport in Arthur’s opinion - he had only barely finished his story once they had pulled into their gate.
Even though they had been given the okay to stand up and begin unloading, the large man just stared at Arthur, his lips twitching in a somewhat amused fashion. “I’m sorry…” Arthur mumbled, scratching his neck, “I didn’t mean to unload on you like that…”
“Haha, don’t worry about it.” A chocolate eye winked at him and the man hoisted himself out of his seat and began taking his bag out of the overhead compartment, his size effectively trapping the rest of the plane behind him in the narrow aisle, “You sounded like you needed it.” He passed Arthur the small briefcase and helped the Englishman out of his seat.
Despite spending two weeks in the Italian capital, Arthur still had yet to get a handle on the language. This, coupled with the fact that he could barely form a cohesive thought due to reeling from Alfred and his need to find Francis, rendered him basically helpless in the city. Luckily, Ramon Carlos-Famosa Fernández García, Ray to friends and lost Englishmen, took pity on Arthur and guided him through the busy airport and out into the rainy street. As they waited for a taxi, Arthur watched Ray pull out a large cigar, lighting it with an intricately carved Zippo.
“I hope you find him.” Ray said, raising a large hand, hailing a small taxi, “Good luck Arthur.” He opened the door and shepherded Arthur inside, waving enthusiastically as the cab pulled away from the airport. Arthur glanced out the back window and waved until the man was out of sight.
After giving hurried instruction to the hostel, Arthur kept his face against the glass, staring out into the city, as if expecting to see Francis staring on the side of the road. The rain and the speed made it impossible to see, but he kept looking anyway. Slowing down as they reached Via Del Sol, Arthur was already out of the cab before it had come to a complete stop, shoving a few pounds into the confused driver’s hand.
The little bell tinkled overhead as he burst through the door into the lobby. There was silence save for a tiny mewl that came from the reception desk. Looking round, he noticed a small brown ball of fur with amber eyes staring at him. He frowned at it, and it purred, licking its paw and rubbing behind it’s ear. For a moment, Arthur forgot why he was there.
“Ah! Cappelletti!” Feliciano appeared from behind a small door beside the reception desk. “There you are. I will not be playing hide-and-seek with you again.” He chided, picking up the small kitten and rubbing it against his cheek.
Arthur cleared his throat and the Italian looked around, jumping in surprise when he caught sight of the Englishman. “Arthur?” He asked, setting the kitten back onto the desk, “What are you doing back here? You d-don’t want a refund, do you?”
“Of course not!” Arthur said quickly, half of him wanting the rush upstairs, the other wanting to keep with a gentleman-like air. “I was wondering if Francis was still here.”
He stopped. What if Francis wasn’t here? If he had missed him? His next swallow barely managed to get down. He gripped the desk and Feliciano’s hazel eyes didn’t miss the fingers’ tightening on the wood. The Italian reached out and gently patted Cappelletti’s head. “I’m sorry Arthur,” fingernails dug into the wood, “He checked out his morning. He h-had to catch a plane.”
“Where!?’ Arthur asked desperately, “Please Feliciano, do you know?”
“France. He went back to home.” Arthur felt like crying, screaming and running all at once. Too bad Feliciano had already burst into tears. “O-Oh Arthur, I-I’m so sorry!” He bawled, running around the desk, throwing his arms around the Englishman. “Y-You loved him! A-and no-ow he’s g-goooooooone.”
Patting Feliciano’s back Arthur rolled his eyes. It was like nothing had ever happened, like he could return to the hostel and act as though nothing had ever happened. ‘Like’ being the operative word. Without the Frenchman, a big piece was missing. “Feliciano, please calm down.” He pleaded as the dampness began to soak into his shoulder.
“I-I’m sorry.” The Italian pulled back, wiping his eyes on his sleeves, “I…” He sniffed apparently lost for words. At the desk, the kitten purred in concern, trying to pat Feliciano’s hand. Smiling down at the cat, Italy picked up the small animal, cuddling it to his chest.
“Don’t worry Feliciano…” Arthur said, slowly moving back towards the door, “I’ll see you around, okay?” And, without waiting for Feliciano’s answer, he exited the hostel.
He started walking. Not sure where he was going or why he so urgently needed to just get away, he hurried through back alleys and main streets, ignoring the people. Rain fell from the clouds and he could only weakly lift his head, wondering if the world could get anymore platitudinous. The square he was standing in was familiar and the chapel stood out against the cloudy sky, an ominous sanctuary. At least the creepy old nun was gone.
“I’m such an idiot.” He said finally, sitting down on the steps of the church, leaning his head back, watching the water fall around him. He squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling tears pricking the corners of his eyes. “Francis…”
Of course the Frenchman had returned to Paris, what did he have left in Rome besides memories? Arthur sighed, rubbing a hand over his eye. He would find Francis again… the man was a popstar for God’s sake, he probably had pages and pages of fansites. But what would he do if he even managed to find the proper number? What would he say?
“Hi, Francis? It’s Arthur, that guy you took to Rome, remember?” The words were supposed to stay inside his mouth, but Arthur let them spill out anyway, the falsely bright tone biting at his ears, “Yeah, I’m sorry about abandoning you for my ex-boyfriend… but I’m back now! Isn’t that just fan-fucking-tastic?” He let out a choked sob, getting to his feet.
He could find where Francis lived, he mused kicking a stone with his foot, sighing as the rain ran over his burning face. Visit Paris; actually appreciate the wine, but would it even matter? He doubted the Frenchman would even want to set eyes on him. Those blue eyes…
It had been love. Arthur knew that now and it didn’t make him feel any better.
“You’re going to get soaked if you keep standing in the rain.”
Not believing his ears, Arthur turned around. Francis was standing beside the fountain, a red umbrella held casually over his head. The usual liveliness seemed gone from his slightly slumped form. Arthur quickly wiped his cheeks on his wet sleeve hoping to disguise his tears, not that there was much need. He was almost surprised to see Francis still standing there when he lowered his arm.
“What…” He hesitated, voice breaking. Francis’ eyes bored into him, half-lidded and cool. “Your plane to Paris?” He had to know why Francis was here. He had to make sure he wasn’t still on the plane, dreaming and would wake to find Francis long gone from the city. This couldn’t be real.
Long fingers swept through the tangled blond hair, pushing it off his face. Arthur’s breath hitched slightly. He forgot how natural Francis looked. “Cancelled because of the weather,” the Frenchman said, gesturing around the square. “But it’s been rescheduled.”
The pause was only made worse by the way Arthur saw Francis quickly brushing his eye with a long finger. “Um.” He cleared his throat, “C-can’t it wait? I really need to talk to you Francis.”
“Non, I am sorry Arthur but I do need to return to Paris.” Francis paused pointedly, “I have a life I need to attend to,”
Arthur hung his head. “Francis, please… I just want to talk. I just want to explai-”
“I have a cab to call.” Francis cut across him, making Arthur look up just in time to see Francis turn his head away, palm rubbing against his cheek. Or maybe he was just imagining it. “Au revoir, Arthur.”
Francis started to walk away from him. No look back, no slowness in his step, no hesitation. Francis was finished, ready to forget everything they had shared, ready to continue his life as though nothing had every happened, ready to go on as if he had never fallen in love.
Arthur wasn’t. He was done pretending. He was done acting. He was done needing.
“Wait!” He called, running after Francis’ retreating form.
Francis turned and Arthur grabbed his coat and kissed him. The green eyes were shut as he marvelled at the warmth of the Frenchman’s body. Getting over his initial surprise, Francis dropped the umbrella and wrapped his arms around Arthur’s waist. The rain pounded them as they continued to kiss; only breaking once there was no air left in their lungs.
They stood panting, the downpour already soaking through their clothes, cool against flushed skin. Arthur opened his eyes, hoping that he would see Francis in his arms and not the man in the seat beside him on the airplane. Blue eyes twinkled down at him and even through the dampness he could still identify the faint scent of lilacs. “Francis…” He breathed, burying his face into the Frenchman’s neck, “I’m so sorry. I know what I did was despicable and utterly bastard-like behaviour worthy of Gilbert himself but-”
He stopped as the arms relaxed around his waist and he looked up reluctantly, scared to see rejection in the Frenchman’s eyes. Instead, they shined at him as the long fingers cupped the Englishman’s face and kissed him passionately. “Je t’aime Arthur.” He breathed, pulling back so-slightly that the words were more felt than heard. “So much.”
Arthur leaned forward and whispered something quietly in the Frenchman’s ear, blushing slightly.
“Whatever you say,” Francis smiled, “Soucils.”
Chapter 17>>
Author's Note
for those wondering why Feli had a cat... see here
*bursts into tears*
You guys have made this such a pleasure to write... I cannot thank you enough for every single comment, fanart and just general awesomeness you have given me. Starting out I was so worried... France/UK and an AU? Who would read that? But you guys... you really liked it... ;A; Nothing so special has ever happened to me before (and I kid you not, I was blown away with the sheer number of responses). Two Weeks of Sunshine will always be close to my heart and just... oh fuck it, I love you guys. -hugs for everyone-
I'm kinda venting here because the next chapter is really just an epilogue I wanted to write and I figured an Author's Note after it kinda ruin it. I don't know. But seriously, thank you all. You really helped me remember what writing was about and for that, I will always be in your debt.
Keep smilin' on those rainy days. Never know who you might meet~ /shot