"You did what?!"
Arthur huffed in humiliation, not bothering to spare a glance at his French companion. "I know it was stupid you git, I said that when we got here..."
Arthur was not one to turn to others for help, especially when it involved his feelings. Not that he didn't want to express himself, more that he was often too stubborn to do so. But when he was too lost to find the answers on his own, it was usually Francis he turned to for help. They had known each other since childhood after all; there was hardly anything one didn't know about the other. And despite being the insufferably annoying frog the Brit always claimed him to be, Francis did have a wealth of knowledge on the human heart, and Arthur often found himself looking up to the man as a big brother in spite of himself.
And so, after his horribly awkward encounter with his student (and crush?) on the roof of the department building, and rendezvousing with his other three students at their hotel, he had called Francis quite unexpectedly and asked to meet up with him.
Francis was more than slightly concerned when he received a call from Arthur at nearly eleven at night, asking to meet up with him for a few drinks (though not nearly concerned enough to let the obvious "Thinking of me alone at night, eh Angleterre?" joke pass him by). He could tell from the Brit's tone alone something was really bothering him, the way he stuttered out every other word and took big pauses between each sentence... Really, thought Francis, the man was terrible at hiding his feelings, despite the expert he thought himself to be.
A short ride on the Eurostar swiftly brought the French man to London. All the while, he tried to quell his growing concern for his friend, puzzling over what could be wrong. The two hadn't had a serious conversation in quite a while, and he frankly had no idea what was going on in Arthur's life, besides the fact he was working in America now... but if that was the case why was he in London? Another question he didn't have the answer to only fueled his anxiety. Arthur was important to him after all, despite being the drab, vulgar idiot Francis always claimed him to be.
It was nearly 1:30 by the time the two finally met up. The tavern they selected was small and musty, and by this time full of mostly drunken idiots, all loudly talking with heavy accents and slurs. It was far from ideal of course, but at such a late hour their options were few.
They sat at the bar, and Arthur ordered their drinks from a barista who glared daggers of animosity at her late night customers. Francis folded his hands in his lap, feeling far too regal for such a grimy setting, and turned to study his sullen friend.
"So Artie, come to seek big brother for help?" he said with a cocky smirk, to which Arthur responded with a scowl.
"Don't flatter yourself frog, the last thing I need tonight is a headache from you!"
"Ah, but you are the one who called me here, non?" Francis said innocently, pleased with the frustrated growl he got in response.
"That's not the point moron!" Arthur said, and then after a moment of hesitation: "Just listen to this, though it's sort of stupid..."
~~~
"Ah, so little Artie is really in love..." Francis mused, having listened to the Brit's story.
"Don't say it like it's a good thing!" he huffed, "It's just embarrassing!"
"It's not embarrassing, you're just immature." the Frenchman sighed, insulting retorts rolling off his tong naturally as they always did when he was with Arthur. He decided to press the conversation further, hoping to get past this layer of shyness his friend always surrounded himself with when talking of such things. "So, what do you plan to do next? Surely you're not just going to leave it alone?"
"That..." Arthur trailed off, flustered anger melting into melancholy, "I don't know... It's not really a normal sort of relationship is it."
"Because of the age?"
"No idiot, because she has brown hair, yes of course because of the age!" the Brit scoffed, flustered anger flaring up again.
"Well, I don't see the problem." Francis shrugged and folded his arms across his chest, "Age is just a number after all."
"And prison's just a room after all!"
"You're in a wonderful mood tonight."
"You're not helping at all!"
Francis sighed, distractedly tracing an elegant finger around the rim of his glass. This conversation was getting nowhere, he thought, so he might as well get right down to the point...
"You want my help? I will give you some advice then, Angleterre." He paused a moment, waiting for some kind of rebellion from the Brit. Upon hearing none, he continued. "You came to hear my opinion, oui? Yet you know me so well, surely you knew that I would tell you to go after the ones you love, love conquers all, something like that. You wanted me to tell you that didn't you?"
He glanced sideways at Arthur, gauging his reaction. And judging by the look of anger and confusion he was met with, he'd say he hit the nail right on the head.
"So you really just wanted me to say what you were thinking non? That would make it seem less your idea, Lord forbid you ever love another! Artie, do not be so afraid of your feelings, you are only holding yourself back."
"For God's sake Francis, will you stop your blabbering?" Arthur interrupted. "It's not that I'm denying I like her, it's just-"
"Then if you really like her why is there a problem?"
The Brit groaned, "We just went over this... you really don't get it!"
"Of course I don't," Francis said, his voice losing its amiable tone as he quickly grew tired of his friend's childish behavior. Really, he was acting like a school girl with her first crush! "I have never been so afraid of my heart as you. But really Artie, it's not as if she'll be a child forever! Humans grow up quickly you know..."
A long silence followed that statement, and Francis sighed, draining his glass of its contents. "My advice mon amie," He said at long last. "Is to tell her how you feel. Even if she does not share your feelings, the air will become clearer once everything is out on the table. And hey, who knows, she may not even press charges!"
Arthur sighed and rested his head in his hands. The stupid frog didn't get it at all! He felt just as helpless as when he had gotten there, maybe even more so with the alcohol in his system.
However, as he left the tavern, he began thinking of what he would say to his student should they ever discuss the matter further. Perhaps he should initiate a conversation...
But not because Francis told him to, of course. That frog was completely useless.
~~~
(A/N: Yeah that's right I'm cool, updating when I say I willB) Also sorry if this chapter makes no sense, I haven't slept in over 30 hours. Love you so much!!<3)
