never ballpoints [72/?]
anonymous
August 23 2010, 23:57:15 UTC
Alfred remembers, too late for organising, that spring break is here. He phones Matt at the weekend, and their conversation is almost usual.
(Matthew complains about all the kids around and Alfred wishes he still was one.)
And it's Wednesday, and he's just falling back into the routine of late-nights-late-mornings when a knocking brings him from a lie-in.
"Alright, alright," he says, yawning through his fingers, as the knocking borders on an attempt to break the door down.
"Oh."
He does not expect Francis when he opens the door, but Francis is what he gets. Out of uniform, he looks-older. More mature than the all-hands-man he's become known to the school. It's weird, and Alfred brushes off the suspicion before it can form.
"Hey, Francis!" he says, and leans sloped in the doorway. Francis smiles back. "Anything I can help ya with? Exam worries?"
Francis looks him over. "Not that, exactly. But there is something else..."
"We-ell." Alfred sways on his heels, and pretends to think it over. "Oh, alright. You can come in, if you want."
Francis nods appreciatively, letting Alfred lead him to a couch and usher him on to it. The tension settles.
"So," says Alfred, rolling his shoulders till they pop, "what's the problem, and how can I help?"
There's a creak as Francis leans forward, resting his hands on the flat of Alfred's coffee table. It's covered in countless condensation rings, and a sticky spot from maple syrup that one time, and other damp shapes where he's painted pictures from moisture.
(Matthew complains about all the kids around and Alfred wishes he still was one.)
And it's Wednesday, and he's just falling back into the routine of late-nights-late-mornings when a knocking brings him from a lie-in.
"Alright, alright," he says, yawning through his fingers, as the knocking borders on an attempt to break the door down.
"Oh."
He does not expect Francis when he opens the door, but Francis is what he gets. Out of uniform, he looks-older. More mature than the all-hands-man he's become known to the school. It's weird, and Alfred brushes off the suspicion before it can form.
"Hey, Francis!" he says, and leans sloped in the doorway. Francis smiles back. "Anything I can help ya with? Exam worries?"
Francis looks him over. "Not that, exactly. But there is something else..."
"We-ell." Alfred sways on his heels, and pretends to think it over. "Oh, alright. You can come in, if you want."
Francis nods appreciatively, letting Alfred lead him to a couch and usher him on to it. The tension settles.
"So," says Alfred, rolling his shoulders till they pop, "what's the problem, and how can I help?"
There's a creak as Francis leans forward, resting his hands on the flat of Alfred's coffee table. It's covered in countless condensation rings, and a sticky spot from maple syrup that one time, and other damp shapes where he's painted pictures from moisture.
"It's about Arthur."
Reply
Leave a comment