The Whistling Kettle

Light

There were no words between them, no sound except for the engine of the car they sat within. Hot air blew from the vents, coating each of them in a cloud of warmth to protect them from the hard winter that lay outside of the car doors. Snow melted as soon as it hit the windshield, and they watched in silence as the water ran down the glass.

"Is that really what you want?" Arthur's finally spoke, his eyes never leaving the drop that had just began to roll.

"Oui. It is." The usually cheerful, even flirtatious tone had dwindled to these sad, soft words.

"But I just don't- I don't really understand." Arthur said, surprised by the tears that welled up in his eyes. He didn't think he'd be this hurt, but he was. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because, Arthur, I know when a man looks at me and sees someone else."

"But I don't-"

He was stopped by a warm light flooding his side of the car and Arthur turned his head to see the window that had lit up. The curtains had been drawn back to show a young man having just stepped inside, a rather sleepy child in his arms. Arthur's heart warmed at the sight of the toddler, and he watched with an odd little sparkle in his eyes as the young man laid the girl down on her bed, smiling that smile that lit whatever room he entered.

"You don't look at me the way you look at him." Francis said from beside him, but the blonde kept his eyes on the young man in the window.

It looked like he was reading from some story book, gesturing largely with his hands and expressing each sentence he said in a way that made the sleepy little girl giggle. Arthur remembered the first time he had asked Alfred to babysit his daughter while he went out; seeing this scene now made him wonder why he had ever been nervous in the first place.

"You don't smile like that," The Frenchman spoke again, taking Arthur's chin in his hand and turning his head towards him, "For anyone other than Alfred."

He was smiling, wasn't he?

"I love you. And I thought it would take time, as love does, to make you love me as I do you. But your heart was never mine to have, was it?"

Sadness didn't sound right in his voice, and bittersweet didn't sit well on his tongue. He had known it too, though. No, not consciously. He had never admitted to himself that he loved Alfred, or tied that word to what he had felt, but as Francis vocalized it now, Arthur realized that yes, he loved Alfred. He had tried to love Francis, had gone through the motions of lovers, but there was never that weight in his heart that told him that yes, this was love.

"Francis, I'm so-"

"Tell him, please." He said softly, and Arthur watched as glassy blue eyes looked into his own, "True love is the rarest thing in the world, mon cher. Do not let it go."

The fingers on his chin left, and both of his hands were held gently in Francis'. Silently, the Frenchman brought his hands to his lips and placed gentle kisses across the knuckles of each.

"I wish you all the happiness in the world, Arthur," He said softly, his breath ghosting across the pale skin of his hands, "Even if that happiness is not with me."

Inside, Alfred had placed a soft kiss on the sleeping girl's head before leaving the room.

Arthur stood in front of his home to watch, still warm from Francis' car, with eyes filled with a new light.