Chapter Text
The Virtues Of Literature
Arthur drags himself and his many suitcases up yet another flight of stairs, one step, two step, three step, until after what feels like a lifetime later he shoves through the landing door, labelled floor 6. He pants and wipes his brow, fatigued and breathless from carrying about a tonne of his possessions. Clothes, folders, miscellaneous appliances, and a huge range of books he could probably fill a library with.
Arthur wheezes. “God, of course the damn lift has to be broken at the beginning of term. How damn convenient.” he grumbles, irritable already with being left to settle in on his own without any help after his brothers practically abandoned him on campus.
He fumbles with the door for a moment and then finally reaches his destination. His flat. Except it wouldn't be his flat for long - Arthur had chosen to share an apartment to save on rent costs but he had recently been starting to regret that decision, realising the university will have probably put him sharing with some unknown creep. He figured it would be unlikely to be anyone he knew from his first year in college, there were far too many people. Plus, a few of his friends had dropped out after one year anyway.
Arthur dumps his stuff in one of the two bedrooms and clarifies his roommate hasn't arrived yet, and begins to settle in to the flat after taking a quick rest. The flat is decent sized with some basic furniture; a slightly garish red sofa; an aged gas stove oven and microwave; a television; a desk in each bedroom; an attractive bay window. It's comfortable enough for Arthur and he sets to work arranging all of his literature on the shelves in the living room while the kettle he brought from home boils water for tea.
Arthur places himself down on the sofa with his brew, most of his belongings having found their new homes, and finds himself absorbed in a copy of Jane Eyre.
~o0O0o~
The front door is flung open and Arthur looks up in alarm from his novel, not having noticed time passing, to see a flamboyant looking man in stylish clothing and dashing shoulder-length blonde hair. His luggage sits neatly behind him and he doesn’t look like he is about to keel over like Arthur was when he arrived, so he must have had some help getting to their apartment. The man’s face is slightly stubbly but his eyes are a striking bright cerulean blue.
“Ah hello, Monsieur! A pleasure to meet you, my name is Francis Bonnefoy.”
“Oh Jesus, I have a French pansy as a roommate.”
Francis immediately irritates Arthur, his look is too pristine, his voice too optimistic. “Gosh, I have a rude Englishman as a roommate. What a shame.”
Arthur scowls, and tries to return to his book. “Whatever. I've taken that bedroom over there. Try not to disturb me too much.”
And so Francis sets to work moving into their flat, working around Arthur who occasionally looks up to glare at Francis whenever he touches anything that is his.
“It's not difficult to guess you're an English Literature student with the number of books you have cluttering the shelves of this apartment.”
“Of course.” Arthur replies, “And I'm sure you wouldn't be able to appreciate proper literature given that that it looks like you took art.”
Francis smiles and fingers the various paintbrushes and canvases he is removing from a box. “Yes. Isn't it just so beautiful though? The way we can express all sorts of thoughts and feelings through art. Anything can be the canvas and all we need is a brush or pencil. I've always thought this planet would be completely drab and lifeless without an expression such as art or music, and I constantly find myself considering myself lucky I can actually see and hear these things, because many people cannot.”
Arthur gags. “That has got to be one of the sappiest things I have heard in my entire life. It's almost hilarious, you're certainly very philosophical.”
“No, it's called being able to identify and appreciate beauty. I'm sure you've never tried. Anyway, would you might helping me get this box into my room? I'm sure if I attempted to do it alone I would end up smashing and whole apartment and ruining all of your books. I'm sure you wouldn't want that.”
Arthur glares at the other man, but puts down his book to help nonetheless.
~o0O0o~
The sun shines through the curtains like a beacon and effectively wakes up Arthur from his night-long slumber. He grumbles and puts his arm over his face to block the light before looking at his alarm clock and scrambling out of bed, growling, “I'm late, goddamnit,” through gritted teeth.
He throws on some clothes and discovers one of Francis’ breakfasts left on the dining table. It is one of his usual masterpieces, somehow managing to make a dish of already delicious tasting food into a work of art easily putting anything an amatuer could produce on a canvas to shame. There were perfect slices of golden fried toast and various mini pastries filling up the plate, complete with garnishes and even precise lettering spelling out ‘Bon appetit’ in sauce.
Arthur always felt guilty eating these meals provided by his roommate, they were beautiful and he felt they should deserve to be presented in an art museum rather than digested by him, the perfection ruined. Arthur ate them anyway though. He felt like not doing so would be proof of his appreciation for the art, and he didn't want Francis to feel like he had the upper hand. Plus, Arthur probably wouldn't give himself time to have anything else to eat for breakfast.
“The frog could have at least woken me up before leaving.” Arthur grabs his bag and rushes out to his first class which had started about 10 minutes beforehand.
Francis and Arthur had developed a sort of routine. It was already in the second half of their first term, and they had managed to settle in and develop a system that meant they weren't trying to kill each other too often. They bickered and argued, both of them scorning each other's interests but reaching a decent level of coexistence. Francis would cook meals for Arthur, who would in turn do the washing and cleaning, and they would both shop.
Francis’ class starts earliest so he is usually gone by the time Arthur is awake. Arthur is thankful for this - he doesn't want the Frenchman seeing him run around the house like a mad man most mornings.
He picks up a tea on the way to class, and begins taking notes on the author they’re currently studying.
~o0O0o~
In the afternoon Arthur finds himself stuck in a studio with his insane band, attempting to practice over the shouts and inappropriate comments.
“Matthias you dipshit stop touching me.”
“Ooh Lukas, you're getting all the action.” snickers Gilbert.
The light haired Norwegian sneers. “Well it's more than you'll ever get, deranged German sh-”
“Shut up would you all, you do realise we'll look bloody ridiculous performing if we waste the little time we have for rehearsal being idiots.”
The other three men look at Arthur, shrugging. Lukas snatches up his polished fiddle and abruptly starts playing a violent tune, the bow sliding across the strings like he is trying to cut them with a knife. The others somehow manage to join in with their respective instruments, before they migrate into a song they are actually meant to be practising.
Their band is small, and more of a hobby than any form of profession with a strange genre of music. It is traditional and lively with Lukas’ fiddle and Matthias’ flute while Gilbert on the drums and Arthur covering bass and vocals brings a more modern, punk touch to the music. Their band was formed after a drunken night at the pub, and an unknown decision dubbed them ‘Obliquitous’.
The band performs live in pubs and in college events, but nothing big. Arthur finds music as a form of escapism, and their weekly rehearsals give all four members time for a break from their other work.
Arthur hums a tune on the way home from band practice, enjoying his solitude and thinking time until it is abruptly disturbed by an overly enthusiastic American jumping on him.
“Agh Alfred what the hell do you think you're doing? I'm carrying my guitar too, you idiot!”
“Hey, hey, Igs! How're you doing bro? I see you're keeping up with band, but don't you neglect school work.”
“Hah, I feel like I should be the one telling you that.” Arthur replies. “And I'd probably be doing better if I didn't just have you leap on my back like that. You really ought to start thinking about cutting down on that rubbish food you eat all the time, it's not doing you any favours.”
Alfred pouts, “Hey that's not fair. I can eat what I want and I can break your back if I want. It's a free country, you know.”
“If you insist.” Arthur snorts.
“Anyway, Arthur. How's life rooming with that French guy? Is it really worth it just to save a bit of cash, or are you enjoying not having to worry about anyone walking in on the two of you?”
Arthur's lips curl, “Tsk, you mean Francis.” Then he sees Alfred’s smirk and wiggling eyebrows. “Hey, you dipshit, why are you implying that?” Arthur splutters, blushing profusely. “He's just an annoying idiot who probably wanks off in his room every night and does nothing but paint crap paintings, make fun of me, and cook delicious food all of the time.”
“Woah dude, he cooks for you? I'm sorry bro but that's so domestic and couple-y. Has he seen one of your shows yet?” Alfred asks enthusiastically.
“Obviously not, it's not as if he's my friend and I don't think he even knows about Obliquitous to be honest. But I'm not going to ask him. That would just be stupid and embarrassing.”
“You're so strange. You really should get him to come to a show one day; you shine on the stage Igs.”
“Hah, you wish. Go spend your time playing video games and reading physics textbooks instead of patronising me.” Arthur said, but Alfred had disappeared off somewhere before he could finish his sentence.
He continues walking down the street past several grand university buildings. It is quiet, as it's a weekend and most students are using that time to either sleep off hangovers or study. Arthur’s guitar case swings alongside him, and he resumes humming his tune.
Arthur arrives home at the flat, throwing down his bags, and ignores Francis despite secretly taking full notice of the usual cheeky comments he throws around, relaxing on the couch with a cup of tea and a good book.
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Thanks so much for reading this first chapter, any likes or comments or anything would be lovely but of course, you can do what you'd like. ;). I hope to update this however much I can! Thank you!!