Chapter Text
The mall opened every day at 10:00 am. It closed at 9:00pm and closed an hour early on Sundays. There was a food court, kiosks selling unnecessary items, and a massive Best Buy. It was all a mall could be including the crying babies and the GAP store where nobody shopped anymore. There was the Kay Jewelers that you may recall hearing about from their infectious yet annoying jingle that plays at least twenty times at movie theaters. This mall was no exception to Bath and Body Works where there were plenty of overly-friendly workers shoving lotions down the throats of innocent shoppers. Hollister supplied the mall's music and promised its' highest prices and most deadly cologne to young shoppers. It was a mall at its finest. Well, however fine a mall could be.
Around the corner from Auntie Annie's and across from Armani was Hot Topic. You know that store that's just as dark as Hollister but with more emo? Yep, that's the one. It was the grand old 7:00 until closing time shift for a zombie-like Hot Topic employee. Arthur Kirkland hated his job. To be quite honest, he hated everything. He was stuck at his terrible job at Emos-R-Us. Some mediocre screamo band supplied the musical accompaniment as a couple of shoppers looked around the store. Arthur sat behind the counter at the register, looking around the store with intense boredom. Boredom can be intense. Anything could be intense for a scary-looking fellow like Arthur. He wasn't a warm and fuzzy guy considering that he hated everything and had to work at Goth-Mart in the mall. These were good reasons to be scary and intensely bored.
The screamo song playing in the store had started to piss him off so Arthur went to change it. One of the good things about working at Hot Topic was getting to listen to music all day and getting discounts on vinyl records. He changed the music to Black Flag and went to sit back down. He kicked his combat boot-clad feet up on to the register counter as he lounged back on his stool against the other side of the counter. A rampant guitar shredding filled the store as he sat back and closed his eyes.
"No sleeping on the job, dickhead."
Arthur opened his eyes and sat up. His co-worker, Lukas, was standing on the other side of the counter carrying a large box. Lukas was a pretty cool guy. He had tattoos like Arthur did and wore an iron cross in his hair. Lukas was also a big believer in mythology and the supernatural and would talk to Arthur about this when work became particularly slow.
"Piss off." Arthur growled.
He scowled at Lukas and his coworker just ignored him and his usual bad temper. Lukas put the cardboard box he was carrying on the counter and opened it up. Arthur became curious and went to go peek inside. The box was filled with skinny jeans. Arthur looked up and gave Lukas a questioning look to say, 'why the fuck do we have a box of skinny jeans?'
"Why the fuck do you have a box of skinny jeans?" Arthur asked, taking a pair out of the box.
Lukas snatched the jeans from him and shoved them back in the box. "It's for our annual Get In Our Pants promotion. We have a sale on jeans and we also have a contest for a new band for us to support. Now go unpack these on the front display over there. There are also posters we need hang up."
Arthur grumbled as he picked up the box and went to the front of the store. He might as well do some actual work to keep himself busy. The display at the front of the store was the first thing that customers saw when they walked in the door. Arthur began to fold multicolored, patterned, ripped, and just plain black skinny jeans and put them on the display table. He saw that Lukas had already put signs up in front advertising Get In Our Pants. Arthur rolled his eyes at the ridiculous name and continued folding. He let his eyes wander across the mall as he worked. Across from Scene-Pre-Teen-Paradise was a fancy Armani store. He had never stepped in one of those stores in his life. Arthur wasn't the suit-and-tie type or the cologne type or the fancy type in general. He didn't even have a type. Armani looked too expensive for him and too dressy as well. He could see through the mall-style glass doors of the store and saw fancy clothing on display along with posh accessories that he could never afford. He couldn't even afford a speck of Armani dust in the air. It wasn't like it even mattered because he didn't care. Arthur was about to turn away when he noticed somebody staring at him from the Armani store.
Working across the way was a tall and handsome looking young guy. He was folding pants and shirts just like Arthur was. Arthur noticed him staring and shot him a nasty look. If there was anything Arthur was particularly good at, it was giving nasty looks. Hell, he could start his own business of nasty look-giving. The guy working at Armani was dressed in something nicer than he would ever be able to afford. Mr. Handsome Armani Worker returned his rude glare with a cute little wink and then turned around to get back to work. Arthur felt his cheeks go red. Who did that asshole think he was? Just go around winking like he was some kind of hot shit? How arrogant. He could beat the shit out of that guy. Just seeing that guy made Arthur angry. To be fair though, there wasn't much that didn't make Arthur angry. He just grumbled to himself again and turned to finish his folding. Arthur hoped that man wouldn't bother him again tomorrow as Arthur had his long shift then. Another afternoon at Teen-Angst-Express had made him too angry for his own good. Luckily the mall would be closing soon.
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It starts with underwear. Blue boxers, Calvin Klein. Then it's pants. It's the pants that work requires so it has to be Armani. There are commandments for the work uniform. Thou shalt not eat spaghetti in your work pants. Thou shalt not spill coffee on your work pants. Thou shalt not wear your work pants on a hot date. It doesn't matter if she's some kind of west-coast beach-blond babe or a goddamn model off the runway in Paris. Thou shalt not wear your work pants anywhere but work. The shirt comes after the belt. The shirt is white, fitted to exact measurements, and costs about $175 with employee discount. Thou shalt not drink coffee in the work shirt either. The same rules apply to the shirt that apply to the pants. After the shirt there is a bit of Ralph Lauren cologne splashed on around the neck and the upper body area. Next comes the tie. It's pale blue like the underwear. Ties are bothersome but it doesn't matter now. You do up the tie and slip into the suit jacket. It's black and it's fitted like the shirt. It's not comfortable but like the tie, it doesn't matter. Black dress shoes go on and it's out the door. On the way to work, you stop to get a coffee and drink it in your work clothes.
Francis looked good. He looked so good you could devour him in one bite, or let him devour you. Normally he was the one who preferred to do the devouring. Francis had his long shift at the mall today. He was there from the minute it opened until three o'clock pm. He finished his coffee as he swooped into the store in his usual fashion of being a couple minutes late. He was thankful his boss didn't get there until a few minutes later after him. The morning began off as normal. Armani was bright and clean and smelled heavily of fancy cologne and leather. A pretty girl came into the store, laden with shopping bags, of which Francis had ever-so-kindly held for her as she tried on a pretty dress. It was, as Francis told her, 'a pretty dress for a pretty girl.' He was a good salesman. Or just a good flirt. Or maybe a combo of the two.
"Hey, bastard! That was my customer."
Francis turned from where he was to see his fellow employee approaching him. He wore a frown but his eyes were light. Lovino Vargas was always in a seemingly poor mood but could put on a charm for customers of the female sort. Lovino stood next to Francis and crossed his arms over the expensive black suit he wore.
"Well maybe you should stop napping in the storage room." Francis said with a small grin creeping on to his face.
Lovino gave him a light shove even though he knew Francis was just messing with him. He brushed past Francis and went to the front display of the store. Francis followed him and stood to observe the front display.
"We need to change this. We are putting out the winter collections and the displays need to be changed someone. I am putting you in charge of that for the rest of the day." Lovino instructed.
Francis sighed and rolled his eyes. "Are you sure you do not want to keep me occupied so you can flirt with pretty girls?"
Lovino glared at him and shoved a now last-season shirt at him. "Get on it bastard. Now."
Francis took the shirt and re-folded it. Once Lovino was out of his hair he began to work on rearranging the front display with new winter collection clothes. His mind wandered to yesterday as he began to fold. Oh, how could he have forgotten yesterday. Suddenly it had become Friday evening again. Francis was smoothing out suit jackets and hanging up furs. That's when he saw him. It hadn't been dramatic or romantic at all. He had only looked across the mall. See, across from Armani was Hot Topic. Francis preferred to call it the "Scary Goth" store. It was too dark in there and looked menacing although he had never once put one foot inside.
But yesterday had been different. He had looked over to Scary Goth Store for some strange reason and saw a young man outside. The young man was one of the ugliest human beings Francis had ever seen in his life. The young man was about his age but looked absolutely frightening. He had choppy blond hair that looked like 80's-90's punk rock brought back from the grave. The boy had too many piercings on his face and too many tattoos on his body. He was a disaster. He was one of the weirdest people Francis had ever seen. Yes, he was ugly and he had rather large eyebrows that Francis didn't even dare think about. But he had potential to be beautiful. Francis liked to see potential beauty in people. This young man working at Scary Goth Store would have looked absolutely delicious in an Armani suit and as said before, Francis loved devouring.
With a quick shake of the head, Francis focused himself back on his job. It was dull and bland like dry chicken. A small part of him secretly wished that maybe he would see Ugly Punk Boy again today. He would just have to wish. Sweaters got folded and pants smoothed of creases. Scarves hung around the necks of mannequins and bottle of cologne were on display. Francis was almost done with the grand front display when he turned around to look across the way to Scary Goth Store. Sure enough, Ugly Punk Boy was there. He was just as ugly as he was yesterday. He had a nasty look on his face and appeared so angry that it made Francis' skin crawl. Ugly Punk Boy was greeting a couple teenage girls with multi-colored hair. He didn't seem to be a cheery employee. Francis watched as he talked to the customers for a minute and imagined what he would look like without so many piercings. Francis imagined him in one of the Armani suits on display. Ugly Punk Boy would be Better Looking Punk Boy in one of the winter collection sweaters. As if Ugly Punk Boy could feel him staring, he whipped around to glare right at Francis. Francis' eyes grew wide. He had noticed him staring. Oh dear, he would be angry. Of course Francis was right and Ugly Punk Boy flipped him off before turning around and venturing into the depths of the store. There was only one solution to getting closer to Ugly Punk Boy and that one solution was food.
It was Francis' lunch break at about 12 noon exactly. He had first break and then Lovino had his after. Lovino was always on break, considering the amount of naps he took. Often times he would be awoken in the storage room by having a fancy leather show thrown at him. He would rise in a fit of rage and yell at Francis until he got bored of it and went back to sleep. Somehow the store continued to be operational and popular.
Anyway, it was lunch break and Francis was determined to face his fears. His fears were that of entering Scary Goth Store. Talking to Ugly Punk Boy would be a breeze but Francis was not sure he could handle being around all those black clothes and My Little Pony plushies. He was going to have to face his fears once and for all if he was to confront Ugly Punk Boy. Francis went to the food court like he did every day during his short break. He did not go to the food court for the food or to eat lunch there at all. In the Parkview Mall food court was a Taco Bell. At this particular Taco Bell were two young men who just so happened to personally know Francis Bonnefoy. Well, maybe a bit more than just personally. Antonio Carriedo worked the register at Taco Bell. Behind him and busy filling orders of Doritos Locos Tacos and Burrito Supremes was another boy. Gilbert Beilschmidt had wild white hair and a knack for cursing too loudly when Antonio yelled at him to hurry up. This happened quite often during the lunch rush.
"Hi, what do you have zhat will win ze heart of a cute boy?" Francis asked Antonio as he sidled up to the register to order.
Antonio rolled his eyes and laughed at his friend. "You sound very French today. You must really like this boy."
"He's not zhat cute. Now give me a burrito." Francis demanded and pulled out his wallet.
"Sheesh, customers are so rude these days," Antonio mumbled to himself before turning around and yelling to Gilbert, "one burrito!"
"If you would give me a damn second!" Gilbert from the back and both of them laughed.
Francis waited for a moment and got his burrito. Antonio wished him good luck with Ugly Punk Boy and Francis dashed off to Scary Goth Store. The store was surprisingly busy at this time of day. Francis took a deep breath and walked into the store immediately his ears began to burn off. There was the most god-awful music he had ever heard playing. It was like a mix of screamo and a Mexican folk song with some screechy-voiced singer. He had only been in the store for two seconds and Francis hated it. It was too dark and filled with strange people. His plan was not going as smoothly as he thought it would at 11 o'clock this morning. Sure enough, Punk Boy was on shift and was ringing up a customer. Francis went to wait in line at the register. Punk Boy was too preoccupied to notice him. When it was his turn in line, he leaned on the counter and gave his typical Prince-Charming-type grin .
"Bonjour mon cheri, I noticed you yesterday and wanted to come say hi." Francis cooed, playing up the whole charming French boy thing.
Punk Boy glared up at him. His colossal eyebrows furrowed and a scowl appeared on his face. "Are you going to buy anything?"
Oh dear lord. He was British.
"Mon Dieu! You're British!" Francis exclaimed with both horror and realization.
"If you're not going to buy anything then fuck off, Frenchy." Punk Boy growled.
Francis threw the burrito onto the counter as a peace offering. "I brought you Taco Bell!"
"That stuff makes you fat."
Punk Boy pushed it off the counter and it landed on the floor with a splat. Francis could feel a few customers beginning to stare. He picked up the burrito and leaned on the counter again. His plan to talk to Punk Boy was not working.
"May I at least know your name so I can give you discount on a suit?" Francis continued.
"No. I don't wear suits and if you don't leave now I will call mall security and kick your ass so hard after my shift that you won't be able to shit for a week. Now piss off." Punk Boy growled at him.
Just as Francis was about to leave, another employee came over to them. He was a little bit shorter than Punk Boy but looked just as scary. This employee gave Francis a weird look and then looked at Punk Boy.
"Arthur do you need some help over here?" The employee asked.
Arthur. Ugly British Punk Boy's name was Arthur. It sounded too proper for a boy with that much metal in his ears. Francis smirked at Arthur who was now glaring at him with a look of death in his eyes.
"No I was just leaving. See you around, Arthur." Francis said with a smug grin.
He gave Arthur a little wave with his fingers and left the store. Francis went back to work but didn't look over to Scary Goth Store for the rest of the day. Arthur. His name was Arthur. Ugly British Arthur. Stupid Punk Boy Arthur. Maybe he would try another burrito tomorrow.
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It was the middle of Wednesday. Arthur was tired and wanted to throw a brick at somebody's head. Preferably Francis Bonnefoys' head. That French idiot hadn't stopped bothering him for the past week and a half. Every day he would give him a stupid little smile and wink from his own store. He even tried to come back into The-Rawr-Means- I- Love-You-In-Dinosaur-Emporium one day with a coffee for Arthur. Arthur wasn't buying any of it. This guy was fake to the bone and not worth any of Arthur's time. There were few people worth Arthur's time. Francis was also just an annoying guy which added to the mile long list of irrational reasons to hate him.
It technically wasn't Arthur's break but he had sneaked out of work today. Work was becoming a bother but it was the one thing he needed to keep doing. School had been out of the picture since he had dropped out Senior year. Now the only true commitment he had was this crappy job at the mall. Arthur was on an unofficial break behind the food court dumpsters. There were rarely people back there so it was peaceful and quiet. Arthur stood with his back resting against the atrocious-smelling dumpster. It wasn't like he smelled any better. He was wrapped in his favorite leather jacket as he usually was. The mid-January chill seeped in through the leather and bit at Arthur's bones. As most things in his life went, he did not care. Instead of caring he pulled a lighter of his pocket and lit a cigarette. Arthur took a few puffs to get it going, then took one long drag. The stuff he smoked was cheap and didn't taste great but it made him feel better. It was strange how something could make you feel better about being yourself even if it was just a cup of tea or a cheap cigarette. Arthur shouldn't have been smoking, but did you really think he took that into consideration? If you guessed no then you win the million dollar cash prize.
Arthur closed his eyes and rested his head against the dumpster. Every time he closed his eyes he pictured the world burning and smiled to himself. Chaos was a good answer to things you'd rather not think about. He took another puff off his cigarette. Damn, was it cold out. That was when somebody else broke the silence.
"So zis is where you come to hide?"
Arthur opened his eyes and scowled. Approaching him was that French douchebag who had bothered him all week. Frenchy the Frog walked and smiled like a cat of the Cheshire sort. Quite frankly, that pissed Arthur off for a reason he couldn't quite put his fist on.
"Fuck off." Arthur said, looking away from him.
Instead of getting the hint, Francis sidled right up to him nice and close. Unlike the weather, Francis was warm and smelled of expensive women's perfume. Arthur slid away from the Frenchman.
"No, please, I just want to talk...and apologize." Francis looked at Arthur with big blue puppy eyes.
Arthur frowned. "You want to apologize for being such a dickhead?"
Francis looked down and grinned. "Yes, I am sorry. I just wanted to talk to you."
"Well we're talking now." Arthur pointed out in his typical wise-ass manner.
"Yes we are," Francis said with a shrug, "how old are you, by ze way?"
Arthur's glare was unwavering as he took another puff of his cigarette. "Nineteen."
Francis raised an eyebrow. "You're smoking?"
"No shit, frog-face." Arthur snorted.
"Excuse me? Frog-face?" Francis chuckled with disbelief.
Arthur shoved his empty hand into his pocket and looked away from Francis. "Yeah. Frog-face. Got a problem?"
Francis was about to reply, but then decided against it. Instead he reached into his own coat pocket and produced a pack of cigarettes. These were the more expensive kind with a better taste. Francis held his hand out to Arthur who nodded with understanding. Arthur pulled his lighter out and put it in the palm of Francis' hand. For a second their fingers brushed and Francis' cheeks felt warm. Francis looked up and flashed Arthur a charming smile.
"Merci, though I shouldn't be smoking either. It's not goof for you." Francis said.
He lit his own cigarette and leaned against the dumpster like Arthur. Arthur watched Francis puff on the cigarette, then take a drag of it and begin to blow perfect little rings into the sky.
"Where'd you learn that?" Arthur asked him.
"France."
"So you're really from France?"
Francis shook his head at Arthur and chuckled. "Did you sink ze accent was just for show?"
"Wouldn't put it past you." Arthur said with a shrug.
"I am really from France. Are you really from England?" Francis asked him.
"Born there."
Francis was going to ask him more questions but he had a feeling that Arthur would not answer him. So with that, Francis moved away from the dumpster and faced Arthur straight on.
"Do you need a ride home?" Francis asked.
Arthur shook his head. He dropped his finished cigarette to the pavement and crushed it with the heel of his boot.
"I'm fine thanks. I've got a ride."
Arthur walked past Francis without another word to head back inside and finish up his shift. Francis didn't say anything either. He had so many questions he had still wanted to ask. There were still things he wanted to talk about with Arthur. Or maybe he just wanted conversation with somebody but there was nobody better to converse with. Francis turned with an exasperated sigh and went back inside. He would get an interesting conversation out of Arthur somehow.
That night at the Bonnefoy's house was like any other night. Mrs. Bonnefoy was not home. Her company had called her to Milan for business on a last minute notice. Francis' mother happened to live the ever-so busy life of a famous fashion designer. How they had ended up in America? Francis did not know, but he wished to be back in France. Mr. Bonnefoy was not in fashion design but was a rather successful business man who also traveled too often. The Bonnefoys were rolling in money although none of them were too arrogant about it. It was their lifestyle that they earned and it had caused Francis to grow up to become who he was. As a 19 year old, Francis had everything he could ever want. He was very interested in fashion like his mother and had all the resources to be one of the most fashionable and attractive young men you could ever meet. He was a fantastic cook and sang as if Harry Styles were a Disney Prince and spoke French fluently. The one thing that Francis did not have was the thing he wanted the most. That's usually the case with most things, seeing as the grass is always greener and you always want what you can't have. The one thing that Francis desired most was his acceptance letter to ESMOD in Paris. His one and only dream was to go to school at one of the best fashion design and business schools in the entire world. Plus he would be able to go to school in his true home and favorite city. The Bonnefoys still owned a charming little place in Paris that Francis got to visit often (including properties in Seychelles and Madagascar), but he still yearned to be home whenever he could.
Mr. Bonnefoy was the one home tonight for dinner. He cooked for them which was a rare thing. Francis assumed he was in a good mood tonight. The dinner table was quiet besides the sound of clinking silverware.
"Did I get any mail today?" Francis asked him.
Mr. Bonnefoy looked up over his glasses. "No."
He looked back down at his plate and continued eating. They typically spoke French around the house but tonight Francis felt more in the mood for English.
"I will get in. I know I will." Francis said.
His father looked up again and gave him a small smile. "I know you will. You are talented."
"Merci beaucoup." Francis grinned and finished up the last bite of his dinner.
"De rien. Travail est bonne?" His father asked him in their native tongue.
"Oui, c'est bonne." Francis said and rose from the table.
His father nodded and continued to finish his own meal. Francis left the dining room and went into the kitchen. He went over to the sink with his plate and turned the faucet on. Warm water ran over his hands as he stuck his plate in the sink. What would happen to him if he didn't get accepted to ESMOD? Where would he go and what would he do? Francis was a seemingly perfect guy but by far his worst quality was that he thought too much.
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Calloused fingers shred against guitar strings. It's not about you anymore. It's not about any single person. It's about everyone together. It's about music and it's about heart and soul. It's about all that anger that builds up inside you until you feel like you're going to explode if you don't release it somehow. So you take that microphone and you scream into it at the top of your lungs because you just don't care anymore. You don't give a single fuck and the entire universe can go kiss your ass. The world is going to sit down and listen up because you've got something important to say. You don't care if they want to hear it or not because you're going to make them listen. Listen to you for once. Be in control. Be in charge. Play that guitar like it's the end of world and buildings are burning and all that's left is the music in your heart and your head. Sing like you're preaching the word of The Lord that you don't believe in. Music is your savior and you are the prophet. You are the prophet and you will scream this at the top of your lungs like there is no tomorrow. This is you. You are alive for this. This is the music that fuels every bit of your skin and bones.
Arthur had always been good at music. Band practice was the only time he wasn't angry. Band practice was when he could be furious. He was insane and nightmarish and he didn't care what anyone else thought of him. He wasn't the dirty punk kid with a broken home and a broken life. He was a prophet to those like him that were hanging by a thread. Arthur was good. He was great. Fantastic, even. He was one of the best musicians you could ever meet. He made that electric guitar sing, and growled and spat into that microphone. When Arthur Kirkland was on stage, the world stopped and listened and joined the rising chaos and anarchy. He was the embodiment of anarchy and rising against whoever told him he couldn't do something. You want to pick a fight? Go ahead and try, big shot. Go ahead and try.
"Nice work tonight guys," Arthur told them at the end of practice, "we're sounding pretty good. Friday is our gig at Iron House so I think we'll be in good shape for that."
"Are we practicing again before then?" Tino asked.
Tino was the band's bassist. He was small but could turn frightening very quickly. He was also good at playing the bass.
"No, we won't. The gig is in a couple days so we'll just wait to practice again until sound check." Arthur answered him.
After more words exchanged between the rest of the band, practice was over for the night. The band held practice in Tino's basement a few nights a week. They were a punk garage band but one that had actual talent. Arthur was the frontman along with another guitarist, Tino the bassist, and their drummer. Tino's basement was a good place to practice. They could get as noisy as they wanted and his basement was a pretty cool place. It reminded Arthur of his own room but less messy and much bigger. He still remembered the first little show the band had ever played here in Tino's basement. They had played Fuck Authority by Pennywise and Arthur had blown out an amp. The crowd hadn't been big but they had invited as many people as was possible to stuff into Tino's basement. It was after that show that Arthur knew he had found a good band. He had been with other bands before but this one was immediately a good fit.
Arthur slung his guitar case over his back and went out the basement door. It lead out on to the street that Arthur had to walk down to get home. He didn't live in a city. It was the deep and dark suburbs outside of the city. It was the place where vampires hid around every corner and ghosts haunted chalk-tattooed sidewalks at night. There were plenty of hideaways and back alleys to play music and get high in the dead of the night when only the zombies were awake to hear you cry. There was some sort of connection Arthur had with his little suburban refuge at night time. The night air was cold and harsh but Arthur walked home in the presence of nonexistent stars. Down the street was a little hole where he had gotten his first piercing. Across the street there and down a ways was the record shop where he had gotten his favorite Misfits album. There were small connections that made Arthur hate his world and love it at the same time.
Getting home too late always posed the unfortunate challenge of sneaking in the window and trying not to wake up Allistor. By the time Arthur tumbled in the cracked screen, Allistor was fast asleep. He hadn't woken his fiery redheaded brother. He set his guitar case down in the corner and climbed on to his mattress to dream of smoke and stars.
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All of a sudden it was Saturday afternoon and they were sitting by the dumpsters again. They now spent almost every lunch break with each other. They didn't do much besides smoke and argue. Francis had his cheek resting in the palm of his hand with his elbow resting upon his knee. Arthur sat next to him with his knees brought to his chest and his cheeks pink as strawberries cut in half and sprinkled in your morning cereal. You'd eat this cereal with your coffee over the morning paper. Then you'd remember that life doesn't work like that and you're back to square one of sitting behind the dumpsters.
"So you're into clothes and stuff?" Arthur asked, flicking cigarette ashes on to the damp pavement.
"It's not 'clothes and stuff.' It's fashion."
"Whatever. Why aren't you at college? I'm sure you could afford it."
Francis closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm still waiting for ze acceptance letter. I am taking a break year."
"Some time off?"
"Yes. Are you going to college?"
Arthur shook his head. "Francis I don't even have a high school diploma."
Francis moved his hand off his cheek and put it to his side. His fingertips brushed against the other boy's leather jacket and Francis was hit with a sense of reality. He didn't know how to put it but now that his fingers were touching the jacket and the cigarette was touching his lips and Arthur's words were touching the barrier of sound between them and everything had suddenly become too real. Francis shook his head to clear his mind of this sense of false reality and found that Arthur was still sitting there next to him.
"So you will work at Scary Goth Store for ze rest of your life?" Francis asked.
"My band is going to make it big pretty soon so I don't worry too much." Arthur assured him.
Francis snorted. "Of course you are in a band. Do you play zaht disgusting scream music?"
Arthur's usual scowl made an expected appearance. "It's called punk rock. Not the shit that you listen to."
"I have a great taste in music!"
"Pfft, like what? One Direction?" Arthur scoffed.
"So what if I like zem?"
Arthur stood up and tossed his cigarette to the ground. He used his typical cool-guy move of crushing it with his boot. His cheeks were still pink and he looked more attractive than he knew. Francis rose with him only to get backed up against the dumpster.
"Get back to me when you listen to some real music." Arthur said with a small grin playing on his face as he pushed his fist into Francis' chest.
Arthur was incredibly close and dangerous and Francis was incredibly warm and they very well could've been creating a thunder storm between them.
"What do you consider to be real music, mon cheri?" Francis asked him and returned the grin.
Arthur pulled his fist away and backed up. He saw his life from the standpoint of hurting. He didn't want to hurt Francis right now. Arthur turned away and began to walk back into the mall.
"The Clash!" Arthur called to Francis without looking back.
Francis went to work the next morning with his suit and tie, a cup of coffee balanced in the center compartment, and Death or Glory blasting from the car's speakers.