The last sharp gust of wind passed through a gap between two mechanical doors swishing to a close. Low, polite mutters and the jingling of cash were exchanged, repeated anew with multiple different people. Being a Wednesday and the middle of the school week, the early morning bus ride was nothing new to you. Adjusting the jacket you wore, you reminded yourself that this wasn't any old Wednesday morning, and this wasn't just any old bus stop you had temporarily halted at. Today was the twenty-sixth of August, and this was the stop one of your most dear friends got on at. 'Dear friend', he'd laugh at that, make some wisecrack or sarcastic joke at it. He was good like that, could easily twist your words to send you into hysterics. Distracted, you checked the last message on your phone, beaming at the sender's scheme, almost unaware of the figure settling themselves beside you. A heavy weight approximate to the size of a bowling ball, rested on your shoulder, causing every muscle in your being to tense. Glittering zircon irises peeked over to eye your glowing screen. On reflex, you locked your phone, rotating your torso to lock onto your target. From where they half sat, half lay, they threw you an eager grin, rogue strands of coffee-coloured locks teasing the skin on your neck. You flinched, identifying every detail of the figure.
"Oh, good morning to you too." You grinned, cheerily jabbing the familiar individual in their flank, resulting in a chuckle from them.
"A 'happy birthday Arno' would have sufficed. But good morning, ____," he retorted, elbowing you lightly for a sweet taste of revenge. Staring out the window at the bleak scenery, morning concealed by monochrome clouds, you shook your head.
"You thought I forgot? Aww, honey, no. Happy birthday." You squeezed him in a tight hug, the bus jolted into action, while you finished your sentence in a way you'd speak to an infant. Arno rolled his eyes playfully, letting you plant a sloppy kiss on his forehead to mess with him. He straightened up, now sitting upright rather than leaning on you for support. Using a navy blue sleeve, he swiped away the mark of saliva on his face, a look of mock revulsion displayed. And yet, with all his liveliness, there held some solemnity behind the expression. The distasteful look flattened out to become one of melancholy.
"I'm glad you remembered, ____, because it seems that the most important person forgot. Not even a call, or a text... I thought she'd remember, I live with her after all." He forced a smile but it broke out of agony, you could nearly feel the manner in which he bled, like being thrown into the gutter. The exact same emotion you felt as Altaïr 'betrayed' you. A time long gone, but the wound reopened as if it were a day ago.
"Hey, I'm sure Élise didn't forget your birthday, you guys are dating, it'd be ridiculous for her to forget. I'm sure she's got something great for you later in the day. You do realise she goes to a private school, she has time to give you the biggest surprise of all and plan it to the finest detail. Don't stress it. My present might not compare, but I'm shouting you morning coffee from the canteen and I wanted to take you to that nice cafe in town that we always planned on going to when the guys aren't bothering us. I know, it's no 'grand plan' but we're all here for you. Alty, Connor, Aveline, Des, even Ezio believe it or not. Élise will come through, just give it time, babe," you reassured, rubbing his shoulder encouragingly. Arno released a large sigh, allowing it to whistle between his lips as the air escaped.
"I sure hope you're right about this, ____, it isn't like her to not say anything. Even Monsieur de la Serre wished me a happy birthday before I left. It all feels too... odd."
"When we get to school you'll be showered with love and presents and you'll forget all about it." Smiling, you teetered over to embrace him once more, in the hopes of making him lighten up. He pressured another smile, one more genuine than the first. The bus screeched and skidded to a stop, giving authorisation for those outside to come aboard. An identical pattern repeated, exact to the last stop, and passengers found their preferred seats. Flamboyant as ever, another companion invited himself into the conversation. Not unwelcome, just unexpected — like how he acknowledged you both.
"Happy birthday, amico mio!" He waltzed in, flopping onto the seat directly behind Arno, dropping an object onto his skull. Arno's eyes flicked up, determined to see whatever it was that Ezio had dumped on him. To no avail, he lifted it off to analyse his gift. Ezio, dare you say, kindly donated Arno a coronet; plastic but delicately painted gold, faux diamantes embedded into the surface. You could spot that he was unsettled by this, but after studying the offering he placed his crown back on, lopsided. He craned his neck back to model it for Ezio, who was more than satisfied with his taste in treasures. 'Treasures', more like bargain items. You were certain that Ezio had bought that from the dollar store, not skimming over the idea of a meaningful investment for his friend.
"Um, thanks, Ezio." He returned the greeting with apprehensive gratitude, puzzlement striking his features. Probably wondering why Ezio got him a plastic crown for three dollars.
"You are very welcome, Arno." Ezio bowed theatrically, jokingly honoured to be of service. "You know, there's a river in Firenze that has the same name..." It had to be accentuated yet again, of how much Ezio loved his country and culture. Verbose, the only word to describe the Italian blabbering about his home. He could talk for hours on end about it. Fascinating at first, but after too long it becomes tedious to listen to. You were pleased he was passionate about something other than food, partying and women, but you collectively agreed that Ezio should reduce any Italian to a bare minimum. You had slapped him clean across the face once to get him to silence, purely because he wasn't listening to anyone else and was so absorbed in the tale he was telling. Presumably, he'd learned from then on to detox from all the patriotism, which relieved the entirety of the group, not just you.
"We know Ezio. Just keep your mind on the Arno in the here and now. You remember, Arno Victor Dorian, the birthday boy? Got it? Now, keep it there, and stay there. Don't go wandering back off to Italy and down the river." You fired back, shooting him a warning shot, requesting he proceed with caution. He shrugged carelessly, wedging his Airpods in his ear canals to blast his obscure music.
"You had to go and say my full name, didn't you, ____?" Hearing Arno say that made you scoff involuntarily.
"Seriously? You think Ezio Auditore was paying attention? Come on, he wasn't even listening to half of what I said. I need a coffee, my tolerance levels for him are almost non-existent." Heaving a sigh, you outstretched your arms to straighten the tiara atop his head, the bus rolling nearer towards the educational building of torture.
***
Taking your seats in history class first period, you downed another gulp of your barista-made coffee, mind meandering to whatever was on Arno's conscience. With ease, you knew what held his attention and forced him into a state of brooding. You had bought the caffeinated drinks immediately before the bell sounded, and the Frenchman's noiselessness was atypical of him. On a normal day, he'd laugh with you, or humour you with some snarky quip. But on this specific, special day, he was lulled into reservation, fixated on the barista who was so attentive to perfecting his drink. You nudged him, tried to crack a joke, but to no resolution. He had isolated himself, and in all honesty, it was disheartening. You knew he was one to give his all when it came to romantic endeavours, but this was foolish. You wish you could tell him all you knew to prove to him that his spiralling notions were incorrect, but there was no stirring him. You'd made an oath to keep your lips zipped about the matter.
The secret you held was massive in regard to Arno's birthday. You and Élise exchanged text messages ranging from late night prior to early morning that very day. Your relationship with Élise were solely acquaintances, neither of you knowing the other incredibly well, but you had a few things in common, and kind of clicked after Arno introduced you both. What you had vaguely mentioned to Arno was true in all aspects: Élise was scheming something phenomenal. She had the whole celebration planned and — like you also said — to the finest point. She had taken photos of the decorations, listed everything she had bought to celebrate his birthday. It was sweet of her really, to plan all this without Arno having a single suspicion. Except she left the little detail of acting natural and wishing him a happy birthday out of her master plan. This is what got you here and Arno in a shambles. Nevertheless, you knew it would pay off eventually... except the birthday boy acted so off. You desperately wanted to spill the secret, but knowing of the consequences, you elected to fake your innocence. Interlocking his fingers between yours, you applied pressure to his hand, the one not holding a takeaway cup of coffee with an iron grip.
"It'll be okay, Arno, please don't worry about it. Élise's love for you is no different than it was a day ago, or the day before that. Earth to Arno, time isn't going to stop for you and your moping. Plus, this is your best class." You gave him a hefty dose of your puppy eyes, finally guilt tripping him in return. He sat up from his serious slouching and sank a small sip of his scalding beverage. He shook your hand to indicate he was taking in the information.
"Thanks, ____, you always know how to make me feel better." His voice was monotonous, though digging deeper, the words contained his heart and soul. A moment lingered there between you two, ending as quickly as it began, the teacher making a timely appearance in class to break the field.
"Good morning, class. Please get out your workbooks for today's lesson." Your history teacher, Mister Pierre Bellec, drew a sleek computer from a black bag that was bursting at the seams and powered up a presentation on the board, scanning the room with sunken eyes. Whether it be disappointment or disdain, Bellec wasn't the slightest bit amused at the class's lack of attention. "Gérald, off your phone. Leonardo, pen down, this isn't art class." He deliberately paused to watch them obey his orders and the two boys at the opposite ends of the class complied. The first blushed deeply, the other looking like he had his dreams pummelled six feet under.
"Can I please start?" A pin-drop silence occurred. "Thank you." He progressed to list the names present in class, a mischievous smile spreading across his complexion as he reached Arno's name. The boy responded accordingly with,
"Here, monsieur." Pursing his lips into a narrow line, his intuition informing him of the near future. Bellec announced it to the class, making every student aware that it was Arno's birthday. As if the plastic tiara wasn't evidence enough. Conducting the class, the history teacher enforced every kid to sing. A few took this turn of events as an opportunity to go back on their phone or talk to others at their table. Most belted out the well-known tune, while a small percentage sang but didn't give it one hundred percent. This was high school for you, even the most simplistic of situations told you more than enough about a person, their social and academic status. Your friend was rigid in his chair, his expressions withering with embarrassment. He often liked the limelight, but this was on another side of the spectrum. Humiliation in its purest form. Once the chatter dissipated, the adult in the room requested that Arno should mark the date aloud to the class. The boy's gaze darkened, replying in a flawless French accent,
"C'est le vingt-six août." Explaining that today, as if ignorant, like it wasn't his birthday on the twenty-sixth of August. The teacher gave stingy praise, and Arno busied himself by burying his face in his hands, cutting himself off from the outside world. Your eyebrow raised, theories that you may have stumbled into French class, rather than your history class. Your investigation concluded with Bellec bellowing,
"Alright, Shaun is going to hand out these worksheets," a groan from Shaun, "and in your groups, write down everything you know about the French Revolution. This is going to be our next case study and I'm not letting half the class fail the assessment again." He made sparse glares across the space, eyeballing the students that he knew were likely to fail. Of course you didn't fail the last exam, because Arno encouraged you to study with him, in which you both learned something, grew closer and killed time. It did come with some benefits. Restraining you in the now, Shaun Hastings flicked a large wad of paper at your desk, a black outlined grid hinting your task. Scrawling down as much as possible, you left the remainder to Arno, as he supposedly knew a lot about the event during that time period. The dull view he gave the sheet revealed his mind was elsewhere.
You wouldn't be fazed he was still on the Élise train, taking the concept into the longest, darkest of tunnels. Bound by your promise, you had to suppress all urges to expose Élise's grand gesture to your friend. Possibly this feeling would dissolve later on, when you and the guys would pitch in to buy pizza and share gifts around. Or when you would take him to the cafe after school, buying him his second coffee and an item from the bakery. You could only put your faith in Arno to boost his own mood. A hope you could only cling to.
***
You took Arno to a quaint cafe a short bus trip away from school. Delightful aromas wafted into your airways, pleasing the senses. Your companion's morbid mood had reduced by a small degree, an aura of comfort surrounding him in the shop. He was eased by the hint of sweet smelling delicacies, the whispers of the other patrons, the music ringing in the background, the humming of coffee machines in the foreground. That was an additional point on why you loved him as a friend. You had very similar tastes in style when it came to dining. Arno had substantially relaxed in the secluded booth you chose to dine at, nothing but relief washing over you like the tranquil waves at sea. Standing at the counter, you ordered a (favourite/hot/drink) and Arno a hazelnut latte, picking out a few treats from the display shelf. The employee arranged them on a saucer, sliding both the baked goods and the ceramic coffee cups over to you as you paid for the assortment. Drifting, you made it back to your destination, arms a balancing act of plates and other dining devices. At last, that's when you cracked a smile from your usually bubbly friend. You split the orders between you two, taking whichever freshly baked item you desired. A hand burrowed into a pocket and Arno tossed you a couple of coins.
"A meal and a show, respect to the waitress. Do you take cash, mademoiselle?" Smirking, you caught the coins, letting them clatter into your purse. Rightfully, you didn't want to take them, as it was your friend's birthday, not yours but Arno was hardly in the headspace to argue and neither were you. As you were putting the purse back while Arno dug into his meal, your phone coincidentally chimed, alerting you that you had a notification. It was Élise, with the latest update of her project.
Almost finished Phase 4, can you stall him much longer?
~ Élise
"Who's that?" Arno inquired curiously, trying to catch a glance of your screen. You recoiled to hide the device from him, angling it more towards you. Tapping keys frantically, you replied,
Yup but b quick abt it, he's been sad boi all day ugh
"____?" He reeled your conscious mind back to him, and unknowingly you laid your phone down on the table face up, attending to Arno's issues.
"Yeah?"
"Who was that?" Licking your lips, you avoided his eagle-eye watch. What were you possibly going to tell him? You eliminated lying from the equation because he could detect a lie from a mile away. Rapidly blinking, you wondered why it took you so long to come up with an alibi. The solution to this problem? You refused to answer, gulping a third of the liquid in your cup to evade the interrogation. A ping resonated, your phone lighting up with a message.
I wouldn't be surprised, give me a couple minutes ahh
~ Élise
Arno's brows knitted tightly together, unable to deduce whether it was fury, bewilderment or downright betrayal that he was experiencing. Maybe it was a deadly combination of all three, his eyes wouldn't tear themselves from the evidence.
"She's talking to you and not me? Oh —" He sniffled, tipping his head back to clear his eyes that were glistening with tears. Hearing his voice break and his breathing fragmented, it targeted your lungs, sending a guilty projectile, knifing you deep. Acting on an impulse, you defended,
"Look, I can explain." A feeble, cliche excuse but it was blurted out without thinking.
"Explain what? I get it, she's ghosted me. Ignoring me and texting you. What is it she has against me? I don't understand, I've done nothing wrong... right?" You were about to lose it, watching his heart shatter made yours jump on the bandwagon. You couldn't bear the weight any longer, this poor boy knew how to strum your heartstrings as easily as if they were strings on a guitar. Mentally, you made a meaningful apology to Élise, knowing you were about to spoil it all.
"Arno, the truth is..." *Ping* The sound interjected, protesting against your decision. On impulse, you checked the illuminating brick, your little saviour.
Phase 4 is complete! Bring him home 😇
~ Élise
Ahhh on my way!!
"We need to get you home," you completed the sentence, overwriting what you were initially intending to confess. Collecting your possessions, you stood up, chugging the last of your coffee and taking your muffin to go.
"Huh?" Arno mirrored you, uncertain about the change in pace and urgency you casted towards him.
"Come on, we're going home." You waved a hand, persistently trying to persuade him to move. He didn't budge.
"If you mean home, as in 'where Élise is', then no." Crossing his arms, Arno squinted, rebelling against it all.
"I don't think you have a choice, now move your fine French ass before I move it for you!" Aggressively, you yanked his hand, losing his footing and causing him to stumble forward. You had his hand walking all the way from the outside of the cafe, to the final stop Arno had to get off at. He was undoubtedly displeased about you prodding him about like some convict, but you had to uphold your end of the bargain and send him to Élise unscathed. And you did so successfully.
Arno got off at his normal stop and you watched him unlock the door to his residence as the bus continued on its designated course. Now everything was down to Élise and her genius birthday blueprint. Arriving home, your phone sounded for a final time, but it wasn't your friend's girlfriend, it was your friend himself. A smile infected your lips as you read the simple message.
coffee bean:
hah sorry i misjudged 💕
A/N: Omg I finally finished this! I had to shorten the scenes down to get this done in the span of a few days, but here we are! I took a lot of the French vocab from the basic French course I took last year lol, so don't get me if I'm wrong ahh. I hope this was still satisfying as it was short and fluffy (kinda?) Anyway, much love for this little baby French boi and HAPPY BIRTHDAY ARNO VICTOR DORIAN! xoxo