Scribble Me This

Arthur tried not to scarf down his food. It had been weeks since he felt this hungry, and Francis' cooking was just so good. This was definitely one of his favorite dishes so far. He wondered if he could coax Francis into making this again. Probably.

Arthur nearly smacked himself. No, no, no. He wasn't supposed to go back to how things were. He stopped talking then, and eventually Francis did as well. After they were done, Francis offered him a smile that made Arthur's heart ache, and retired to bed. Arthur offered a soft "goodnight" but he wasn't sure Francis heard it.

He sat there for ages after Francis left, staring down at the counter. He missed him. Arthur had become horribly attached to the Frog. Having to live without him in his everyday life was actually pretty horrible.

Arthur was a grouchy, ungrateful person who had far too much darkness in his past to have a steady friendship. He covered his face in his hands, sighing. He would get over it. This would eventually pass. And even better, perhaps it wouldn't hurt so much when he and Francis inevitably parted ways.

A knock on the door made him jump. This was rather late for a visit. Arthur's gaze darted over to Francis' door but the Frenchman didn't emerge. It was probably one of his stupid friends.

Arthur groaned as he slipped off the chair and walked to the door. He hoped it was Antonio. He still avoided Gilbert like the plague. Francis hadn't seemed to have caught on yet, thank goodness. Prick would probably insist on making them friends.

Opening the door caused Arthur's blood to freeze.

Allistor.

His oldest brother, easily taller by at least five inches and very broad shoulders, leveled a gaze back at him with the exact same eyes as his own. Arthur felt his throat tighten, and suddenly it was harder to breathe.

"A-Allistor?" He stammered, completely in shock. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening, no! The redhead moved quickly, pressing his palm to Arthur's chest and shoving him backwards inside.

"You look surprised." He said in a snarling tone. He looked ticked, green eyes bright with fire that made Arthur wish he could run.

"The bloody hell are you doing here?" Arthur asked weakly, retreating as Allistor stepped forward.

"You have to ask?" His brother asked incredulously. "After skipping out on your own family and running out with your boyfriend, you really have to ask?!"

Knowing addressing that topic would only make him angrier, Arthur didn't take up that conversation. "I just came here early!" Arthur said, trying to keep the panic from his voice. Allistor kept coming closer and Arthur kept backing up. "I wasn't skipping out, you prat, I was just at school!"

"You were not!" Allistor snapped back, and Arthur swallowed. He knew, then. "You didn't tell your work you were leaving and I came all the way out here and guess what? You weren't here."

"I'm here now, so what do you want?" Arthur said back, just as his spine hit the wall. Nowhere else to go. He scowled, moving his feet into a more defensive stance. He'd fight if he had to. Oh, he hoped he didn't have to. His ribs were just starting to heal.

"You're coming home." Allistor demanded, coming closer and staring down at him with cold eyes. "Dad's been raging the past few days and I'm tired of hearing it. Pack your stuff. You're leaving."

Arthur laughed breathlessly. "You've got to be joking." He said, on a mixture of fear and numb disbelief. This couldn't be happening.

"Do I look like I'm joking?!" Allistor snarled as he grabbed the front of his shirt, and the two siblings stared at one another in equal hatred. Arthur knew if he tried to shove Allistor's hand away, he would probably start something.

He had to ask himself if he was willing to start a brawl. He wished he could stop trembling like a coward, but he could still recall the feeling of being tossed down the stairs.

He shoved him back, anyway.

Francis had remained blissfully unaware of all of this. His body was totally relaxed as he began to breathe slowly. He debated whether he should've taken one of the leftover pills from his therapist, but decided against it. They usually make him feel groggy in the mornings when he wakes up and he hates that feeling. Mornings are already something horrific just from the fact that he has to wake up.

Turning over, he laid on his side for a minute before he heard a noise not pertaining to the piano music. In fact, it sounded like voices, which was odd because Arthur didn't tell him he was going to have visit (he'd tell him if there was visit coming for sure). Sitting up, Francis pulled one of the earbuds off and listened for any weird noise. At this point he heard a shout and his eyes snapped up angrily.

Incredible. He's going to have to go tell whomever next door to shut up so they all can have a good night sleep. Taking the other earbud off, Francis didn't even bother slipping his house slipper on.

Opening the door to his bedroom, he walked out and stopped right on his tracks as he saw a big guy pulling Arthur from the front of his shirt. For a second he stood there dumbfounded, his brain taking a second to register the fact that there was a big guy pulling Arthur from the front of his shirt.

"Hey!" He shouted as Arthur shoved the guy back, "what do you think you're doing?" He was frowning now, and for a moment he wished he had put a shirt on.

Arthur shoved Allistor back, and for a moment his brother looked absolutely murderous before someone shouted. Arthur jumped, gaze settling on a dumbstruck Frenchman. Oh no.

"Francis." Arthur's eyes widened slightly and Allistor whipped around to settle cold green eyes on the teen.

"Francis?" His brother repeated, something seeming to click in his mind.

Arthur was speechless in shock and fear. He gaped at Francis and started shaking his head, motioning for him to leave. He couldn't get involved in this. Allistor spoke calmly, still taking in the boy.

"Evening." He greeted him in a cool voice that Arthur had never heard before. "I need to have a chat with your boyfriend, mind giving me a minute?"

He clapped a hand heavily on Arthur's shoulder, and his pulse hummed in fear. The pressure told him he wasn't allowed to speak, and Allistor began pulling him with him probably out the door.

So many different things happened at the same time, Francis didn't know what to focus on. One thing he did notice was his gut feeling telling him this wasn't a good situation. In fact, it seemed almost dangerous (the look on Arthur's face confirmed this). For a moment he thought on running back to his bedroom and getting his phone in case he needs to call the police, but he didn't want to move his eyes away from the guy.

For months he's been having trouble sleeping over someone hurting Arthur, if this guy thinks he can come into their home and do what he wants to do with the brit, then he's in for a world of pain. The phone can wait, he needs to stay and not give him his back.

​Francis did raise an eyebrow at the words. While polite, he assumed Arthur was his boyfriend, and the way he said it threw him off. His heart quickened for a moment. Those gorgeous green eyes he was staring into were the same ones Arthur has. Could he be one of his brothers? Regardless, this wasn't happening. "I'm afraid I can't do that." He said as he saw the guy pull Arthur towards the door.​

Arthur wouldn't let himself be dragged more than a step and knocked Allistor's hand off his shoulder and took a step back.

"Bugger off." He said breathlessly, feeling himself going numb. What if Allistor went after Francis? He had to get rid of him. "I'm not going with you."

Allistor's eyes narrowed and he shoved Arthur back against the wall, smacking the younger Kirkland against the drywall. Arthur winced as his head smacked the wall audibly.

"I am not negotiating." Allistor growled under his breath, and Arthur met his gaze furiously. He wasn't backing down, even if he was in for a beating.

Francis' eyes narrowed when the guy dared, he dared to put his hands on Arthur again and smacked him against the wall.

As if he had been fighting all his life, Francis launched himself across the room and grabbed the guy's arm, pulling him back and slamming him against the wall next to Arthur. "Don't you dare touch him," he growled softly, staring at him in the eyes. He's never been this furious before. If this turns ugly, he'll make sure to send Ayumi the biggest flower arrangement for suggesting he join the kickboxing club.

Arthur's heart was in his throat. No, no, no, no! Why couldn't Francis have stayed asleep, the last thing Arthur wanted was for him to get involved in this! Allistor was the worst tempered of them all, what if he hurt Francis?

He didn't have time to dwell on this, as he began fearing for himself. Allistor was furious. The look on his face said he wouldn't mind having to bury his body after this was over.

Terrified, Arthur was scared speechless until he heard Francis speak, even more so when he acted. He'd forgotten how fast Francis was.

It seemed Francis was there in only a second, and through black-spotted vision Arthur saw him slam Allistor into the wall as well, feeling the wall tremble against his back.

He could almost feel Allistor's rage building at Francis' words.

"Who do you think you are?" His brother snarled, and Arthur shoved his way between them. Scared for Francis' wellbeing, he tried to take the brunt of what was to come. He was panicking as he hadn't in years, frightened for the health of his one and only friend. He would talk to Allistor outside as long as he didn't hurt Francis.

"Allistor, y-"

He never got rather than that, feeling an impact in his jaw and staggering back against the pain. Ouch. He hadn't seed that at all, he hadn't paid close enough attention to what was going on. Arthur winced and clutched his jaw, glancing up to see a cornered Allistor taking a swing at Francis next, and Arthur was too far back to react quickly enough to stop him.

Francis' heart had jumped when Arthur moved between them and he almost grabbed the younger teen to push him out of the way. Arthur was perfectly capable of defending himself (he knows, he bled fighting against him in high school), but the way he stood between them gave him a disadvantage and not a moment later Allistor fucking Potato punched him on the face.

Never in his life has Francis seen red before, it always seemed like something people make up in order to explain feelings... no. It's real, his vision went red (probably from all the blood rushing to his face) and for a moment everything fell into slow motion.

Allistor punched him and even thought Francis was able to move back, he was hit on the shoulder and he fell back on his butt. Not wasting time, Francis pushed himself up on his hands and flipped his body with his feet, kicking Arthur's brother on the crotch. It was a low move, but this wasn't a proper fight, this wasn't a competition. He was protecting Arthur and himself from the brute.

When the guy hunched down to grab at his crotch, Francis stood up and walked farther away towards the kitchen, that way Arthur was far from his reach. If he were to turn to get to him, Francis will have his back and that's something you don't want to give to someone you're fighting.

"So you're Arthur's brother," he snuffed him, purposely trying to rill him up. "Exactly the piece of shit I thought you'd be."

The pain from his shoulder was small, but he knows the adrenaline is making it feel like less. If he can feel it now he probably hurt it bad. His eyes flickered to Arthur for a moment before moving a step back as his brother began to approach him again.

Still dizzy from his head injury, Arthur staggered back, looking up to watch in horror as Francis was knocked flat. Rage built in his chest, but his muscles were strangely locked up in fear. He felt exactly how he had the night he was thrown down the staircase, but he wasn't the one in immediate danger this time.

It turned out Francis didn't need assistance at the moment, pulling off a thoroughly impressive move that surely was not allowed in any competitive sport.

"You little bastard." Allistor hissed, looking murderous. "That was a mistake." Francis backed up towards the kitchen, and Arthur made eye contact with him. What are you doing?! Arthur wanted to scream, still frozen in pure shock. Allistor was literally shaking in rage, and advancing on Francis quickly.

No. Arthur staggered away from the wall, intending to join the fight but the older Kirkland heard him and whirled. Due to the fact Arthur couldn't stop his vision from spinning, the guy was able to catch the slightly off-balance Brit by the throat and throw him backwards.

Arthur's already dizzy head didn't help the situation, and he blacked out, hearing a ringing in his ears. Right. No sneak attacks with a concussion. Good idea.

It had all happened in a split second, and Francis could only watch in horror. Never in his life did he ever thought he'd kill someone for their actions. Just seeing him grab Arthur as if he were... seeing this happening in front of his eyes changes something in you. That's his baby brother, and he's manhandling him as if it were a common thing.

It infuriated him.

He pushed himself forward and pulled Allistor around with his good arm. As soon as the bigger guy was facing him, Francis tried the most recently learned move. Swinging his body, he back kicked Allistor in the face with the heel of his foot (his good arm was not available due to his injured shoulder). Blood began to pour from his nose as he staggered back disoriented by the force.

Francis didn't even look at him twice before dropping himself by Arthur, who was still laying on the floor.

A policeman had apparently been called by one of their neighbors and he came into the dorm with a radio.

"What is going on in here!?"

Francis glanced at him and pointed at Allistor who was trying to mend his broken nose. "He came in here and attacked us," he said a little out of breath.

Lukas groggily sat up, the world spinning around him. Everything blurred into lights and color, but England's voice reached him through the fuzziness.

"So? How do you feel?"

"Like hell." He muttered in reply, trying to get his bearings. He still felt pain, but not as sharp. It was dulled, and mostly in his head. Everything came back to him in a whirl, and what caused this massive headache made him inhale. "Romania."

Romania. That little shadow of a thing, that presence had been him. All that time! He didn't know what on Earth happened, why, but he'd called attention to him and then he apparently came back to the real world. His vision began to clear and he heard England again.

"I'm here."

Norway looked over, seeing a very pale, woozy looking Romania who attempted to sit up and would have toppled over if England hadn't been there to catch him. His voice sounded weak, and he could see he was sweating. Norway just stared. He couldn't wrap his mind around what just happened.

He immersed himself in Romania's mind. He got small glimpses into the person sitting next to him, but all of it raised more questions than gave answers.

England moved Romania to a different room, Norway outright refusing to be moved to a bed and instead managed to sit on a couch in his guest room, leaning back and staring up at the ceiling. Romania was fine, England told him. He listened to everything Norway had to say, seemingly fascinated by what he heard.

"So he was creating landscapes for you to navigate?" England asked him, green eyes narrowed with thought. Norway nodded, too tired at the moment to feel chatty. Not that he every really felt like talking, anyhow.

"He could speak to me. Could control my body at one point." He recounted, closing his eyes and hoping England took the hint. He didn't feel like continuing conversation at the moment. He had too much to think about, things he didn't mention to England.

Romania's strange, happy personality conflicted with what Norway saw in his mind. His self-doubting was at odds with his carelessly eccentric self. He worried so much over everything. How others saw him, particularly his own people. Losing his baby brother as time went on. And most disturbingly, Norway had a glimpse of how Romania might truly have been treated in the past. He wasn't sure if he truly wanted to know.

He had an attachment to Norway, something that shocked him. And he told him, himself, when Norway didn't know it was him, that he knew he didn't know the older country very well. But he still had the attachment. Why? He never said. But still, it was there, and Norway knew he'd end up asking about it even if he told himself he wouldn't.

He opened his eyes again to see England had left, somehow without Norway hearing. Exhausted, he closed them again. It was all just too much. He couldn't focus, he felt fuzzy. He didn't want to fall asleep, having just come from a strange sort of state of sleeping just a few hours ago. He had too many things to think about, anyhow, too many things were becoming clear to him.

Norway was now realizing he hadn't even seen anything in detail. Romania had amazing control of his own mind. The personification was incredibly careful to show Norway only what he allowed him to see, proven by the doorways. He had created a place for him to explore, and allowed him to see certain images and memories that he approved of. It gave him a frightening glance into the mind of someone who wasn't as cheery and brainless as he appeared.

Though Norway had never written him off as brainless. Obnoxious, yes, but Romania had a serious way of viewing the world and situations that the stoic nation admired. He wasn't fanciful even if he was inclined towards the romantic. And it seemed he had a rather solemn past. Norway was well aware of the history of the land he represented, but wasn't aware of how the personification himself was treated.

All nations had experienced rough patches in their lives, it was a part of who they were. They were their people, the land, they hurt as the culture hurt. Some had rougher times than others, admittedly, as older nations tended to have suffered more and longer than the younger ones. But rare was it that a nation's own people would actively go after their personification. It wasn't unheard of, particularly during the times of witch hunts and such, but it was always a shock to hear about.

Romania had been hunted like an animal, for a long period of time in his comparatively young years. Norway wondered on the impact of that one the young one. No matter how long or short, however severe, being hurt or hunted or even disliked by one's own people had severe emotional and even physical repercussions. He got to see a few of them. He wondered how much was below the surface.

There was also the point of the...fireplace room. Norway still wasn't able to understand that. He'd dismissed it, only to have the presence, Romania, had latched onto him and spoke earnestly. He doesn't understand you and for some reason you think that's enough to reject his feelings as superficial. Wasn't it, though? Norway, as most nations, had only a vague sense of romantic love. There were flings, partnerships for the benefit of their nations, and of course the love of their people that all personifications held. These Norway understood, and could suspect Romania had developed an attraction for him, however that came about. He would even say it wasn't even that much of a surprise, what with his rather sweet demeanor when around him and his constant attempts to get his attention. So the bubbly realist developed a crush on someone like him, then? Norway closed his eyes, trying not to remember the gentle feeling of warmth when the other tried to keep him from running. He wouldn't know how to respond to this, he wasn't even sure how to think. He needed time to consider all of this.

He thought he'd only closed his eyes a moment, but when he heard a soft noise Norway glanced quickly at the doorway, instantly awake. Some habits don't diminish even after millennia. There stood Romania, bedraggled and rather tousled, but his eyes were wide awake and very serious.

The two of them stared at one another. Then Romania took a step in, gaze still fixed directly on Norway.

What should he say? He hadn't had time to think about all of this yet. He'd ventured inside someone's mind, what sort of conversation do you have after that?

"Are you okay?" Romania asked him, face rather pale.

"I'd be more worried about yourself than me." Norway mentioned dryly, sitting up without changing expression, even as pain pounded against his head. Romania smiled, crossing his arms.

"I'm alright, but that wasn't really an answer." He tilted his head to the side, regarding him seriously. "England said this might have bad effects for you. I wanted to see if you were okay."

Norway leaned back against the headboard, face perfectly blank. "I'm fine as well." Both were quiet for a moment before he continued. "You're....awake. Good."

Romania looked like he might like to laugh, but he didn't. "Yes. I'm still a little fuzzy on the details, but otherwise I'm fine."

Norway's breath caught before he could stop himself. So he didn't remember anything? So this could disappear. Only he wasn't sure he could stop thinking about it himself. So that meant what? "Ah."

"Some details." Romania repeated, taking another step in. "I know what happened, but I don't remember being there, if that makes any sense."

Norway wasn't sure. "The whole thing confuses me." He admitted. Romania made a soft noise of acknowledgement, but his eyes were waiting for him to continue.

He didn't. They just stood there, and Romania exhaled. "So what part of what you saw is bothering you?"

"You want me to talk about it." Norway answered immediately, not particularly enthused.

"I want to know what you're thinking." Romania responded, not apologizing for his curiosity.

"I don't know what to think yet." Norway responded, eyes finally sliding from his gaze. "If you want to talk, do so."

Romania moved as though thinking of stepping closer, but he never did. "Don't let me scare you." He said gently. Norway's eyes flicked to the wall opposite the doorway, remaining silent as he listened.

"I want you to know I never made anything....I never made it clear for a reason. I don't want you to..." Norway looked to see Romania seeming to visibly struggle with himself. He almost wanted to say something, but couldn't think of what. "I'm not really sure why I let you see that. I'm not trying to be creepy, I'm not trying to..."

"Because I'm nice to you?" Norway recalled how he'd felt at first. "Romania..." His heart ached for the younger country, who clearly hadn't been shown enough love in his life. Nearly friendless, at once hated by his people, abandoned by his only family. But Romania surprised him by laughing, a little nervously.

"Well, yes." He mentioned, taking a tentative step closer to try and see him a little better. "You're nice. You're funny. You care so much about the people close to you." Romania was smiling, and Norway's eyes went to his shoulder to avoid direct eye contact. "You like cute things and terrible music. You act so stoic but you're so softhearted. And on a shallow note, you're beautiful." Romania's voice never faltered. "I always hoped maybe we could become closer. I never meant for you to find out about this before then. I'd like a chance with you if I can get one."

How could someone be a romantic realist? Norway wasn't sure, but for some reason he felt amused. Something seemed to unwind in his chest, and he finally looked back up at him. Pointed chin, soft cheeks. A sweet, toothed smile. His eyes were so honest, it actually hurt.

Norway never allowed many that close to him. Iceland was the only one he truly let completely in, and no one else. He was older than him, an ancient nation in comparison. And just that, a nation. He couldn't imagine what his boss would think of him having relations with Romania.

But that was rather cruel and unfair thinking, wasn't it?

"I foresee a lot of problems with that." Norway meant to decline his affections, as gently as possible. Romania had his heart with the both bold and humble speech he'd given him. Norway's voice was soft, velvet as usual but without any ice.

"Maybe." Romania answered just as quietly, his red eyes had never left him through the whole conversation. He was such a brazen young thing. He wasn't shy. "Because we're nations?"

Norway nodded once. "There's a chance we could be set up against one another. I imagine that puts a little bit of a strain on a relationship, setting bullets in their people's chests."

Romania wasn't dissuaded by the violence, of course. He actually smiled at that. "It's lonely, though. Being immortal. I had a friend say once, That really if we seek out for companionship it can only be from another nation. Our people’s lives are short and they can't be around us for prolonged periods of time. Everyone's been an enemy at once point or another, and it might happen again."

Norway exhaled at that, amused. "And so you believe only a few hundred years of peace together is worth the risk of despising one another, and how we would be perceived?"

"Our people have much less time to deal with." Romania reminded him gently. "And they think so."

Well. "How profound." Norway couldn't help but tease lightly, even as he felt his heart warm. He recalled what the presence, -Romania, had said before he entered that room. "Your greatest desire." The whole impact finally hit him. Romania, tormented by his people in the past and having watched his brother give him up, named Norway who he wanted to be with most. "That's what, exactly?"

"You being happy. With me." Romania lowered his head slightly, but his eyes stayed fixed on him. "I want a chance to know how you feel, what you think. I know you keep a lot of things from everyone. I can pick up when you're unhappy, but I'm no mind reader. I don't know much about you. I know that."

Norway kept quiet. What could he say? He gestured Romania in, who smiled as he walked over to sit on the side of his bed. The two just sat there and looked at one another.

"And thank you." Romania suddenly said, dropping his smile to look serious. "You and Arthur were amazing."

"You made my job easy." Norway responded calmly, batting the thanks out of the way. "Thank yourself."

Romania shook his head at him, still a respectful distance away. Norway felt his heart tug at the genuine care and respect the other showed. The silly, bubbly little thing was so emotional. How did he gravitate towards someone like himself?

"I don't really let people close." Norway still tried to raise another barrier, but Romania laughed.

"You're kidding." He teased, sounding exaggeratingly shocked and sporting a bright smile on his face. "You? Reserved?"

"Another quip like that and you're out of the room." Norway threatened, but his eyes took on an almost playful look.

"I asked for a chance. No promises need be made or kept." Romania said, eyes sparkling. "Just settle for I want to be closer friends right now."

It wasn't until weeks later that Francis began to notice a change in Arthur. Granted, the reason why it took him so long was because he was thoroughly exhausted most of the time. Sure, he can kick ass now that he knows a thing or two after being in the kickboxing club for a while now, but it didn't make up for this. They've been talking less and less, and Francis doesn't like it.

By the time he comes home, Arthur is always already locked in his bedroom. As much as he loves the idea of bothering the other teen, now that he's constantly tired, a wave of guilt flows through him just for thinking he could interrupt the other's sleep. It sucks because the less he sees of Arthur, the more he feels like curling up and pondering why it hurts him. At times he feels like the younger teen is doing it... almost on purpose. But he wouldn't. Arthur wouldn't purposely keep himself away from Francis, would he?

Maybe he did notice Francis' weird behavior and he knows something's wrong with him. Francis should've just lied. Now it's also probably going to be awkward as heck between them. In any case, he's still here, so if he figured out any of the stuff going on with Francis then he either doesn't care much, or it isn't a problem to begin with.

He hopes it's the latter. Technically speaking, Arthur has seen worst what with being present for one of his panic attacks, but it was still worrying. Or maybe he's just super busy because of midterms. Ugh, he shouldn't have skipped class. They were supposed to study for the midterm. He supposes he can study for it on his own later tonight.

In an effort to spend some time with the other teen, he decided to skip his last class and also kickboxing lesson in order to cook dinner for Arthur. Not wanting to go through the embarrassment of burning something, he picked an easy recipe (with lots of chicken meat), Coq au vin. It actually had been finished for a while now, but the other teen wasn't anywhere to be seen. So for a moment Francis chose to sit on one of the stools and rest his head on his arms as he waited. And waited, and waited until he couldn't keep himself awake anymore.

Arthur really was avoiding Francis on purpose. He was very careful about it. He began locking himself in his room again, and he didn't always eat at home. He wanted to keep away from him in hopes that Francis would get better. He didn't expect the side effects.

Arthur should be used to being alone. But one warning sign was when he found his grades slipping. He, the straight-A student, was getting bad grades! None of his classes had dropped below a B, but he had failed his last test. That was when he realized something was horribly, terribly wrong. He couldn't concentrate anymore. He fidgeted in class, he found himself feeling almost sick somedays. It hurt. He was hurting and wasn't at all sure why. He wasn't trying to hurt Francis, but why did he feel so guilty?

Arthur had stopped talking to anyone but Lukas, and that was still a rarity. Yesterday his coworker had actually grabbed a broom from him and forcefully set him down. Arthur was so bewildered he let him do it, staring blankly at the Norwegian.

"Whatever is going on, something needs to change." Lukas had told him calmly, narrowing his eyes. "You're always exhausted, you're constantly jumpy, and you look like you haven't slept in days."

Arthur had tried to protest but Lukas cut him off. "I'm not going to ask you what it is." He told him coolly. "But clearly something is wrong, and you need to fix it. If you're working too hard, take a few days off here. I'll cover for you if I must."

While touched that Lukas cared, Arthur reassured him he'd take care of it. But a week later he was still thinking about it. Had distancing himself from Francis really hurt him so badly?

The answer was yes, Arthur had to admit as he walked back to the dorm. Without the presence of the happy, cheerful Frenchman, Arthur's days were just a little bit bleaker. Lukas was a good friend, and he had actually become fairly fond of the Norwegian, but he just didn't have the connection with him that he did with Francis. Arthur exhaled. Hopefully this was helping Francis, because it wasn't helping Arthur. But that was how it seemed to work. If Arthur was miserable, everyone else was happy. He would deal with it.

He opened the door and stopped short. Francis?! He usually had classes still, and then kickboxing. Arthur slowly shut the door behind him, bewildered and a little upset. He had been doing very well with keeping away from him, too. He stepped closer, but Francis didn't look up. Ah. He was asleep. Arthur hesitantly walked up to him, watching him quietly as he lay slumped over the counter. That couldn't be good for his spine.

Arthur reached over, gently squeezing his shoulder. "Francis?" He asked, vaguely thinking this was probably the first time he'd touched him since hugging him on the couch. Had he been cooking something? It smelled nice in here, anyway. "Get up. You'll hurt yourself if you sleep like that, you git!"

The effect his sharp words had was amusing. Francis shot up from where he had been slumped over, blurting out the first thing that came to mind. "I didn't do it!"He thought he heard Arthur snort. Looking around, he noticed he was in the kitchen and then he turned to see Arthur standing by him. He frowned and then rubbed the sleep off his face.

Francis blinked for a while before asking, "What time is it?" But then after noticing Arthur's work clothes, he waved his hand dismissively. It didn't show on his face, but he was actually pretty excited to see the brit. At the same time, he got nervous, remembering his thoughts before falling asleep on the counter. Plus his back hurt and his arms felt like they were made of lead. Sports are not for him.

Arthur answered anyhow, with a slightly disapproving voice. "Late. I would say you've missed class, but since you cooked I assume that's on purpose?" He raised an eyebrow. He didn't really condone skipping class. Not even if you were sick.

"Well," Francis began, pushing himself off the stool, "I made some dinner if you want any. I forgot that you worked at the cafe and I'm not sure... if you eat there or not?" He bit the inside of his cheek and turned around, thinking he was an idiot.

They haven't actually talked to each other in so long that he doesn't even know if the other eats dinner at work or not. How could he have forgotten tonight was working night? He feels like a complete idiot. He was so tired and so drained from everything. His eyes prickled and he blushed. Lately he's just been feeling miserable and he didn't know why. Well, he knows it's because he doesn't get to see Arthur anymore. Francis feels like he ruined his friendship with Arthur and he doesn't know how to fix it. He should probably go to his room and sleep.

Arthur glanced over at the food obviously waiting for him and then back to Francis. "Er..." He usually did eat at the cafe, but had felt too miserable today to be hungry. Oddly enough, he didn't feel so sick anymore. "I suppose I could eat." He finally decided. It did smell good. Arthur frowned then, noticing the unhappy look on Francis' face. "You should go rest." He told him as concern pricked his heart. He still looked....off. "You look tired."

Francis looked so exhausted. Arthur watched him silently, trying not to look as worried as he felt. By avoiding Francis, he had created no way of finding out if he was feeling okay or not. His hand tucked Francis' hair behind his ear before he caught himself, quickly snatching his hand away. No. He might be concerned, but his presence only ever made things far worse. He'd help most by not interacting much.

For a moment, Francis didn't realize that Arthur reached forward to tuck some of his hair behind his ear, as he's done a couple of times before. His heart fluttered when he had the urge to lean into the touch, but Arthur took his hand away as soon as it happened. Besides the disappointment of the gesture not lasting more than a second, he still smiled warmly at the other teen. If Arthur was willing to do that, then it meant he wasn't angry at Francis. Maybe it's something else after all.

"No! I'll eat with you," Francis said enthusiastically, moving to pull out two bowls for them to eat together. Either he takes advantage of the fact that Arthur said yes to his food, or he goes to bed and misses the possibly only evening they'd be spending together. After weeks of feeling sad and tired, tonight is the first night that he smiles sincerely.

An awkward silence fell, and Arthur wasn't sure what to say. What bond they had developed over the summer seemed to be gone, and they were back to silences and adverted gazes. It made him unhappy, and strangely angry. The older teen looked exhausted. Hopefully that was at least helping him sleep. Arthur wouldn't know. He hadn't spoken to Francis in weeks. Arthur mentioned Francis might want to go rest, but he instead chose to eat.

But that seemed to spark something in Francis' demeanor. He brightened, actually smiling genuinely this time. Arthur felt his own lips twitch, nearly smiling habitually. Francis seemed to come back to life, enthusiastically getting dinner ready for them both.

He missed this. Surely one night of interaction wouldn't hurt Francis? He looked happier, after all. Arthur relented and took his regular seat, trying to ignore the warmth fluttering in his chest. "Fine with me." Arthur told him, unable to hide his small smile. "What did you make?"

Francis explained to him as they ate that it's a dish made of chicken and different vegetables. Arthur seemed to enjoy it and it made him feel even more giddy. He missed having the other eat his food, and he also missed cooking it for him. After that they didn't really talked much and eventually by the time they were done with the food, Francis' mood was back to the one he had been in before they sat down to eat. He took care of the dishes (as usual) and then turned to smile softly at Arthur.

"I'll go to bed now, I have to wake up early to study." That was all he said before he retired to his bedroom.

He leaned against the door for a moment before sighing and moving towards his bed. Pulling his clothes off, Francis changed into his pajama pants and laid down under the covers. He rested there for a couple of minutes without feeling any tiredness and it started to piss him off. He should've not slept after cooking, now his whole sleeping schedule is messed up because he took a nap. Weeks of working on his sleeping were probably gone forever, so instead of laying there like a potato he decided to get his phone and listen to some music with his headphones. Just because he can't sleep doesn't mean Arthur has to go through it too. He went with piano music because it was relaxing plus he felt like thinking about the happy times he's had with Arthur.

A smile broke on his face when he remembered the time he tried to teach him to swim. He had been like a little child, so scared of water it was endearing. No one would imagine Arthur is so scared of water. Maybe one day he'll be able to fully teach him how to swim, and then they could go to the beach or something fun like that. Friends do that, right? They go out on vacations together, have fun and party.