Glass Mask (APH France Drabble/One Shot)

Let me tell you what, sleep is the best thing around. Forget a drunken stupor or a giddy high, sleeping is my bread and butter, I find it simply irreplaceable. Of course, caffeine is great, at times a best friend, but not even a cup of coffee can make up for a few lost hours of the near comatose state we all consider rest.

So, with that, what right does anyone have for waking me up at such an ungodly hour as 3AM?

"I will kill you," are the biting words I use to greet the caller from the other end of the transaction. The unmistakable laugh at the end of the line is what gave the identity away and only furthered my already brooding annoyance.

"Mon cher, no need to be so cynical," the smooth-talking Frenchman muses over the other end of the line. I irritably grit my teeth to keep back what I wanted to say to him, surely something to make even the sweet Italian's brother down at the market to recoil at my words.

"How can't I be," I begin to slowly growl, voice still a rasp from being disturbed from a deep slumber, "especially when I get a call at 3 in the God-frickin' morning?" It took all the will power deep in the marrow of my bones to keep from continuing, knowing my effort for clean language would irrefutably be torn to nothing more than slivers.

"Oui, I'm sorry about that. It took a while for me to get the courage to call you. To be honest, mon cher, I've. . . I've been meaning to call you since 5." It was strange to hear him hesitant and even nervous. That's what it was, I think, nerves.

"5 in the evening?" I murmur, puzzled.

"Uh, oui."

"Courage to call me? Afraid I'm gonna blow up on you?" I snort, laying back down from propping myself up on my elbows when answering the call, mind wondering to any other reason he had called me in the past. Mostly to pester.

"No, no. Afraid of rejection."

We both fell silent, myself questioning anything and everything, mind running through all sorts of possibilities; words and questions I couldn't seem to form. Francis was silent, waiting for me to say something.

"Rejection?" I finally muster, voice sounding despondent after what felt like a while of silence, the only sign either of us were still on the line was the soft sounds of breaths.

"Oui, I'd like to take you out." I roll over onto my side, eyes searching the shadows of my room with the phone pressed between my pillow and ear.

"Out?" I repeat stupidly, mind fuzzy of any implication Francis was trying to offer.

"Out," he reiterates on the other end, voice carefully dropping his nerves, twisting into something light and mirthful, something confident once again, "out on a date."

I splutter, laughing in disbelief. "A date? You can't mean that." He doesn't speak, this time I wait for him to say something.

I wait for him to laugh, that laugh that was so stereotypically French, and brush it off as a late-night joke, his two friends coming on the line, boisterous and laughing, inviting me over for a late-night drink. That sounds rather cruel, even to me, someone who grew up around guys as the homegirl; a good friend, even a sister. I felt safest keeping it that way. Stepping into a long, loving relationship was my dream, and yet, I was scared of the consequences that followed when falling for someone so deeply and selflessly and yet, it may not have been returned that way. Something so diligently sought after and built, crashing and blowing into smithereens, leaving you to pick yourself up, one shard at a time, fix yourself to best of your ability, and move on. I was afraid of something I yearned for, so I made sure to pad myself up and repel any few advances. So surely, a couple of glasses of wine late at night brought Francis to this very moment, thinking unclearly or perhaps even harmlessly joking with Gilbert and Antonio present.

What felt like a long while, but was only half a minute, I speak up again, "You can't mean that, Francis, honestly, it's me you're talking to," I laugh breathlessly, pushing down what small hurt I needlessly felt. Nothing, there is absolutely nothing to hurt over.

"It is you I am talking to, why is that so unbelievable? Why is it hard for you to accept that someone could hold feelings for you? Strong feelings? Alice, you are such a strong and independent woman, someone with so much confidence in yourself. And yet you wear a glass mask and a façade to keep others away and you from loving. Why won't you let me love you, Alice?" Francis' plea leaves me taken aback. Without warning, my eyes water, and I bite my thumb to keep them from falling. When I fail to respond around a tight throat and watery eyes, he makes an immediate decision, taking me by surprise again.

"I'm coming over."

"Wha-? Hold on-!" But he had already hung up.

My mind was foggy, clouding any true thoughts to make sense. When I stood up, my body quivered in the same fashion it does when I had only had a pot of coffee and nothing else for a whole day. When that happens, I force myself away from my gaming console and make myself something large in portion to eat. At a moment like this, I don't think that would be fitting or really helpful, for that matter. I make my way down the steps and to the front door. Francis actually lived across the street (convenient or not, that's simply in the eye of the beholder), so I didn't really have time to formulate a plan of action or words. He's French, so it's hard to say what that silly romantic had in mind when he made it over.

Instead of finding him at my doorway, however, he was actually crawling his way through the window right next to it. "Why are you. . ? There's a door." I laugh in disbelief through the tears, something I couldn't unfortunately urge away. I wipe at them, nonetheless, attempting to save face. There isn't much face to save, however, when you're puffy eyed in front of a Frenchman who managed to practically shatter what defenses were structured over years, and then proceeded to climb through your window at 3AM. Honestly, I could just be dreaming, but even so, deep down, I was praying that it wasn't. I help Francis into my home when his pant loop got caught on the window frame, immediately throwing him into a panic, begging for my help and lightening the mood. I free him, helping him to his feet.

I lead him into the kitchen, starting up the coffee maker as a silence spreads throughout the house once again, the only sound to keep it dead was the gurgling of coffee being brewed. I didn't want to bring up the earlier conversation, I mean, how could I? Seems so strange and awkward now that I think about it. I feel stupid. Not to mention he saw me cry. How lame and cliché of me.

"Stop scowling." I immediately break from my thoughts, glancing over at Francis and away from my coffee mug I was prepping for the actual coffee. He smiles as soon as our eyes meet. "Zhat's much better." I guess my face had relaxed.

I quirk a brow, snorting in an attempt to not be a dick and sound condescending. "I wasn't meaning to, I was thinking." I like it when our conversations are light and airy, now that I think about it. They're rare. It's when we're both tolerable.

I invite him over to the counter and beside me so he can make himself a cup of liquid energy. I pour the coffee for the both of us, watching him prepare his coffee to his liking, sipping carefully at my own.

"Can I take you out, Alice?" I meet his clear, blue gaze again. I pause, on impulse feeling the need to shoot him down, but I stop myself. I stop myself because, unlike anyone else, he seemed so naturally genuine. I couldn't quite put it into words that pointed to that realization, but I think it's just who he was. He flirts shamelessly, yet, love is something he can commit to earnestly, something I wouldn't admit aloud to him. And as I look further back, I can't quite remember him acting as others perceived him to. He doesn't throw himself at every woman, nor does he approach with aggressive amounts of zealous flirting. Don't get me wrong, he's still a master flirt, he just knows when enough is enough. In that moment, I forgot that I was keeping myself from ever trying. In that moment, I felt stupid for the fear of failing when I hadn't even attempted it. In that moment, I set aside my glass mask and façade.

"Yeah. I'd like that."

Sleep may be the best thing around, but that was before I actually opened my eyes to what was in front of me this whole time.