Author/Artist: chromatic_coma @ animusia
Character(s)/Pairing(s) [in this chapter]: England, Prussia, Canada, France, Hungary, Switzerland; FrUK (?), PrussCan (?), Franada (?)
Genre: Comedy, Drama, Romance
Warning: Human names used, fail!attempts at humor, A LOT OF language
Summary: Arthur is a young screenplay writer and director who wants to make a name for himself, but will that be possible with a flirt like Francis Bonnefoy as his star?
Chapter Summary: When Gilbert is lurking around the theater, he sees something that everyone will come to win he hadn't seen...
Save the Drama for the Stage, Chapter 6
The house lights in the theater were off, but the darkness didn't bother Gilbert as much as it should have. Looking briefly up at the stage, where a group of young girls in tutus were twirling and dancing, he had to suppress the urge to squeal (because men didn't squeal, of course, no matter how cute those kids were) as he slipped through the aisles and darted to a seat near the back of the auditorium.
Gilbert had seen Matthew and Francis come into the auditorium with the other guests, and a nagging voice his head didn't like the way Francis was holding Matt's hand. Unable to ignore it, he'd followed them into the room, but now he coming to realize it was just too hard to see anything this far away from the stage now that the door had closed.
"Hey, watch where you're going!" A clipped, angry voice whisper-shouted, and Gilbert paused and squinted. The person he'd bumped into in the side aisle of the auditorium was a lot shorter than he was, he noticed immediately. As his eyes better adapted to the darkness, he could see the person's chopped, uneven blond hair and, later, his fierce scowl.
He's cute, Gilbert decided, before dropping his voice to a low whispering and replying, "Sorry 'bout that. You come here often?"
A second later he was rubbing his jaw. Man, that blond had a strong left hook.
Resisting the impulse to mention how much he liked feisty guys, Gilbert continued.
“Fine. Whatever. You’re not awesome enough for me, anyways.”
The albino could swear the other man was rolling his eyes, but decided it must have been a trick of the darkness.
“The least you could do is tell me your name, though, since you punched me and all.”
The shorter man took a moment to consider this, before snapping “Vash.”
“Cute name. Mine’s Gilbert.”
“Don’t care. Now, move out of my way and let me go.”
“Don’t really want to,” he countered. “What’s a violent guy like you doing in a prissy girl’s show like this?”
Vash was, for a moment, practically seething.
“My sister is on stage! Now fuck off!” He shouted in a whisper tone, finally shoving Gilbert out of his way and stalking off down to a seat in the front row.
As Gilbert stroked his aching arm, impressed by how powerful Vash was, what with him being so short and thin, his crimson eyes wandered over the auditorium again.
On stage the young girls were still twirling in their tutus, in the crowd there were parents snapping photos and whispering their children’s praises, often to the strangers sitting beside them. In the back there was a young couple, the girl (who’s silhouette betrayed that she was rather gangly and not very shapely) sitting in her boyfriend’s lap, and his hand stroking over the front of her chest. Which, actually, was rather flat… almost too flat. Almost… not breasted at all.
Gilbert squinted, and silently took a few steps towards the back, hardly enough to be noticed by the couple. The figures started to become clearer; both had lightly curled hair, both were wearing trousers, the smaller of the two, who Gilbert had imagined was a girl, was definitely not a girl.
Definitely not, because the smaller of the two was Matt, and Gilbert had known for a fact he was a man (he’d put him in a dress, after all).
The albino was shocked, completely frozen. His eyes scrambled over the two, not able to take the scene in fast enough. But once it clicked in his mind, and he realized that must have been (and was) Francis in whose lap Matt was sitting, he was out of the room in less than a second.
“I fucking told you already, Matt and Francis were watching that ballet crap thing together. What the fuck more do you want from me?!”
“Details, Gilbert, details! How are you be so sure that they were even together?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because Matt was fuckin’ sitting in Francis’ lap and the French bastard had his hands up Matt’s shirt and was feeling him up!”
Elizaveta froze, not so much because of what Gilbert said, but because of the way he’d said it. His face was flushed, his crimson eyes flashing, palms curled into fists that were so clenched it was as if he was wringing the air around him. His voice, while loud and enraged, also sounded choked and hurt underneath all that anger, something she could tell just from having known Gilbert for as long she did.
Wordlessly, Elizaveta wrapped her arms around Gilbert’s chest, causing him to instantly relax his arms, more in shock than anything else.
“You… You really like Matthew, don’t you, Gilbert?” She whispered, and the albino was all too quick to push her away with a forced chuckle.
“Haha, yeah, right. What would make you think that anyways? I mean, s’not like I always watch over him to make sure Kirkland doesn’t work him too hard or as if I thought he looked good in that dress or anything.” He snorted, and Elizaveta laughed.
“But you do exactly those things, Gilbert. And now you’re getting mad because you think you saw Francis and Matthew sitting together-“
“Excuse me?” A third, new voice cut in, and without turning around Elizaveta felt her blood freeze. Arthur Kirkland.
“Y-Yes, Director?” She finally said, turning around with a smile. Think charming, Liz, act innocent. “Did you need anything?”
Arthur’s expression was one that Elizaveta had never seen on his face before; if she had to put a word to it, it’d have to be distant. For someone so usually engrossed in his surroundings, so much a part of everything that was happening, to see him looking so uncharacteristically dazed was worrisome.
“I… I thought I heard you say something to Gilbert…” He paused for a moment, and then sighed.
“Never mind, I’m sure I misheard.”
“Misheard what?” Gilbert’s voice teetered on a snarl, and Elizaveta wished he would stop talking right then. “That the fucking French bastard stole Matthew and turned him into his sex slave-“
“Gilbert! That’s not how it was and you know that!” Elizaveta snapped, and turned away from the albino’s pout to find that Arthur was somehow looking more distant that before; his face was practically expressionless.
Even more surprising was how calm his voice was when he asked, “How did it happen, then, Elizaveta?”
“I… All I know is that when Gilbert went into the theater during the young girls’ ballet troupe performance he saw Matthew and Francis sitting together-“
“Matt was sitting in his lap!”
Arthur’s poker face remained intact, and after a brief moment of silence he wordlessly strode out of the room.
“They are talking about us, mon cher.”
“Y-Yeah… I heard…”
Francis sighed softly, taking another sip of his drink before elegantly putting his glass down on the café’s smooth, dark table. He looked at Matthew, who was sitting before him with the barest amount of confusion traced in his soft features, fingers twisting in his lap until the table and his drink completely untouched.
“And, how do you feel about it?” About this, he was saying, and the glimmer in Matt’s eyes told Francis he was understood.
“I don’t know. I guess… no one has ever talked about me before. It’s… sort of nice?”
Francis nodded, taking another sip and noticing the way Matt’s eyes followed his tongue as he licked his lips.
“A-and… I don’t… mind, this.”
“This what, Mathieu?” Francis looked up, caught Matthew’s confusion, and explained, “If you cannot say it with me there is no chance you will be able to say it to anyone else.”
Matt took a moment, sighing softly under his breath, before looking up with a sweet smile;
“I don’t mind dating you, Francis. I-In fact… I like being with you.”
To Be Continued
Chapter 5 - Chapter 7