The way of your movements( Fruk)

15

After the other night, Francis kept trying to get in touch with me throughout the week. If I was going to be honest, I was being a little petty and wasn't answering anyone. I wouldn't answer anyone's messages and would leave Francis on "read."

It was already the night before the last seminar was supposed to take place, and I knew I should answer Yao. However, he texted me, saying he understood why I was upset.

"Can I come by?

"I am sorry."

"Please, can we talk?"

"Arthur, I miss you."

These were some of the things that Francis constantly texted me. I began to feel worse as the days progressed. Even now, I was doing my best not to answer him. There was a part of me that thought maybe I was too harsh. Then again, it was different.

I couldn't explain why it was different for Francis to shut me out than other people, but it was.

I suppose that deep down, I wanted his attention, and he wasn't giving it to me for once.

I was sitting on my sofa, watching the door nervously. Maybe I should answer—

What the...?

I watched as a piece of paper slipped under my door, and it caused me to stand up quickly. I rushed over to pick it up, and the back said, "From Francis."

No way he is here right now.

I opened the door quickly, and he was still bent.

What the...?

He looked up at me nervously, and I looked down at him, confused. He was here? Why?

I looked at the paper in my hand, flipped it over, and saw a lot of writing on the other side. "I am sorry," He began to sign. I looked at him for a moment as he was basically on his knees in front of me.

I was starting to feel like the asshole now.

God, I hope I don't regret this...

I breathed out deeply and opened my door wider. "Come in; we can talk," I spoke and signed. His eyes widened, and it seemed as if his eyes filled with all types of happiness.

He quickly got to his feet, and I stepped aside for him to come in. "I will start the kettle. Do you want tea?" I asked and signed.

He began to gesture to write, and I pointed to the table where a pencil and notepad were. He nodded and walked over toward the table to write something down. "I am more of a coffee person," it read. I rolled my eyes at him and shook my head. "Not in my house; you will drink tea," I spoke and signed. He nodded at me nervously, and took a seat on one of the bar stools I had.

I turned away from him to get the tea ready, and I wondered if this was a good idea. This whole "friendship" we have with each other. I know he has been trying, but maybe it won't work out. He seems to care for me, but in this weird way that I don't understand.

I suddenly felt something lightly hit the back of my head, and I felt irritated. I turned around and held the back of my head as I looked at him.

He had thrown a crumbled piece of paper at me to get my attention. "How mature! Have you heard of getting your ass up and tapping me?" I asked and signed. I was a little aggressive with the sign, and he looked at me, annoyed.

He held his notepad up, and it read, "read the paper before tea."

Really?

I looked at the paper and back to him; this time, his face was red. You'd see the type of red in movies when someone was about to confess their love. He looked at me eagerly, and I nodded in response.

I walked over toward the table and picked up the paper he tried sliding under my door. I looked at him nervously and took a seat in front of him. He tried to look away from me and went as far as to cover his mouth. "Okay then," I responded.

"Dear Arthur,
I realize that the other night could have ended better. I feel that the barrier between us has been hard to overcome, and we are both dealing with it in our own way. Especially me...this is all new to me, and I get jealous that everyone else can talk to you anytime they want to.

I want to do that one day, but it will take time, so I hope you will go easy on me. However, judging by your attitude, I doubt that."

I tried not to laugh or smile as I read what he wrote. He was an idiot.

"After much thinking and constant "read" messages from you and Yao with no responses, I wondered why I was trying so hard. I felt terrible about how I might be making you feel, and yet I was still trying to be around you.

I realized during the week why you were upset. It took some time for my stupid brain to realize it because I thought I was being a little selfish. I didn't realize how it might have made you feel left out. You didn't try to talk to anyone else because you wanted to talk to me. I am so sorry about this. If I'm going to be honest, I am a people pleaser, and I felt terrible if I were to tell Michelle to leave."

I began to laugh a little, reading that part, and I could see Francis staring at me with this stupid smile. He tried to hide his face, but the redness showed from beneath his hands.

"Arthur, I hope we can try and start over a bit. I want to get things right this time.

You see, figuring out why you were upset with me earlier this week wasn't the only realization I had."

The letter ended, and I looked at him, confused.

"You didn't finish the letter; what did you realize?" I asked and signed.

He held up his notepad, and I read what he wrote. Wow, he was prepared.

"I thought you'd be desperate and talk to me if I were to leave that part out. I'd rather say it in person anyway," it read. I was still confused.

What did he mean?

"I don't understand," I signed.

His face was still red, and he shook his head.

He placed the notepad down and began to slowly point to himself.

"I..."

I looked at him, tilting my head as he placed his left over right hand over his heart. Tapping it gently over his heart in this tender motion.

"Love..."

Wait a minute...

My body froze, and I didn't know what to do with myself anymore. My heart was racing; I had never experienced something like this before. My eyes widened, and I sat still, not knowing what to do as his index finger pointed at me.

"You..."