"Ah, Arzhur!" Mr.Bonnefoy grinned, standing up and walking over to the Brit to give him a hug, only for the gesture to be returned with coldness and an arm extended out to prevent the Frenchman from coming any closer. "I'm glad you came, Arzhur dear!" He sang joyfully, though it seemed like the Brit wasn't as happy to see him.
"Get away from me, you frog! I'm not here for you!" The Englishman sneered, pushing his French coworker onto his bum.
Mr.Bonnefoy lightly placed a hand over his heart, fake tears streaming from his eyes (Where'd he get fake tears? o_O). "You wound me, Arzhur! You wound me so!" He cried dramatically.
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, wanker," Mr.Kirkland rolled his eyes and stepped on Mr.Bonnefoy's stomach harshly, making his way over to your bedside. His previous sneer was gone and was replaced by a warm smile. "How are you, dear?"
"I'm...okay," you replied slowly, left utterly confused by the recent incident. He seemed different from the time he approached you and asked-- more like commanded-- you to be Alfred's tutor. He was so cheery and nice then, but what had happened with Mr.Bonnefoy crushed that mirage. "I guess I'm doing okay..."
He nodded. "Good!" He exclaimed, returning to the self you knew. "Oh, and don't mind him over there," he pointed to your French teacher, who had passed out from Mr.Kirkland crushing his gut. "He's an idiot. He just wants to get near any female that walks in a seventy-mile radius."
You nodded, not surprised that that was his true intentions. You had a feeling the guy was a pervert, seeing that he would stare at all of the girls during class. So you became skeptical when he told you that he was only there to change your bandages. But when you thought about it, you bet yourself that changing bandages was all he was going to do to you, nothing more. Sure, you were putting yourself down and lowering your self-esteem even more, but you didn't care; thinking of it like that actually sounded...nice. Just as long as you knew he wasn't going to pull anything, you would be fine with it.
Then a thought came into your head. "Why are you here in Alfred's home, Mr.Kirkland?" You asked, oh-so curious to know.
"I don't know what you mean, but you probably don't know I own the house," he smiled. He what?
"You own the house..?" You asked, trying to confirm that you heard him right and that he was the person who decorated the entire thing. When you saw him nod, you could feel yourself about to pass out. Your face went pale, and your jaw slightly dropped. "You're Alfred's brother?!"
Mr.Kirkland chuckled. "Yes, I am."
Hearing it come from his mouth made you calm down a little and the color to your face return. So he was the one who liked Black Butler... You could actually see, if not guess, him liking the anime and manga series, considering he was from Britain. It made sense. But he didn't seem like the gardening type to you. "So who could've grown those roses..?" You whispered to yourself.
But apparently you were loud enough for the others to hear because Mr.Bonnefoy answered. "I did!" he sang, happy that at least someone was admiring his work.
His answer surprised you. H-he... He...?! Your jaw dropped for the second time. "Y-you're both his brothers...?!"
And as if copying the Brit, Mr.Bonnefoy chuckled and nodded. This angered Mr.Kirkland. "Why the bloody hell are you copying me?!"
"I am not copying you!" Mr.Bonnefoy cried.
Mr.Kirkland's earlier sneer returned. "Oh, yes, you are, you git! Now stop it!"
A few more stray fake tears streamed down Mr.Bonnefoy's cheeks. "Ah, Arzhur! Why must you be so cold to moi!"
"Because I don't like you!" That phrase almost cracked the Frenchman's heart in half. You knew because you could see the heartbreak and sadness in the expression he wore on his face. This time, actual tears started forming in the corners of his eyes. They threatened to spill over, but he quickly wiped them away and put on a fake smile.
"O-oh, Arzhur! I know you're just joking!" He laughed, a quiver to his voice.
Mr.Kirkland's sneer widened. "I'm not joking, Francis. I don't like you at all. I don't even know why I let you move into my home in the first place!"
Anguish shrouded Mr.Bonnefoy, and you could see more tears forming in his eyes. "Excuse me," he uttered, leaving the room with a small slam to the door. You knew what had gotten into him, but Mr.Kirkland didn't.
The room went silent after Mr.Bonnefoy left, and you desperately wanted to break it. You were never good with awkward silences; it made you feel uncomfortable. So you cleared your throat and opened your mouth to say something, but your English teacher beat you to it.
"Why did he just leave..?" He spoke, staring down at the carpeted floor. "Was it something I said?" You were about to answer, but he continued, making you realize that he had asked a rhetorical question.
"Why is he like that? Caring about me, wanting to hug me, when we've been enemies our entire lives!? What kind of good have I done to him to make him feel like he owes me his life? I call him names, I push him away, I, using Francis' words, 'wound him.' So why does he still care...?" He started to whisper towards the end, and he trailed off. Mr.Kirkland sighed and plopped himself down on the edge of the bed.
Another silence dragged on after the Brit's short speech. You wanted to speak, but you had no idea what to say. Maybe you should answer his rhetorical questions? Or possibly change the subject? But you didn't feel like doing the latter, so answering his questions was the only option you could think of; you just didn't know how... Then it clicked. You remembered Mr.Bonnefoy talking about this friend allowing him to stay in his home during French class, and he mentioned that he was grateful to this friend so much that he practically owed him his life. He said something about his friend always being so cold to him though, and it never made sense to the Frenchman why he even took him in.
He also said something about belonging to a pimp, and how he made a living being a man whore, right?You thought, trying to remember exactly what he said during class. But it only came to you in small fragments as the silence continued to go on.
Finally, after minutes of thinking and coming to no avail, you decided to use the information you already had to argue your case. Your eyes drifted to the Brit, whose head was held in his hands. You sighed, pulled the covers off your body, and sat next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "He cares because he's grateful."
Mr.Kirkland looked up, eyes filled with remorse. "He's...grateful?"
You nodded and continued, "I don't really know, but he told this to our class while he was teaching. He's grateful that you brought him in and saved him from his previous life. He feels like he owes you his life, in a way." He didn't respond, so you decided to add another thing.
"It seems like he'll do anything to make you like him."
Mr.Kirkland stayed silent; he didn't know how to respond, in other words. How was he supposed to respond? There was nothing that came to mind when you said those words. So he did the only thing he could do: he walked out of the room. You guessed he did it because he wanted to go apologize to Mr.Bonnefoy, but you weren't sure. The face he made was hard to read, and you couldn't see his eyes to see how he felt.
You sighed. You got up from the bed, your bare feet coming in contact with the rugged floor. Feeling perfectly fine, you decided to leave the room just like everyone else, not even bothering to fix the bed you were in because you're just that inconsiderate for those who might have to fix it for you. So you were standing in the hallway, and because you weren't sure where you were at, you started aimlessly walking to your right.
After walking down twisting and endless hallways, you felt like giving up. You didn't really know what you were trying to accomplish; you didn't even know why you abandoned the guest room you were in. Maybe in the back of your head you wanted to see Alfred again, but maybe you only wanted to see him to punch him in the face.
Convinced you were lost in the big mansion, you leaned against a wall. You sank to your knees and pulled them to your chest. You didn't do anything; no crying, no sobbing, no nothing except for sitting there with a blank face. Maybe you thought that if you stayed put, you would be found? Yeah, that was exactly what you thought. In a few minutes, it turned out your plan worked.
You heard loud footsteps coming your way. They were more like stomps on the wooden floorboards than walking, and whoever was coming was coming at an alarming rate. At the sound of panting and loud, heavy breathing, you knew the person was in a hurry and that he was male. And as soon as he came close to turning the corner and entering the hallway you were sitting in, you caught a glimpse of his silhouette. A familiar cowlick was seen in his shadow, and almost immediately, you stood from where you were at, but you weren't quick enough to dash into a room and hide. Though part of you wanted to see him to slap, kick, or punch him, you were also afraid of your bully.
Time felt like it was being slowed down as he turned the corner in half a second. Your (e/c) eyes met his wide, cerulean ones in the slow motion. He looked so surprised to see you, but also, mixed in with the bundle of emotion swirling in his blue orbs, you saw relief. And soon, everything returned to normal. He was jogging towards you, and just as he was slowing down to where you were at, a feeling in your stomach grew, thinking he was going to push you down onto your bum again and yell at you. But he did the complete opposite; he didn't slow down, and he practically tackled you to the floor.
He... He was hugging you!
But he pulled away after only a second and pushed you away. He had a sneer plastered on his face, but the emotion in his eyes -- the relief -- was still there.
"Where the fuck were you?" He asked harshly. "Do you know how long I was looking for you?!"
You didn't reply, which only made him go on. "A fucking half hour! That's how long!"
You cracked open your mouth to speak, wondering why he even wanted to look for you, but you dismissed it as a stupid idea. But a silence engulfed you, signalling that Alfred was done speaking. This was your chance.
"Why did you even come looking for me?" You whispered. A light pink dusted his cheeks, but his eyebrows furrowed in anger.
"Because you're my fucking tutor! Didn't you hear our goddamn English teacher?! He said I wasn't supposed to get you hur--" He stopped, his eyes glued onto your forehead that was still wrapped in bandages.
He paused. "What the hell happened?" He demanded, his stare connecting with yours.
You didn't respond. Why does he care so much?
"I said, what happened?" He asked, still as harshly but not as loud.
You opened your mouth, "I was hit in the head with a do--"
But you weren't able to finish because he demanded another thing. "Who did this?!"
Your eyes went wide. He was asking who did it. This caught you so off guard; you never expected to hear him ask who had hurt you.
"U-um," you started and cleared your throat, choking on your words. "I-it was Mr.B-Bonnefoy. But he didn't mean to do it, I swear!"
The emotion in his eyes changed. If they could change color, his eyes would've been a firey red. His eyes contained anger, the most you've ever seen out of him. You didn't understand why he was reacting so strongly...
"Why do you care, though? I mean, it was only a scratch!" You said, trying to soften things.
He slightly calmed down a bit and took a deep breath. "I only care because Mr.Kirkland said that I wasn't supposed to get you hurt or into any trouble. Unless I wanted summer school." His gaze was previously diverted elsewhere and it came back to you. "Don't go a second thinking I actually care about your well being."
I should have known.
You nodded. "Right."
Then suddenly, you felt something in your pocket vibrate. You pulled it out and saw that it was your mom texting you, asking you where you were. That was your signal to leave.
"Um, could you take me back to your room? I need to get my things and leave," You said, and he nodded, leading you back.
It didn't take long for Alfred to find his way to the foyer of the mansion (Heck! It didn't take long for him to throw your stuff out of his room!). Once you stepped one foot off the staircase, you were almost immediately shoved towards the door by the rude bully. You almost tripped and fell on your face, the heavy backpack adding to your weight. But your reflexes allowed you to gracefully land on the rug-covered, marble floor. If you call yelping, holding your arms in front of your head bracing for impact, and being caught and put down by Alfred graceful. You muttered a half-hearted thanks and held yourself from rolling your eyes.
You headed for the door and pushed through it, without thinking about looking back to see if Alfred had just left and went to his room. Because you knew he wouldn't stay. You knew he wouldn't make the effort.
You headed down the cobblestone path that led to the front gate and passed through the middle of Mr.Bonnefoy's rose garden. Then it occurred to you. Where did he go? But you didn't try and look; it had nothing to do with you, and honestly, you wanted to leave the place as soon as you stepped out the door. But upon hearing familiar voices, you couldn't help but listen in.
They were located somewhere in the maze, and you knew who the voices belonged to. Mr.Bonnefoy and Mr.Kirkland were talking, most likely about what had happened earlier. You heard harsh words at first, but eventually, sorrys were said.
"I... I'm sorry, Francis," Mr.Kirkland muttered.
There was a bit of hesitation, but then you heard a soft gasp. Curiosity getting the best of you, you got on your tippy-toes, and you caught sight of a gazebo. Standing there, you witnessed