You regretted letting him stay.
He would sleep during the day and go out all night. Partying recklessly, then coming home drunk.
It was like a stupid love song.
The kind you hated.
"I'm going out." You glared at Francis's back as he left.
You waited until you heard his car pull out of the driveway. Lunging for the phone, you tripped over a pair of his stupid dress shoes.
The asshole left clothing all over the place.
You dialed the familiar number, not bothering to get up off the floor.
Arthur had become the only person you felt safe talking to about Francis. Sure Elizabeta and Felix tried to help, but their solution always ended with them wanting to beat Francis up.
You were tempted to let them.
"How can I help you, love?" You sighed into the phone.
"How do I get him to leave?" You had asked this question many times before. Arthur never got impatient, he understood your feelings towards the Frenchman.
"Well do what I did. Call him a coc-" You cut him of with a giggle.
"I'm serious Arthur. I can't curse up a storm and expect him to leave."
"It worked for me." The Brit sounded slightly amused.
"It won't work for me. He'll just start crying and then I'll feel horrible and let him stay." The truth hurt. Your lovesick heart was appalled at the idea of letting him go.
There was silence on the other end.
"Why don't you get Ivan to help?"
Ivan was a good friend of yours. You had never told him about Francis, but some how he knew you were having problems.
He was that kind of guy. Always looking out for his friends.
"I dunno." You sighed. The big Russian was known for getting it to fights to defend his friends "Honor"
"I guess. Bye Arthur."
Ivan agreed to help.
The two of you sat on the couch, waiting for Francis.
"He probably won't be home until sometime after twelve." You fiddled with the edge of your sweater.
"I am not minding se vait." He gave you his signature childish smile.
"No problem, Da!"
"________." Someone was gently shaking your shoulder.
"Time for you to be vaking up, Da?"
You blinked sleepily, lifting your head off the Russian man's shoulder.
"Sorry." Rubbing your eyes you looked around.
"Don't be. You are needing sleep." He was glaring at the door.
You heard the jangle of keys, then the click of the lock. Francis stumbled in a huge grin on his face. He didn't look drunk.
That was new.
"Guess what?!" Happiness radiated around him, he seemed to glow. But that was just your imagination.
"Vat?" You felt Ivan's arm slid around your waist protectively.
"I am going to be a Papa!!" He ran over to you and grabbed your hands. "One of my ex-girlfriends is pregnant."
You vaguely wondered if he even remembered the girls name.
"G-great." You felt like crying.
For the next couple of minutes Francis ran around the house collecting his belongings. You watched silently, your head resting against Ivan's shoulder.
The tall Russian was glaring. You had a feeling he would have beaten the shit out of Francis if you hadn't been there
"Zank you for everyzing ________!" He pulled you into a quick hug, then left.
Ivan began muttering in Russian under his breath.
"Are you sure about this Love?" Arthur looked around the airport.
"I'm sure." You bit your bottom lip, "I think it's for the best."
His large eyebrows furrowed, a look of worry settling over his features.
"I know he hurt you Love, but there's no need to leave the country!"
Francis had hurt you big time. It was like a slap to the face when he bought the house next to yours, happily chattering how he wanted you to be friends with his lovely wife.
The woman was a bitch.
You had only spent five minutes talking to her and had hated her immediately. You had found out that she wasn't really pregnant. She had only wanted to get back together with Francis.
You didn't tell Francis. It wasn't your problem.
That's why you were moving to your cousins place in Italy.
"You can stay with me." His voice sounded funny. Tight, like he was holding back tears.
"You know I can't do that to you." You pulled the English man into a tight hug.
"Your luggage is on se plane." Ivan jogged over, handing you a small carry-on.
"Thanks you guys. For everything." You blinked hard, trying not to cry.
"You'll come back to visit. Right?" Arthur's arms tightened around your waist, his face pressed against you neck.
-----Arthur's point of view-------
I stared out the window as scenery whizzed past. I didn't want ______ to leave.
"You didn't tell her?" Ivan kept his eyes on the road.
"I couldn't." My voice was choked
"Vill you ever tell her?"
I couldn't tell her how much she meant to me. How I hated to see her heart break over an over again because of the French bastard.
"You really should. It doesn't end vell for zose who don't speak." I glanced at Ivan, his hands had tightened around the steering wheel, the knuckles going white.
I knew what he was talking about.
His sisters had been murdered. All because he refused to bow down and beg like a dog for forgiveness from his father.
He regarded ______ as his sister and would do anything to make sure she didn't have the same fate.
"I can't. I'm no more than a friend to her." The truth hurts. It really does.
------Your point of view------
You glanced around worriedly. You had no idea were to go, all the signs were in Italian.
Something slammed into you, squeezing the breath out out of you.
"H-hi Feli." You squeaked. You cousin smiled at you energetically.
"I'm'a so glad'a you came!! Lovino is'a waiting for you!!" The funny curl on the side of his head bobbed up and down as he dragged you to a black old-fashion looking car.
"I didn't know you had a car like this."
"I don't. This is'a Lovino's work car."
You could guess what this "work" was, your cousins had some ties with the mafia.
"Come on! We have a lot'a places we wanna show you!"
------Arthur's point of view------
______ had been gone for nearly three weeks.
She had called only once, sounding happy.
Which was good. I could suffer in silence, there was no need for me to tell her anymore. No need to add something else for her to worry about.
A loud bang startled me out of my train of thought.
Some one was knocking on my door in a rather rude manner. Getting up I threw it open, glaring at the offender.
It was that damn French Bastard.
"Please! Where is _______?!"
Tears were streaming down his face, staining the color of his shirt.
"She left." My voice was cold.
HOW DARE HE! ______ was only someone he went when he had been kicked to the curb. I couldn't allow him to do that to her anymore.
"Left?" His voice was quavering. "Where?"
"None of you fucking business."
He fell to his knees, sobbing like a newborn child.
"PLEASE!! I NEED HER!"