La Tristesse

Chapter 12

     By any means necessary. Those had been his boss' words but, God save him, why did it have to be Sadiq? Turkey was a decent country and a fine friend, but as a lover... The guy enjoyed things Francis had only ever read about and even on printed paper they had disturbed him. Having been asked to perform them had made him sick.
     He'd never meant for things to go so far. Never. As much as he like talking about it, sex was not something he took lightly. It was something he didn't want to ever have to regret, but the first thing he felt when he awoke was shame. Pain was close on it's heals however and he was thankful for it. The discomfort chased away everything else.
The mattress he was laying on was bare, but he was covered with a thick comforter with intricate embroidery that was strangely soothing when rubbed between his fingers. Arthur had made this. He didn't need to ask in order to recognize his work. A smile tried to touch his lips as he sat up but the sharp pain in his side crippled it. He traces the neat row of stitches where Turkey had got him with a broken bottle and then shifted gingerly, deliberate whether it was his third or fourth rib left rib that was broken. His boss was going to be mad as hell, and Sadiq's would be no ray of sunshine either. If they knew. Maybe they hadn't heard. That would be a sizable mercy he wasn't sure Lady Luck owed him.
Rising slowly, he noticed a glass of water on the nightstand. It had been put there recently as the ice within was still substantial. Beside that, on the antique chair beneath the window, sat a pile of clean clothes. His boots, now cleaned and polished, sat at it's feet. It was bittersweet. To know and to see the evidence of Arthur's true nature and still have to bear his constant denial of it was maddening.
     Changing his clothes was a torment he willing subjected himself to, a penance of sorts for his recent foolishness. He was surprised to find the pants fit, as Arthur was at least a head shorter than him. The shirt made him grin wide as it was sporting the label of an old punk rock band that Arthur would never admit to liking. The younger nation was surely giving himself away a lot lately. Perhaps there was hope yet.
     Grimacing as he glanced over his shoulder to check the door, he breathed deep the smell of the fabric before pulling it over his head with a hiss and a groan. It was definitely his fourth rib. After battling  a bout of nausea, he forced down the cool water and headed for the door to seek his host. It would have been better to have sought instead the front door, but he longed to hear Arthur's voice, even if it would be spitting insults.
     He found the Englishman in his usual spot. Sitting with saucer in his lap and book on the arm of his chair, Arthur was nestled in the library looking every bit a part of the room as the books and their high shelves. The sun coming in from the window colored his hair like rich honey. His usual scowl was absent, replaced by a serene and thoughtful expression that reminded Francis of the eager youth he'd known long ago. It seemed a shame to disturb him.
      "Are you hungry?" The Brit inquired in a tone nearly as quiet as the gathering of dust. His hand motioned to a plate of uneaten breakfast but his eyes never left his tea.  "I didn't make it."
"Onhonhon~ You'll never grow any taller if you don't eat, mon cher." He crooned, trying not to let his injuries hinder his swag as he crossed the room. Despite having no appetite he took a scone from the plate and sat down in the chair opposite the other nation. The action was carried without thought to his wounds and he paled a shade as the pain turned his stomach.
Arthur's knowing eyes glanced up at him briefly and then shifted their attention to the view outside the window. "Spain dropped your phone off this morning." He stated absently, motion to the end table. "It's there."
He didn't make a move to retrieve it. He didn't particularly care for the thing in the first place. The knowledge that Tony and Gilbert had probably taken dozens of inappropriate selfies before returning it didn't aid in his want of it either. Letting his head rest against the chair's cushioned back, he nibbled his scone in silence.
The Brit went back to reading. The warm sunlight and the periodic whisper of turned pages was nearly enough to put Francis back to sleep. It'd been a long time since he'd been this content. If every day could be just like this moment, he felt he could keep on living without Arthur's affection. Just this amicable silence would be enough. His thoughts began to blur after a while and time passed slowly. Arthur got up now and then to choose a different book but he never spoke or made any attempts to rouse him from the doze he was slipping in and out of.
      It felt like home. Natural. As if this was how it was supposed to be. If only it were true. Like a harbinger of fate, the doorbell shrieked his demise and he knew then that his rest was over. It didn't matter who awaited on the stoop outside, Arthur would throw up his shields again as soon as the third party entered. In hopes that the Brit would ignore the caller, he pretended not to have heard the shrill chime.

***

Okay, I was going to make this a nice long chapter but it's one in the morning and I've already been forced to wring my brain literally all day over the ending of an original work I'm writing. In short, I've reached my creative limit for the day- possibly the week.

The next part will likely be frustrating, but I urge you not to rage quit. I intended this to be a short fluff thing and now it's escalated into something I was not prepared for. 😅 So, I'm just winging it now.

🖖