“I have something to discuss with you, unfortunately.” Francis chuckled, running his hand through his bedraggled wet hair, still dripping wet from the torrential rain that was pouring outside. He had stopped by for an abrupt business out of the blue, and reluctantly, Arthur had allowed him admittance into his old house, scowling as he watched Francis neatly place his sopping wet boots on the shoe stand. They were alone in his house, with most of the lights turned off. It was a very big house, and he was only one man.
“Am I disturbing you?” Francis paused. “I hope I am.”
“You look like a sad, wet bastard.” Arthur rummaged through his storage closet to toss a fluffy white towel into his face. “Wait, that’s what you are. Now stop dripping onto my carpet.”
Francis tauntingly allowed himself to walk a few more steps into his house before he began to dry his hair, flinging droplets of water into the cream-colored wallpaper. Arthur made an aggravated sound, and turned back to the kitchen, where he had been making tea. He poured another cup and placed it at the other end of the table before reclining in his own chair, sitting straight and sipping the warm, good tea, that warmed his bones. Francis took the opposite seat, extracting dry papers from his sopping wet bag. He pushed a few copies across the table.
“What’s this?”
“Tunneling business.” Francis shrugged and made a few soft sounds by clicking his tongue. “I’ve been having a difficult time with this and that lately. It seems it has boiled down to this, oui?”
“It seems to be in order.” Arthur found a pen in his pocket and began to sign the appropriate papers. “Why the emergency?”
“Deadlines,” Francis said, dryly chuckling as he drank his tea. “This tea is pig disgusting like always, little master.”
“You sound like Russia.” Arthur finished the papers and pushed them back, which Francis accepted gratefully. Francis hesitated, and then looked outside the house, where the storm still rumbled ominously, raindrops battering the windows like small pellets. Arthur followed his glance curiously, but saw nothing unusual about his garden.
“Going now?” Arthur asked.
“I would expect you to be lonely and cold on a night like this.”
“Don’t be stupid!” But Arthur flushed, the pangs of loneliness already beginning to stir when he realized that ugly bastard was about to leave.
“Non, I am not very concerned about that. Though please rest assured your patheticness is very concerning.” Arthur choked back an insult when it was apparent Francis still had more to say. Francis draped one hand over his beard, tugging at it thoughtfully. “I was just wondering about Alfred.”
“What about him?”
“… Non.” Francis refused to answer with a shake of his head, once more flinging droplets on his clean kitchen floor. “It is nothing. As much as I enjoy disturbing you, I must take my leave for my own business. Deadlines, this and that.” He took his bag and Arthur followed him to the door, where he waved amiably and locked the door behind him. At the closing of the door, the house seemed to fill with the loneliness again, the irrepressible feeling that pounded within his heart. He waited a few moments in the dark, as if to see if Francis would come running back, having forgotten something, but he eventually resigned himself to cleaning the mess left behind. He weaved around his dark house until he found the storage cabinet, and took out a mop and turned around-
“Eyebrows.”
“Frog.”
“I have something to discuss with you, unfortunately.” Francis chuckled, running his hand through his bedraggled wet hair, still dripping wet from the torrential rain that was pouring outside. He had stopped by for an abrupt business out of the blue, and reluctantly, Arthur had allowed him admittance into his old house, scowling as he watched Francis neatly place his sopping wet boots on the shoe stand. They were alone in his house, with most of the lights turned off. It was a very big house, and he was only one man.
“Am I disturbing you?” Francis paused. “I hope I am.”
“You look like a sad, wet bastard.” Arthur rummaged through his storage closet to toss a fluffy white towel into his face. “Wait, that’s what you are. Now stop dripping onto my carpet.”
Francis tauntingly allowed himself to walk a few more steps into his house before he began to dry his hair, flinging droplets of water into the cream-colored wallpaper. Arthur made an aggravated sound, and turned back to the kitchen, where he had been making tea. He poured another cup and placed it at the other end of the table before reclining in his own chair, sitting straight and sipping the warm, good tea, that warmed his bones. Francis took the opposite seat, extracting dry papers from his sopping wet bag. He pushed a few copies across the table.
“What’s this?”
“Tunneling business.” Francis shrugged and made a few soft sounds by clicking his tongue. “I’ve been having a difficult time with this and that lately. It seems it has boiled down to this, oui?”
“It seems to be in order.” Arthur found a pen in his pocket and began to sign the appropriate papers. “Why the emergency?”
“Deadlines,” Francis said, dryly chuckling as he drank his tea. “This tea is pig disgusting like always, little master.”
“You sound like Russia.” Arthur finished the papers and pushed them back, which Francis accepted gratefully. Francis hesitated, and then looked outside the house, where the storm still rumbled ominously, raindrops battering the windows like small pellets. Arthur followed his glance curiously, but saw nothing unusual about his garden.
“Going now?” Arthur asked.
“I would expect you to be lonely and cold on a night like this.”
“Don’t be stupid!” But Arthur flushed, the pangs of loneliness already beginning to stir when he realized that ugly bastard was about to leave.
“Non, I am not very concerned about that. Though please rest assured your patheticness is very concerning.” Arthur choked back an insult when it was apparent Francis still had more to say. Francis draped one hand over his beard, tugging at it thoughtfully. “I was just wondering about Alfred.”
“What about him?”
“… Non.” Francis refused to answer with a shake of his head, once more flinging droplets on his clean kitchen floor. “It is nothing. As much as I enjoy disturbing you, I must take my leave for my own business. Deadlines, this and that.” He took his bag and Arthur followed him to the door, where he waved amiably and locked the door behind him. At the closing of the door, the house seemed to fill with the loneliness again, the irrepressible feeling that pounded within his heart. He waited a few moments in the dark, as if to see if Francis would come running back, having forgotten something, but he eventually resigned himself to cleaning the mess left behind. He weaved around his dark house until he found the storage cabinet, and took out a mop and turned around-
Only to run headfirst into Alfred.
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