“YOU STILL HAVE this up?” arlo’s pointing to a wall in florian’s room— it’s covered in pieces of paper that contain sketches of the parisian skyline, each 8.5x11’ paper forming the bigger picture with the eiffel tower in the forefront. arlo had even poked holes in the pictures so dainty fairy lights could poke through and twinkle, as if the city were alive. the lights are off at the moment but the pictures still hang. he figures it’s probably a pain in the ass to take them down but he also likes the idea of florian liking something he’s done. it’s not all that fantastic, in arlo’s opinion— it took days to actually do, and he’s much more skilled at sketching portraits rather than buildings and landscape. he’d sketched it for florian as a birthday present and even had someone sneak him into the house after florian left for vienna, so he could see it upon coming home. it kind of warms arlo’s heart to know the man hasn’t taken it down yet, kind of like how florian has yet to take off the necklace that arlo gave him what seems like ages ago.
arlo’s eyes shift to florian, who sits in his bed in almost entire darkness, aside from the natural light that the room captures. he puckers his lower lip and slumps his shoulders forward, as if giving up as he finds his feet leading him to the other. he sits on the edge of the bed and places a hand on florian’s side. “mon amour,” he says, slightly accusatory. “i’ve heard you’ve been stuck in bed lately.” his fingers move to florian’s hair, gently tucking a few strands away. “would you tell me why? and would you tell me if i did something to make you feel this way?”
HE KEEPS TELLING himself to keep his cool but the fact of the matter is, arlo has it pretty bad for florian. but alas, there’s a lot of factors going into their... whatever this is you’d call it. he has to ease back into it with caution, given the fact that florian had arlo’s heart in his hands and had the power to so easily shatter it with just a mere lie, arlo’s certain he has to be more careful now. and it’s hard, you know? it’s hard to love timidly when throwing yourself into such a thing is all you know. and it’s rather sick, but arlo and florian taking things as they come is only making arlo more lovesick than before. it’s like a school boy crush, the way his heart races when he sees the man’s face. of course, he can’t quite see it right now as he lays on the ground in florian’s bedroom, allowing for a tiny kitten to walk across his chest. arlo’s laughing as it happens— as someone who has never really had a pet, he sure loves other people’s and little marie antoinette is absolutely no exception.
she’s curious as she walks on him and arlo scoops her up gently, lifting her as he sits up and plops her between his spread out legs. his gaze shifts up to florian and he grins. “i love her,” he tells him, and he pouts as she darts towards florian instead. “even cats can’t resist you, florian. how do you do it?”
HOW IRONIC IT is to look at something so beautiful that you want it to be the last thing you ever look at, yet at the same time, you want to see it burst into flames. fresh air was much needed for arlo just a few days after the halloween party— it was a fun time, but he’s the kind of person to dwell on one negative aspect and let it control him. despite getting drunk and having fun with his friends, arlo can’t shake the fact that those words— je ne t’aime pas— actually were uttered from florian agreste’s lips. to be fair, arlo had beckoned the confession out of him but it didn’t mean it hurt any less. it makes him want to skip town. lay low. disappear for a little.
but now he’s flipping through his sketchbook to take a stab at a scenic drawing. while he flips through the pages, he passes the very first few sketches he’d ever done of florian, those days in which he was desperate to have any time with the other man, have any excuse to look at him for a long period of time. but now, looking down at that face feels wrong, like it doesn’t belong to arlo anymore and thus shouldn’t be in his possession. he wants to throw it out; god, all he wants to do is rip it up and throw it in the trash like confetti stuck on the floor after a party but he knows he can’t. he could never do that to florian, not even after everything the man had put him through.
instead, arlo gently rips the pages out of his sketchbook and it feels rather cathartic, with a hint of ache behind it. it’s not like arlo has anything else of florian’s he can give back to him but this is more of a relief for arlo than it is consideration for florian’s belongings. plus, the man’s fucking rich— what could he possibly miss that he can’t get somewhere else? the same surely goes for arlo, too: he’s just another material item, easy for someone like florian to replace. he folds the sketches up and heads towards the residence in which beau and florian live ( and tempest, it’s a full house ). he opens the creaky mailbox and slips the sketches in there, no note required and as soon as the door shuts, he looks up and spots florian, shirtless by the entrance. he flinches immediately and lets his head roll back. “baise-moi, florian, tu m'as fait peur,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “just returning something.” he raises his voice so the other can hear. “je pars, ne vous inquiétez pas.”
TIME SEEMS TO slow. and here’s the thing: time can’t fucking slow down, it’s the most constant thing this world knows. and yet the thought, the sound, the sight of florian agreste seems to make arlo question everything he’s ever known about the functions of the universe. and perhaps he’s being dramatic— after all, arlo tends to catch feelings quickly and messily, to the point that it engulfs his consciousness and molds his behavior like a lump of clay. things between them are so fucking delicate that arlo’s afraid to use the wrong words— hell, he’s afraid to speak louder than a whisper. he’s finishing a cigarette: a real sign of how stressed he is. he’s grateful that florian had agreed to meet up after arlo had quite unapologetically stated that they needed to talk. because, well, they do.
there’s a lot to unpack between the two: the fact that florian admitted he was falling in love with arlo despite having a very public girlfriend is just the tip of the iceberg, but it’s definitely the thought that’s weighing the heaviest on him. sitting on the beach late at night, the moon watching from high above him, arlo looks up as he hears footsteps. he puts his cigarette out in the sand and watches as florian sits next to him. “mon amour,” he greets him. “est-ce que tu m'évites?” his voice comes out small as he asks the question, almost terrified to even speak the thought into existence. “if you didn’t mean what you said at the fundraiser, florian,” he fidgets a bit in his spot, shifting his weight and turning to face the heartbreakingly beautiful man next to him. “we can fix this. we can just go–”
and how cliche of arlo to lose his train of thought, just by looking at florian. time really does seem to slow. “we can just go back to how things were before. i’ll behave. i never wanted to come in between you and someone you love.”
ARLO REGRETFULLY HASN’T stopped thinking about florian agreste ever since he got that faithless text that broke things off between them. the thought made him sick, the heartache so strong he could taste it in the back of his throat like smoke exiting his lungs. if life has managed to teach arlo one thing it’s that love isn’t easy, no matter who claims otherwise. it’s this ruthless beast that grabs you by the throat and squeezes until you can’t breathe, then drops you mercilessly to the ground in the dark while you scramble to get your bearings. and he’s trying, you know? he’s trying so hard to just move on and keep himself busy until he forgets to feel the pain in his chest. but of course, kaos is a small place and arlo knew very well he’d see florian and when he does, his heart grows so heavy he thinks he’ll collapse. it’s while he’s at the edge of the bar, sipping on a gin and tonic while dancing with a group of friends and people he’s never met before.
he can’t keep looking at him. it’s going to make him sick if he does. and thank fuck arlo knows sihyun so intimately, because he can typically score a few free shots before he starts feeling too guilty for wooing sihyun’s bartender like this. he waves him down and does just that: orders two shots, just for himself, and downs them pretty quickly. obviously, arlo has a goal tonight and it’s to forget the whole thing. and once he sets the shot glasses on the surface of the bar, arlo grasps his drink once more and points to the dance floor, where he’s hoping to get consumed by the crowd of people ( as he usually does ) and lose florian for the rest of the night. wishful thinking. but the worst part? maybe part of him wants to be found, too.
[ groom ] [ answer ] [ patience ] [ invite ] [ possessive ] I AM SORRY AKJDHJKF. feel free to ignore the ones you've got no muse for sdkjhff.
[ groom ] your muse adjusting mine’s appearance , such as straightening a tie , fixing their hair , or buttoning their shirt for them , etc .
ARLO KNOWS NOT one thing about fashion. and it’s ironic, isn’t it? that he’s ended up getting involved with a man whose life revolves around such a thing? he can appreciate it, of course, and he learns more every day just from watching florian. as he steps out of the dressing room, decked in a pair of navy slacks, a matching blazer and a soft powder blue button-down, arlo’s squinting his eyes and trying his best to analyze it. after all, he tried his best picking this one out. his eyes meander down florian’s body and land on the ends of the shirt, untucked from his slacks. he takes a few steps forward and without warning, starts tucking the shirt into his waistline all around. reaching the front, arlo raises his brows and presses his lips together as maybe his hand lingers a little too long but he pulls away and unbuttons two of the top buttons of the shirt.
“qu'est-ce que tu penses?”
[ answer ] your muse answering a question meant for mine .
HE’S USUALLY NOT petty. arlo isn’t outwardly possessive— when he is, it’s never vocal. but you see, when it seems like the entire world is attracted to florian agreste and you’re on a weekend vacation with him in corfu and you have yet to keep your hands off of each other for the 24 hours you’ve been here so far, maybe arlo feels a little jealous when he steps away from florian for a few minutes, getting caught up in a conversation with a local in typical arlo rouselle fashion. he glances over his shoulder at florian, who also seems to be talking to someone: a cute girl. short, blonde, beautiful.
and it’s not as if arlo doesn’t trust florian— that’s never really been something that crosses his mind. not with florian. but still, when he hears “so are you seeing anyone?” from such delicate lips, polished in a baby pink gloss, arlo turns in his bar stool and drapes his arms around florian from behind, his head resting on florian’s shoulder and his eyes landing on the girl in front of them. “he is, yeah,” arlo answers for florian before his lips meet the man’s neck sweetly.
[ patience ] your muse telling mine to be patient .
WITH A DRUNK florian hanging on arlo’s arm, his cheek pressed against arlo’s shoulder, the soft sound of florian’s beckoning is becoming a little more distracting as arlo chats with the owner of the restaurant the pair was just at. of course, she had been extra generous with gifting them house wine and florian had lost count of his glasses, as arlo encouraged. and he knows he gets like this— when florian wants something, he sets his mind on it. he gets restless until he gets what he wants and in this moment, it’s to go home. he feels the man’s lips on his shoulder, leaving kisses there and arlo’s desperately trying to act like he’s not distracting him from the small talk with the chatty lady right outside of the quaint restaurant.
“patience, mon amour,” arlo manages to whisper against florian’s hair while the woman isn’t looking. once there’s a dull in conversation, arlo lets out a sigh and wraps an arm around florian’s waist and pulls him closer. “i’d better get this one home.”
[ invite ] your muse inviting mine to sit on their lap .
HE’S GETTING USED to florian’s behavior. arlo’s well aware that florian has these ups and downs; though arlo has very little experience with this kind of mental health knowledge, he’s learning as he goes. it was one particular night where all flo wanted was to be left alone because arlo had pissed him off ( and rightfully so ) but arlo simply wasn’t letting it happen. seated on the couch in florian’s living room, he watches as the other man sits in a chair across from him. a sigh escapes him and he reaches his arms out. “mon amour, ne sois pas borné,” he whispers, beckoning him to approach him. it’s not an easy fight to win but arlo is unwavering. finally, florian meanders over to him and instantly, arlo tugs him on his lap on the couch, arms wrapped around him and his lips attacking his neck with pecks.
[ possessive ] your muse resting their hand on mine’s leg or the small of their back while they’re sitting beside each other .
PERHAPS ONE WOULD deem it inappropriate, the way arlo’s got a hand on florian’s thigh under the table at a huge family and friends dinner at vera’s. they’ve finished eating and are now working on tons of bottles of wine, just chatting and listening to each other. currently, thea’s telling an animated story about an acid trip or something, and everyone’s engulfed in her words. well, arlo’s halfway there, his free hand resting under his chin and his elbow propped on the table. he glances over at florian, seated next to him, and offers him a sweet smile. his hand pats the man’s leg but starts to travel north, closer towards florian’s waist. fingers slip between his thighs and he gently tugs at one leg to spread them a little. arlo represses laughter as florian accidentally bumps eden’s knee with his own but still, he keeps his hand there, possessive and entirely inappropriate in such a public fashion.
