[FIC] An Adagio with Small Cat Feet

[mikkary_bones]

Title: An Adagio with Small Cat Feet
Characters/Pairing: Francis, Arthur, FrUK
Rating: T+ / PG-13
Word Count: 8511
Summary: Francis is a writer, Arthur a critic; Francis is asexual, Arthur... confused.
Notes: Written for ikkjevaksen for what_the_fruk's October lovefest; this prompt.

Comments

[pliash]

Oh, you're. You're.

I have no words for how darling you are.

In a way, I'd would've hoped for a little more exposition with Arthur--but this piece was about Francis and god you have a grasp on him I rarely see on fandom writers. (Or perhaps I just need to read more fanfiction? /laugh/ Either way, you're good.)

A few of my favourite bits:

Mornings are not quite so terrible anymore; they no longer have faces like foxes and eyes like demons. Instead, they peek at him with catlike snouts and ghostly gazes, and when they sit on his chest he almost wants to pet them.

When he wakes up at seven-thirty a.m., rather than six-thirty, he considers it a victory.

and

"I've never been to a ballet before," Arthur comments at the bus stop. Neither of them have a car - they dress in style but travel in poverty.

"Then you have been missing out on one of the greatest art forms in the world," Francis replies.

But he's glad that this is Arthur's first ballet, and even happier that Arthur has never seen him perform. He's not sure why it is so necessary - this way, maybe, Arthur cannot tie him back to his past, cannot see what Francis is missing now, the way everyone else can.

and

His death sentence comes back to him with renewed force. He is a man awaiting execution - or, no, he is a man already executed, a head in a basket of severed heads, losing consciousness, losing awareness of pain.

Also, a small typo I noticed while reading:

He stands there and thinks of the old proverb noting ventured, nothing gained. *nothing

You're a pleasure to read.