The Sea Against The Storm

Chapter 2: The Spell

When Arthur woke up, it took him a few moments to realize that Francis was still sleeping next to him.

Now that his head was clear, he slipped out of Francis' arms, trying to be careful not to wake him, more because he wanted some peace and quiet before he woke up, but alas, it was not meant to be. The blonde stirred and stretched in a way it reminded Arthur much of a cat. He laughed to himself at that observation, which caught the frenchman's attention. Blue eyes met green, and Francis grinned as he wrapped his arms back around Arthur and pulled him back down. 

Arthur made a squealing sound which he stopped quickly, even though it was rooted from surprise, he didn't want the frenchman to get any ideas. "Let go of me right now, you git!" Arthur shouted, the normal ferocity back in his retort's. Though Francis was still as stubborn as ever, refusing to be intimidated by the Brit, though he did let him go. Arthur immediately got up and shoo'd Francis out of his room so he could get changed, ignoring the protests. 

He did more than just change clothes, however. The things he saw last night were still lingering on the back of his eyelids. He still felt if he let his mind wander that he might think he's back on the battle front. He needed to try and cleanse himself of some of the burden, and though it never worked, he always tried, and at the very least it made him feel physically refreshed and his mind a little clearer than before. 

So he turned on the water in the shower and undressed. After that, he scrubbed himself as if he were trying to scrub the blood from his hands and person. As if doing this, he could scrub himself clean of the painful memories of the terrors that occurred during The Blitz. He shuddered at the name, and his mind threatened him with yet another episode, and he scrubbed harder. He didn't care that it hurt when he scrubbed way too hard against one limb, and red, irritated, skin was left behind. The pain in the present gave him something to focus on other than the pain of the past. 

He took longer in the shower than he normally did, and he didn't care what Francis might say about taking too long. When he was done, he dried himself and dressed himself in the clothes he picked after going back into his room. He knew the door was closed, and hadn't heard any word from Francis, so had no reason to believe he would walk in. At the same time, he didn't have any reason to believe he wouldn't walk in. But, he didn't pay much heed to those thoughts. He just focused on picking his clothes, necked in front of his dresser. 

Luckily, Francis didn't walk in on him. After he was dressed, Arthur realized this, and took into account the amount of time he was in the shower. It was strange for that oddball of a frog not to take the chance to walk into his room and be able to have an excuse for pestering him. Curious, Arthur slowly opened his door and peeked out the door. He slipped into the hallway, looking around as he walked. He stopped at the couch, where atop the blankets France had moved to the couch where he was supposed to sleep last night, lay a piece of paper. A letter. Arthur picked it up gently and ran his eyes across it. 

Dear Angleterre,

I am thankful for letting me stay with you last night, I won't forget it. I went ahead and left, so you can focus on the paperwork you were complaining about earlier. Rest easy, mon petit.

From Your, Francis Bonnefoy

One night and he thinks that bloody means something, Arthur thought as he glanced at the two words before Francis' signature. 

The letter was short and to the point, which Arthur appreciated. There was the one part of Francis leaving so he could finish his paper work. Honestly, he had only complained about it so much to make sure people left him alone. It wasn't paperwork he was working on, but a spell. Remembering this, he grabbed himself a quick breakfast, some tea, and made his way down to his basement.