Talk dover to me <3
'How hot is it?'
'It's hot.'
'Is it hot enough for me.'
'Francis, get the fuck in.' Arthur sat up and back further in the tub to make room, 'Stop looking at me like that; get in and shut the bloody door. You're letting all the heat out.'
'Oh, I thought it was hot enough.'
Arthur raised his eyes to the heavens and sank back lower into the water.
Francis shut the door and turned back to glare at him, 'You're taking up all the room.'
'You took too long.'
'Move.'
'I will when you get in.'
'You're insufferable. This is supposed to be relaxing. I'm supposed to enjoy this.' In a swift movement, Francis shucked off his (overly) fluffy bathroom, ‘Get out of the way.’
‘I will when you get in.’
Francis stepped one foot fully into the water with a wince and Arthur grinned, ‘Too hot?’
‘Arthur, I swear to God I will sit on your legs.’
‘I took the tap side for you.’
‘I appreciate the weaponry to hand. Move.’
Before Arthur could retort, Francis stepped fully into the tub and Arthur had to swiftly moved his legs out of the way to avoid tendon damage.
‘Look, you’ve flooded us.’ Arthur said, eyeing up the overflow along the tub’s rim from the wave made by Francis’ entrance. ‘That better not go through the carpet to the floorboards, we can’t afford to redo them after the kitchen.’
‘I’m surprised you have enough heart and feeling in your stingy heart to allow us to have this much water.’ Francis sank as deep as he could go, knees sharp mountains in the water, and closed his eyes, ‘Ugh, it’s been too long since I’ve had a bath. I needed this.’
‘Hmm.’ Arthur pulled one of Francis’ feel forwards to massage his calf, firm circles with his thumbs, ‘It’s rarely cold enough to be worth it.’
‘That’s a terrible opinion.’ Francis cracked open an eye, looking just behind Arthur and to the right, ‘As is the need to have the window open.’
‘I like the contrast.’
Francis shook his heard and closed his eyes again, ‘I think I’m going to quit.’
‘Finally.’
‘Yes, well. I had hopes. Growth upwards, more than anything currently improving.’
‘Move on to another station?’
Francis shrugged, ‘The chance for more responsibility. Menu choices, ideally.’
Arthur snorted and moved onto Francis’ other leg, ‘As if David would ever let you do that.’
‘He does for Nikhil.’
‘Nikhil is an arselick.’
‘Nikhil is also the level above. But even then, to just move off vegetables and fish. I hate fish, or I hate cooking fish. The smell gets everywhere.’
‘I don’t mind you smelling like a whore.’
Francis hit him with a sudden splash of water, Arthur catching the grin of his teeth right before he closed his eyes.
‘Stop it. Let me moan; don’t make me laugh.’
‘I would do no such thing willingly.’ Arthur lay back as much as he could with the awkward and hard metal of the tap, lolling his head against the wall with his arm slung over the ceramic to keep him from sliding. ‘Your unhappiness is my entire aim.’
Francis snorted and cupped water in his hands to tip onto the crown of his head, fingers raking through the strands.
‘Are you actually?’ Arthur asked after a moment, his hand going back to the meat of Francis’ calf, then the cool skin of his knee, ‘Going to quit; go somewhere else.’
Francis shrugged. ‘No. Yes. Inside, mentally, I quit ages ago. But today was just...’ he waved a hand lazily, ‘I don’t know how much longer. Not because it’s hard or bad but, what’s the point. Of being stuck somewhere that won’t change, clinging to something that left a long time ago.’
‘True, I-‘
‘Like you with me.’
Arthur froze, a coldness blooming in his stomach to spread like ice through his veins. He pulled his hand away and Francis eyed him, eyes flicking up and down.
‘How many years has it been?’ He asked, ‘Five? Six?’
Arthur tried to speak but managed only a croak. Swallowed, tried again, ‘Seven.’
‘Ah yes, seven.’ Francis looked around the bathroom, at the cracks that Arthur now remembered as being on the ceiling, the damp mildew stains along the tiles to pillow black in the grouting that hadn’t been there a second ago. ‘Too long, my love.’
Arthur couldn’t speak. He reach forwards, through still, tepid water to where Francis still lay bright and whole against clean ceramic and the vibrant colours of years before. His hands met nothing but the smooth other side.
Francis watched him, silent. There was something of pity in his expression, almost readable as contempt. ‘Arthur.’
‘No.’
‘You have to let me go, Arthur.’
‘Francis.’ Arthur pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, keeping the sound of Francis’ voice safe and away from the reality that his eyes could now see, ‘Please.’
‘It’s funny that this is where you see me.’ A soft splash, the gentlest movement of water, ‘Is this the only place that you have left? The last place you can call me back?’
It was. There had been others, especially right at the start. Francis in the kitchen, Francis in bed. Francis draped across the lounge sofa, hair in Arthur’s fingers, his warmth against his side. But the rooms were too large and the truth too heavy, too much to filter with so much space to repaint. As the years fell away, it became harder through the years to recall Francis there for more than a flash, and Arthur always needed more.
The bathroom, small and cramped in their little old flat, was still enough. Arthur could pull their relationship out there and unfurl it like a canvas, run through imaginary tapes of old conversations and quiet little moments to fill the space and coat it completely.
It still felt so real.
‘Your brothers are worried about you.’ Another splash, coming closer, ‘You look at least ten years older than you should.’
‘Stop. Please, don’t.’
‘Keeping me here is taking too much.’ Another splash. Arthur heard something lift out of the water, heard the plink plink plink of droplets falling from something tangible there with him. ‘How much life do you have left to waste on trying to get back the one that you lost?’
Arthur felt Francis’ hand on his cheek, his fingers cold and hard as bone. Arthur’s breath caught and he squeezed his eyes so tightly that he could hear a roaring of blood in his ears.
‘Are you waiting for me to say that I forgive you? Do you keep bringing me back here, dragging me up, because you hope that maybe I’ll say you’re not to blame? And, since I won’t, you instead play happier memories again and again and again-’ Francis squeezed hard, fingers digging in sharp to Arthur’s skin, ‘to avoid that day?’
Arthur tried to shake his head but couldn't, found his whole body was rigid and stuck. He tried to jerk away, kick his legs at the thing holding him there but his legs couldn’t move. The tap pressed sharply into his back, limescale cutting his skin.
‘Oh.’ The thing that still sounded like Francis tutted, ‘If only you hadn’t been drinking.’
A crash, a car. Night time, Coldplay’s Yellow lifting into the darkness as behind him on the verge... Whiskey on Arthur’s breath, he’d been at the limit but still-
The grip tightened, harder against Arthur’s teeth to force the bitter reality past the lie and into his mouth. ‘Didn’t you have just. One. More.’
Finally, Arthur opened his eyes.
It does not take long for flesh to decompose. Especially in the summer, especially when it was already so ruined, so open.
Nothing hung from Francis’ bones, nothing was left of his softness. His beauty vanished when his soul did, leaving only the shell of a thing that sits before Arthur in chilling water: empty darkness between ribs and cheekbones, picked clean by the creatures of the earth that he was returned to.
‘I’m sorry.’ Arthur whispered to it through its fingers, ‘I’m so, so sorry.’
‘I know.’ Francis’ voice is still in his head; the fused jaw did not move, ‘But that doesn't change anything, does it?’
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AN:
... I... This just happened and did not go quite according to the plan that I had in mind but we're rolling with it
