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PIERRE
It’s late by the time they all manage to stretch out on their obscenely large and comfortable U-shaped couch. It might take up most of the space that is dedicated to the living area of their loft, but it is also the most luxurious thing they have bought.
Well, found and cleaned vigorously.
But they own it, that’s for sure.
Yuki is still scoffing down dessert - a slice of the New York Cheesecake Pierre had made that morning for the café that he had seen Yuki set aside as soon as he had started his shift - when he brings up the subject that Alex and Pierre had been lamenting over since the late afternoon and their final showing.
“How were the viewings today? Have we got our new roommates?” Yuki asks through a mouthful of cheesecake, not a care in the world about manners. Apparently, manners don’t matter in Paris; a line Pierre has given up arguing over since his friend had brought it up when they had initially met in the first year in pastry school.
“No, they were terrible! What are we doing wrong? Did we mess something up in the ad?” Alex groans, throwing himself back onto the sofa and clutching a cushion to his chest dejectedly.
Yuki raises his eyebrows, surprised. “They were all bad? Pierre?”
“Pretty much,” Pierre can’t help but sigh. Reaching out, he grabs the notebook from the coffee table where they had scribbled down their thoughts about each of the potential viewings they had had that day. “Fernando; he’s in his 40s already and we didn’t feel like he’d fit in with the vibe here. Lando is our age but he said he doesn’t cook in case he burns down the kitchen and - look, not to be picky, but he cannot live with two chefs. It doesn’t work. I cannot live with him.”
“Fine, I can accept those. What about the others?”
“Only one other turned up. He was pretty cool actually, though he was also pushing 40, but Monsieur ‘not-to-be-picky’ here said no on the basis he was a vegan,” Alex explains with a sarcastic drawl and a roll of the eyes.
“Really, Pierre?” Yuki frowns, but Pierre is quick to defend himself, throwing the notebook aside and pinning his friend - and employee - a pointed look.
“Don’t start. You would be the worst. Do you really want a vegan around when you’re trying to make your sushi, or we’re having bœuf bourguignon after Alex has a tough day at uni?” Pierre states, going for both of them where it hurts the most; their comfort foods.
“I still don’t understand how a meat dish helps you when you’re sad about animals,” Yuki mutters, and Pierre has to give him that.
Despite going into the final year of his veterinary degree, Alex gets far too attached to the animals who are often found at the local butchers, and is still an avid meat eater.
He is an enigma that Pierre leaves alone lest he ends up living with a newly-turned vegetarian.
“So we have no-one?” Yuki asks.
“No. We will have to see if anyone else applies,” Alex sighs, shuffling around as he brings his laptop to rest on his thighs and starts it up.
“Why don’t we ask people we know? Like Carlos. Remember him? I’m sure he’s still working down on Champs-Élysées,” Yuki suggests, but Pierre is quick to shake his head, rejecting the idea immediately.
“No, not Carlos. He is a great guy, but that Lando guy said he only applied because his friend Carlos recognised the place as somewhere his ex-colleagues used to live, so if we ask Carlos, we’ll have to deal with Lando,” Pierre informs him, Alex backing him up with a nod.
“Not to state the obvious or anything, but how about Este? He mentioned only today how his lease is up soon,” Yuki adds, the question directed to Pierre even though their new roommate or two - they do have two rooms going spare after their friends Max and Daniel decided they needed a place to themselves as they took the next step in their relationship - would be living with all three of them.
Pierre can feel Alex straighten up on the couch near him, piqued at the new idea, and one quick peek over shows the Brit with a hopeful look on his face that Pierre will regretfully be wiping away.
Somewhat regretfully.
“I don’t think so,” Pierre interjects before Alex could verbally agree. As predicted, both roll their eyes and huff at him at his typical reaction to anything that involves Esteban outside of work. “No, I have told you both. He is more of an acquaintance than a friend. We cannot be together 24/7. That is how we got to this state in the first place, and if you want the café to survive, you cannot push us to spend any more time together.”
Alex giggles and pats him mockingly on the knee. “Okay, drama queen. Not Este then. Let’s hope he finds another place.”
“I am sure he won’t end up homeless, Alex,” Pierre retorts sarcastically with a roll of his own eyes that the other man misses when his laptop pings, stealing away his attention.
“Oh! Another viewing request!” Alex tells them. ”For tomorrow morning. I have class.”
Pierre shrugs. “I can be here. Esteban is opening tomorrow.”
“I missed today’s viewings so I’ll be here too,” Yuki adds, enjoying the last bite of his cheesecake when Pierre frowns over at him. He’s fairly certain he has Yuki scheduled to open along with Esteban, considering Pierre has been stuck with opening for the majority of the week so far.
But Yuki is a force unto his own, and as much as his attitude would get him fired from pretty much anywhere else, Pierre knows his heart is in the right place and he is as equally dedicated to the café as the two French owners.
“Great, so we’re leaving Este to fend for himself?” Pierre jokes, even if there is a hint of pettiness inside that can’t wait for Esteban having to deal with the morning bakes alone with a handful of their serving staff ready for the rush hour footfall.
All without a second pastry chef.
“He’ll be fine,” Yuki brushes off and Pierre can’t help but agree.
Plus, finding a new roommate takes priority. There is no way he is going to be able to keep affording his season ticket for the Parc des Princes otherwise.
---
“So, what do you think?” Pierre asks their potential new roommate, a suited and booted polite young British man around their age. So far, he is the best they’ve had and it is looking promising.
“I like the place, even though there is an abnormal amount of Red Bull paraphernalia around,” George comments after being shown around, eyeing the large bull statue that sits atop of the fridge for no reason other than to keep it out of the way, and then the hoodie belonging to Pierre himself that he has left over the back of the sofa.
“Yes, people keep commenting on that,” Pierre says sheepishly, sharing a look with Yuki. It’s not that they’re all massive, obsessive Red Bull fans. They keep the odd pack of the drink in the fridge for a boost, but otherwise, the merchandise decorating their apartment only stays because they’re too lazy to replace them. “We all worked at the Red Bull store on Champs-Élysées during our uni years so we’ve gathered a lot of stuff over the years. It’s how we all met.”
“Ah, that makes sense. That’s sort of sweet,” George replies with a smile. “You’re not at school anymore then?”
“No, no. We both work at my café,” Pierre informs him, pride surging when he watches as George’s eyebrows shoot right up towards his slicked back hair.
“You have a café?” he asked incredulously, but not cruelly.
“Yes, it’s a small one but it’s something,” Pierre tells him.
He has a habit of downplaying anything to do with the café when asked. Not out of embarrassment or annoyance, but rather that it is all still so new to him - even though they have owned it for over two years now - and he is still getting used to everyone’s reaction. Impressed yet surprised, like they couldn’t believe Pierre had his own café when it’s reality it is probably that they couldn’t believe he has a café in Paris, where real estate is at a premium. Especially for a café. It’s not like there aren’t a thousand of them in the area alone.
But they’re doing pretty well, if Pierre says so himself. Even if he would never voice it.
“It’s called Alpine Café. It’s only about a 7 minute walk from here, 5 for some,” Yuki adds, throwing Pierre a pointed look that carries over to George. “We are both chefs there and it is very good.”
Yuki, on the other hand, has never had any trouble with voicing his thoughts. About anything.
“Yuki,” Pierre sighs, but he is ignored by both.
“Oh, you’re both chefs? That’s amazing!” George exclaims, and Pierre is fairly certain this is their new roommate from that one genuine reaction alone.
“Yes, but don’t expect us to cook for you everyday. I do enough of that shit at work,” Yuki warns, eyes narrowing. George takes a small step back, his wide smile faltering slightly.
“Yuki!” Pierre quickly chastises, though the other man shows no remorse at all for his actions. Not that Pierre is surprised. “I’m sorry, I have no excuses for him except that this is just him.”
George shrugs and smiles brightly again. “That’s alright. I like people being honest and open. I’m not one for dallying around.”
“What do you do for a living again?” Pierre asks, realising that although it had been in the viewing request that Alex had received and read to them all the previous evening, he has now forgotten.
“I work in a bank. I’ve just transferred over from London,” George informs them.
“To Paris?” Pierre questions. A banker moving from London to Paris isn’t common. New York, maybe. Frankfurt, sure. But Paris? He can’t say he’s heard that one before.
“A change of scenery was needed. And a good friend of mine was offered a job here, so I have kind of followed him,” George explains casually, but the words ring a large bell in Pierre’s head.
“Wait, does this friend of yours need a place to stay too?” Pierre asks carefully, and by the way George brightens, Pierre’s hope of never having to interview people for the rooms is through the roof.
“We do have two rooms available,” Yuki adds, his voice a bit more controlled, rare to show much emotion.
Nodding eagerly, George whips out his phone. “When can you fit him in?”
---
ALEX
“How was this morning’s viewing?” are Alex’s first words as he returns from his university lectures and labs in the mid-afternoon. Yuki is the only one home, munching on a bowl of popcorn and M&Ms whilst watching TV. It’s a surprise seeing as he’s fairly certain Pierre mentioned the both of them were meant to be working the closing shift since they left Esteban alone that morning, but Yuki seems far too relaxed to care about work.
“Yeah, good,” Yuki replies without tearing his eyes away from the TV screen. It’s a show Alex has seen him watch before but has never really gotten into. The fact it’s in Japanese doesn’t help either.
“Did we find a roommate?” Alex asks, dumping his bags by the corridor that leads to his room and heading to the kitchen to grab a fresh, cold can of Red Bull. The Parisian summer is fast approaching and the heat is starting to peak ever so slowly.
“Maybe,” Yuki utters absentmindedly.
Rolling his eyes, he leans across the kitchen breakfast counter and enquires, “Anything more?”
“Fine, let me find my notes,” Yuki groans, pausing his show and dramatically pulling out the notebook they have been using to record their observations for each showing. Flicking it open, he clears his throat and reads the short list he had made. “George. British. Accountant,” Yuki says, looking up when he is done to roll his own eyes. “Really proper though, man. He had his shirt buttoned all the way up.”
“I knew a George once, back in England,” Alex sighs, recalling his first - and only - love, one that he had left when they had to go their separate ways for university in different countries almost seven years ago.
“Yes, we know, Alex. But this guy was really tall, like way over 6 feet, and you said your ex was shorter than you,” Yuki tells him. Perhaps he has gone on about George one too many times when drunk, but who can truly blame him when they had been childhood friends. It’s not like Pierre doesn’t do the same about his ex that he also split from when heading to university, albeit less often than Alex. “Oh, and he said he has a friend looking for a place too so he’s coming for a viewing in about 10 minutes.”
That snaps Alex out of his thoughts before they start to spiral again. He is somewhat grateful for it. Not that he’d ever say it.
“Thanks for the heads up, Yuki,” he says instead, sarcastically, and heads over to grab his bag to hide it away in his room.
“You’re welcome,” Yuki’s voice follows him down the hallway, with the TV coming back to life soon after.
---
“Your friend said you both just moved to Paris?” Alex asks Charles, the friend of the Englishman his roommates had shown around that morning. He can’t quite place it, but after living in Paris for seven years, Alex is certain that Charles isn’t French, even though he sounds very close to it.
“Yes! I got a job offer at the Philharmonie de Paris,” Charles replies, smiling brightly. Alex can’t help but smile back, the pure unadulterated joy and happiness shining on the others’ dimpled features contagious.
“What’s that?” Yuki interrupts. He, it would seem, is as unaffected by Charles’ bubbly personality as he is with almost everything else.
“The philharmonic, Yuki,” Alex repeats in English, but by the blank look he gets in return, he can tell Yuki still has no idea what he’s talking about. Sighing, he shakes his head and turns back to Charles. “Ignore him, he doesn’t care about much outside of food.”
“That’s okay. I know classical music is not for everyone,” Charles replies with an easy shrug of the shoulder.
“What do you play?” Alex asks out of curiosity.
“The piano. I trained in London with the Royal Academy,” Charles tells him, brightening immediately upon talking about what is clearly his passion.
“Wow, that’s fantastic! We don’t have a piano in here but as you can see, there is plenty of space for one if you ever wanted to bring one in,” Alex points out, gesturing to the largest empty space of their loft near the window where they had once kept a misplaced pillar that Daniel had found and brought home from a night out. No-one else knew more of the story, and when it fell into the window, cracking it and giving them all a headache with a ridiculously large bill to pay to replace it, none of them cared about where it ended up.
“Oh, I can move in?” Charles asks excitedly, and Alex can’t help but to compare him to a puppy with his constantly enthusiastic nature, adorable looks, and his stylishly coiffed hair.
“Yes, I don’t see why not? Our other roommate and Yuki interviewed your friend this morning, and they liked him. We like you-” Alex says, cutting himself off abruptly when he realises how they have digressed from the reason for their showing. “Wait, I didn’t ask; what do you think of the place?”
“It's different! I wasn’t expecting so much space in Paris, nor the ability to share with George, so that will be a big plus,” Charles says, softening towards the end, and Alex can tell from that small action how close he must be to this George. Hopefully not as close as Max and Daniel had been, lest they’re back to square one in a few months. “There is a lot of Red Bull merchandise around so I hope you won’t mind that I am a Ferrari fan.”
“Oh, no, no. We don’t care about the racing team. We all just worked at the store when we were all studying,” Alex explains, practically grimacing as he spots the red and blue cushions decorating the couch. “If you’re happy then, we can have a final discussion later this evening with our other roommate and let you both know by tomorrow? I think it looks good though. Right, Yuki?”
“Sure,” Yuki merely adds with a shrug, which in Yuki-speak is pretty much a glowing review if he’d ever seen one.
---
PIERRE
Pierre slides onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar once he gets home from closing the café that evening, showered and changed after the long day. Yuki is in the middle of making chocolat chaud à l'ancienne - French hot chocolate - as a rare treat for the three of them.
“How was the viewing with George’s friend?” Pierre asks, curious about both the potential roommate and also the reasoning behind the sweet treat being made from scratch in front of him.
Surely chocolat chaud à l'ancienne can only mean good news, right?
“Yeah, good,” Yuki replies, distractedly.
“Got any more info on him?” Pierre presses, and Yuki groans, dropping his whisk noisily into the bowl where he was whipping cream to retrieve the notebook sitting on the dining table a few feet away.
Yuki clears his throat as he opens the book and reads out his notes in a very clinical manner. “Charles. French. Artist. Looks like a vampire,” he lists, flipping the notebook close again and returning back to his dessert.
“Looks like a what now?” Pierre repeats, shocked yet amused by Yuki’s unique descriptors.
“A vampire. You know, really pale, dark hair. Had these marks on his neck that could have been bite marks actually,” Yuki explains casually, pointing towards the base of his own neck with two fingers as he did so.
“You watch too much supernatural stuff, Yuki,” Pierre laughs, earning himself an unimpressed eye roll. “So we have two new roommates?”
“I guess so,” Yuki murmurs dryly, making Pierre laugh. It's this nonchalance and absolute lack of filter that attracted Pierre to Yuki - in a completely platonic way - in the first instance when at pastry school. No-one else mixed humour with sarcasm as well as Yuki can manage it. And the fact he doesn’t hold back on his thoughts makes it even more entertaining, even if Pierre has had to apologise on his behalf a few times to stop him from being thrown out of school. Or a job. Or a bar.
“Your enthusiasm is contagious, Yuki,” Pierre teases before getting up to retrieve three mugs for their hot chocolates. He goes for the larger ones that are - typically and unfortunately - embossed with Red Bull logos but made for indulgence.
Delicious homemade chocolat chaud à l'ancienne and two new roommates. It definitely feels like a celebratory evening now.
---
Once the three of them decide that George and Charles, the pair of friends from London, would be ideal roommates, they speed through the legalities. Contracts are drawn up and signed, dates are agreed on - including a small probationary period just in case it doesn’t work out with the newbies - and before they know it, it is moving in day.
It is late Saturday morning, Pierre having returned home after opening the café with plans of returning for the closing shift with Yuki - and having left Esteban alone once again in the meanwhile - when their phones all ping with a message in the new group chat they have created to tell them they have arrived and waiting downstairs.
Yuki immediately volunteers to go fetch them and let them in. It’s a very out-of-character reaction that has Pierre sharing confused glances with Alex when he returns to the main living area of the loft, but before they have a chance to get into it, there is a knock on the door and the sound of shuffling behind it.
Nearest to the entrance, Pierre makes his way, but not before ducking his head down quickly to peer at his reflection in the mirror by the door to check on his hair. It is a habit he has, either when walking out of the door or going to answer it, to glance at the mirror that is pretty much ideal for only Yuki’s height, and check on his reflection.
Grabbing onto the handle, Pierre swings the door open gently, smiling wide to welcome their new friends into their new home.
The corridor outside their loft is small but brightly lit, which is why Pierre’s smile falters immediately when he is able to see - as clear as day - George and his good friend, Charles. His good friend from London, Charles. The good friend he had followed to Paris, Charles.
Pierre’s childhood best friend and ex-boyfriend, Charles.
The name reiterates and vibrates around Pierre’s brain so many times that he is unsure when he actually manages to utter out a disbelieved, “Charles?”
“Pierre…” Charles breathes, eyes wide, mouth open, looking the exact amount of surprise Pierre expects to be written over his face at that moment. “How-?”
“George?!” Alex suddenly exclaims in shock from behind him, and it’s only then that Pierre spots the person he had shown around the apartment standing a step behind Charles.
“Alex- what?” George begins, eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline. “What is going on here?”
“That is a very good question,” Alex replies, coming to stand next to Pierre and turning to him. “Pierre?”
Shrugging, Pierre can only shake his head, still unable to digest the fact that Charles Leclerc is standing right in front of him again after seven long years - and looking ridiculously handsome as he does so too in his classic hoodie and jeans combo, now paired with a very adorable pair of glasses and a particularly stylish bandana.
“I- I don’t know. We met both of you,” is all that he can muster up to supply in lieu of a reasonable explanation.
“And we met both of you,” Charles adds, words still quiet, as if he also cannot get his head around the situation they have all found themselves in.
“Technically, I only met Pierre and Yuki,” George counters, which seems to snap Charles out of his seemingly confused state, jerking a bit and standing straighter.
“Yes, that is true. I only met Alex and Yuki,” Charles corrects himself, shifting on his feet and jiggling the box that he holds in his arms as he does.
“Of course,” Pierre sighs, realising the common denominator in this entire situation: Yuki. Making a mental note to speak to him later, he steps back and sweeps an arm towards the interior of the loft. “Okay, well, please. Come on in. Do you have more stuff to bring up?”
“Yeah, there are a couple more bags and boxes downstairs in the taxi. Yuki said he’d make sure the driver didn’t run away with it,” George says as he follows Charles inside. Which, Pierre realises suddenly, now explains Yuki’s reaction in racing downstairs to let Charles and George in. He wasn’t keen on greeting their new roommates. No, he just wanted to get out of carrying and moving their stuff.
“Not that they would get anything more than some old clothes and sentimental items,” Charles laughs, and the rest of them all follow suit, even if it is slightly forced and jilted.
Pierre can only watch as they place their stuff on the floor by the invisible threshold that takes them into the rest of the living area, one hand still on the door for no reason other than he simply cannot make himself think about anything other than Charles, Charles, Charles.
A silence falls over the four of them, Charles and George shuffling awkwardly and sharing unreadable looks, whilst Pierre does his best to tear his eyes away. Unfortunately, he is unable to and ends up standing there staring at the pair, all because he cannot get his mind away from Charles, Charles, Charles.
Eventually, Alex clears his throat to speak. “Why don’t you two go grab the last of your things, and Pierre, can I talk to you in my room real quick please?”
There is a hand reaching towards him, brushing his bicep. His elbow, his arm, his wrist, before it finally gets to his palm. The fingers tickle Pierre unintentionally, and in a bid to make it stop, he takes Alex’s hand into his own. If he grasps it a little tightly for something to ground him other than the door, well, Alex merely squeezes back and leaves his hand in place.
George nods and points towards the door. “Okay, we’ll be right back,” he tells them, grabbing Charles by the sleeve of his hoodie and guiding them both out of the door.
“See you in a few minutes,” Pierre calls after them and closes the door quietly before turning back to Alex, stunned silent at what has just transpired.
It seems like Alex is in the same boat as him, because despite his request only a moment ago, and despite their clasped hands, it still takes a good few minutes before Pierre feels a tug and finds himself being led wordlessly to Alex’s room as promised like a child in trouble.
---
ALEX
Alex only lets go of Pierre’s hand when he’s certain they are safe in his room. There’s no-one else in the loft for the time being but he knows that will soon change, and he has a feeling this is not a conversation to be had in front of others.
Before he can even figure out how to word what he wants to say - or where he even wants to start - Pierre begins with a hushed exclamation of, “That’s your George?!”
“That’s your Charles?!” Alex rebukes in the exact same tone.
Neither confirm nor deny the others’ question but it’s not required. The initial reaction is enough for Alex to figure out that the Charles about to move in with them is the same Charles Pierre had met at 7 years old, fell in love with at 15 and dated at 16, only for them to go their separate ways at 18 when their respective dreams pulled them apart.
The story is eerily similar to his and George’s in almost every aspect.
“How-? But, why-? How??” Pierre repeats, having started pacing the room until he stops on the other side of the bed so it is between them when there is a knock on the door.
Without waiting for a reply, Yuki slips in and shoots them both unimpressed glares.
“Are you two okay? You’re freaking out the newbies. And the vampire now looks like Bambi, and I don’t know what to do with him,” Yuki grumbles, crossing his arms and staring the two of them down.
“This is all your fault!” Pierre quickly accuses, finger pointed directly at him. Yuki’s brows furrow, unbothered by the annoyance painted on their friend’s face.
“What? What’s my fault?” he asks, eyes bouncing between Alex and Pierre. If he had had the chance, he might have told the story with a bit more calmness. Instead, Pierre’s vibrating anxiousness is palpable and contagious, sucking Alex right in.
“George and Charles?!” Pierre exclaims, with no other context or explanation.
“What about them?” Yuki asks rather calmly, given the situation. But then again, Alex reasons, it’s not like he’s affected by it in any way or form. That’s been reserved for just Alex and Pierre.
“They’re our George and Charles!” Alex adds to the conversation, and he can see the exact moment it all clicks in Yuki’s brain as his pinched features open right up into pure surprise.
“Nooo!” Yuki draws out, arms dropping in shock. “Really?”
“Yes, really! How could you not tell us?” Pierre asks, a hint of anger tinting his words that Yuki ignores as he normally does.
“How would I know? You’ve never shown me a picture or anything. I gave you descriptions when you asked,” Yuki says in his defence, which is true. Neither Alex nor Pierre had shown anyone a photo of their exes. If they had, they wouldn’t have been in this predicament to begin with, with or without Yuki.
But that doesn’t change the fact that they’re both currently, most likely, standing on the other side of his bedroom door, in their loft, here in Paris. With no warning whatsoever.
If Alex and Pierre are freaking out, there is no doubt George and Charles are too. Especially if Yuki’s initial words are anything to go with.
“You said he was really tall!” Alex reminds him, throwing his hands up.
“Everyone is really tall to me!” Yuki states, shrugging his shoulders.
“And you said Charles was a very pale artist,” Pierre adds, saying each word very carefully and pointedly.
“He’s pale compared to the three of us,” Yuki reasons with a roll of the eyes.
“He’s not an artist though!”
“Music is art.”
“Yuki,” Pierre all but growls, and if there wasn’t a bed between them, Alex is certain that the Frenchman would have attempted to grab at Yuki out of pure frustration.
“This is more of a you problem than a me problem, so I’m going to remove myself from the situation and get ready for work,” Yuki quickly excused himself, clearly having observed what Alex had and having come to the same conclusion. “Bye.”
Yuki leaves as swiftly as he had arrived, and Alex can’t say either of them miss his presence at that particular moment.
Running his hands over his face and through his hair, he turns to face Pierre to see him with fists curled at his hips and similarly dishevelled hair.
“How has this happened? Who did we piss off to end up in such a mess?” Alex asks rhetorically, chuckling wryly at the end before he loses himself in the drowning whys.
Pierre sighs deeply and shakes his head. “I have no clue but I am happy to keep blaming Max and Daniel,” he huffs and Alex finds himself readily agreeing.
“They’re buying all the rounds next week,” Alex declares, getting an enthusiastic nod in return. “Are we really living with our exes now?”
“Our exes who are also best friends, by the looks of it,” Pierre adds, sounding somewhat despondent, as if the idea of Charles having a new best friend after seven years apart and virtually no contact should have been impossible.
Alex gets it. He feels the same, as well as the small crack of heartbreak that he had thought he had left buried behind in England seven years ago too when he and George had been forced to go their separate ways for the benefit of their dream careers.
High school romances didn’t last anyway. Especially not long-distance ones.
Right?
“Or more,” Alex mutters, a hint of unintentional spite colouring his words. He didn’t know he had it in him until that moment. Apparently, this is what seeing George again did to him.
“What?” Pierre asks in confusion.
“I mean, let's be logical here for a moment. Who moves from London to Paris for a banking job? One which he was doing perfectly well in, and let’s not forget we broke up because the idea of a long-distance relationship was too much for him when we left college,” Alex rants, getting more and more carried away, and further and further convinced of his own theory as he spoke. He can see the words settling into Pierre too, watching as his features contort from confusion to contemplation to horror to understanding.
“Charles did the same. We broke up because we were going to two very different cities, even though they were connected by a train,” Pierre immediately adds. “You think they’re together?
Mulling the question over, Alex nods singularly. “I think we should find out more, though.”
“Why not just share a room then?” Pierre asks, inserting some logic into their previous emotion-led theorising.
“Maybe they were worried about what people would think?” Alex tries to reason, only to earn himself a loud scoff before he can even finish his sentence.
“In France? Please.”
“Oh yeah, because the French aren’t judgemental at all,” Alex says with all the sarcasm he can muster, earning himself a well-earned withering look that he can’t help but grin broadly at.
“Shut up,” Pierre growls even as Alex spots the smile trying to break through, purposely but gently bumping into his shoulder with his own as he finally comes out from around the bed.
At least some of the tension has eased, Alex realises. Now it’s actually confronting Charles and George again, helping them move in, and getting used to living with them.
Easy.
---
CHARLES
Their stuff sits in five small piles of boxes and bags in the entranceway of the loft, and they linger uneasily nearby. Charles really has no idea what is going on anymore. This morning, he and George were packing up the last of their stuff from the Airbnb they had rented in the interim whilst searching for a place to live. They were happy and excited. Now, there was an unwelcoming sense of dread sitting in his stomach, churning with the rather large stack of pancakes he had had for breakfast. He still couldn’t get his head around seeing Pierre again after so long, especially as his new roommate.
Or, well, his potentially new roommate. Who even knows what he and Alex were currently discussing in the room that Yuki had disappeared into when they had all returned with the rest of their stuff. They can hear the muffled voices, rising and lowering in volume, but the words are inaudible. Especially with the sound of his own heart beating in his ears, a result of adrenaline from the moving and the situation, drowning them out further.
George has his hands tucked into his jeans’ pockets, lips pursed, with a slight downturn at the corners. Charles is certain he is as lost in his own thoughts as he is about the same predicament they now find themselves in.
Living with their exes. In Paris. What are the chances?
Charles is about to say the same thing out loud to his friend when the bedroom door opens, stealing both their attention as they swivel around to see Yuki enter from the corridor and into the open living area of the loft.
“Alex and Pierre will be right out. I’m going to get ready for work,” Yuki tells them, not even missing a step as he walks straight past the two of them towards the other side of the loft towards where his bedroom is. It is also where one of theirs will be too.
“Is everything okay?” Charles quickly asks before Yuki can disappear. He likes the other man, mostly because of his general air of being nonchalant about everything and handling it as such.
If Charles could not overthink or over-worry about every little thing in the same way, he would have a much less stressful life.
He probably also wouldn’t be playing in the Philharmonie, however. It’s that over-analytical mind of his that makes him so good at the musical arts.
“Yeah, fine. You know those two - pretty well, apparently. They like the dramatics. I don’t see the issue but…” Yuki trails off with a shrug.
“I guess moving in day turning into an impromptu reunion with your ex wasn’t on anyone’s card today,” George comments, sighing. There is a lost and tired look on his face when he runs a hand over it, and Charles reaches out to pat him on the shoulder comfortingly.
At least they’re in this together.
“Nope. But I now live with two Brits and two Frenchies so it’s whatever. We all have to adjust,” Yuki states casually, but Charles immediately drops his arm and narrows his eyes at his new roommate.
“I am not French! I am Monégasque, thank you very much!” Charles lets him know, because he is fairly certain he had mentioned that when he had initially come around to see the place. Or, at the very least, when they had been communicating.
Either way, even if he hadn’t - and he doubts he hadn’t seeing as it is a subject that comes up often around him - and even if they are in France, simply assuming his nationality is plain rude.
“Okay…” Yuki murmurs, looking slightly taken aback by the sudden exclamation.
“Yeah, get used to that. You’ll be hearing it a lot,” George adds from his side with a small chuckle, and Charles can only huff at his friend’s statement.
“Great,” Yuki replies before throwing them both a twitch of a smile and carrying on on his way to his room and leaving the two of them alone again.
“Do you think they’ll throw us out?” Charles asks worriedly, turning to George, and not only because he had just snapped at Yuki.
George shakes his head and tells him definitively, “No, they can’t. We’ve signed a contract. It’s legally binding and everything.”
“But what if they want us to leave? I don’t want to stay if they want us out. It’s going to be so awkward, George,” Charles counters. Because as much as he loves the place and the opportunity to keep on living with George, he isn’t sure he could do it if he had to see Pierre everyday and knowing he simply didn’t want him there.
It would be more heartbreaking than leaving him the first time had been.
“Maybe, or maybe it’ll be completely fine. We’re all adults now, right?” George argues, offering Charles a smile that almost looks convincing.
“Debatable,” Charles mutters, taking a few steps away to pace around the little area that is practically no-man’s-land given that it isn’t a clear part of any of the loft’s clear rooms. “Mon dieu, I haven’t seen Pierre in so long. I thought we were coming to Paris to live our dreams and find our forever men, George?”
“We are! This is just a… minor setback, that’s all,” George says, before adding with some faux-confidence that Charles can see right through. “We’ll talk to them and clear the air. Maybe we’ll be laughing about this in a few days’ time.”
“Maybe,” Charles repeats, though he knows it’s a lost, false hope. There is no way this is going to blow over in a few days’ time. A few months, maybe. A few years, definitely. But not a few days. It's going to take Charles a few days to even reconcile with the fact that he is living with and seeing Pierre on the daily again. “They’re taking their time. Did you find it odd how they just shut themselves up in Alex’s room?”
“No, not really,” George brushes off, but Charles isn’t as keen to let it go.
“No? His grip on Pierre’s arm was really tight, and I saw Pierre reach for Alex’s hand when we were leaving,” Charles points out. He hadn’t meant to see it, but it had occurred right in front of him, and he now cannot get it out of his head seeing as it had started the unsettledness in his stomach.
“Wait, you don’t think - Alex and Pierre?” George questions in a harsh whisper, pointing towards the corridor where the bedroom is.
Which, Charles has to admit, wasn’t a thought that had passed through his mind in the mess of thoughts that currently revolved around moving, Pierre, and potential homelessness. “Oh. Maybe, now that you mention it. It was very casually affectionate. Pierre likes his affectionate touches. Physical contact is his love language,” he says, recalling the warmth and comfort Pierre’s simple touch could bring him back in their teens. “Or, it was. Might have changed, I suppose.”
“Charles-” George begins, the sound of his voice lined with softness and borderline pity, when the sound of a door opens and two pairs of footsteps make their way towards them.
Pierre is the first to arrive, stopping on the threshold between the corridor and the rest of the loft, and plastering on a smile when he sees them.
“Hey, got all your stuff?” he asks casually, as if nothing has happened in the last ten minutes or so.
“Yup!” Charles replies, hoping to sound equally as calm and collected.
“Great!” Pierre replies before they all fall into an awkward silence, Alex having stepped around Pierre and now completes the oddly shaped diamond they find themselves in.
“This is so weird,” Alex eventually laughs, slightly dry, which actually does a wonderful job in cutting the tension. “I’m sorry, we didn’t know you two were you two, and obviously you two didn’t know about us either. But we’re all here now so let’s agree to keep things civil and friendly.”
“We can stay?” Charles asks in relief, brightening at the prospect of having one less thing to worry about, and that they actually want them there.
“Yes, of course, Charli- Charles,” Pierre assures, correcting himself on Charles’ name. He isn’t sure if it was a slip of the tongue or a long forgotten habit rearing its head again, but it warms Charles’ heart to hear that maybe Pierre hasn’t completely forgotten about him throughout the years apart. “You were both our favourite people who came to view the place, and like Alex said, we can keep things civil. What happened in the past is in the past, and we are happy to have you here now,”
“Right, let us show you to your rooms. George, you’ll be down here,” Alex says after they all wordlessly agree to move forward as civilly as they can. He gestures towards where Yuki had previously vanished before moving over to where their things lie to help George collect his stuff.
“I’ll take you to yours, Charles,” Pierre says once Alex and George are on their way.
“Thank you, Pierre,” Charles replies, grabbing his suitcase and duffle bag as well as a box, whilst Pierre picks up the other two easily.
With the tight sleeved top he has on, it’s not hard to see the strength that Pierre has in his arms that allows him to do so.
Not that Charles is staring or anything.
---
PIERRE
“So,” Pierre starts to break the silence that’s fallen upon them as he leads Charles to his room. He can feel his eyes burning into his back, and he knows other than to turn around and peer straight into his piercing green and gold specked brown eyes, the only other thing he can do is to strike up a conversation that will stop him from getting lost in Charles. Again. “How have you been?”
“Good, thank you,” Charles replies, a happy and light lilt to his words. “And yourself?”
“Also good,” Pierre replies, cringing when he hears how lame it sounds to copy exactly what Charles had said. “Congratulations on getting the job at the Philharmonie. That is very prestigious.”
“Thank you, but I am only starting out. It will be a while before my name even appears anywhere,” Charles says, playing down his amazing success based on what Pierre knows is pure talent and hard work. When they enter the room and drop everything onto the floor, Pierre catches the faint red blush colouring his cheeks and the tips of this ears, making him smile in how little Charles has changed over the years. “How about you? Did you open up a café like you always wanted to?”
“I did, actually,” Pierre tells him, feeling himself start to blush now when Charles’ eyes light up and his dimples press into his very handsome face in reaction.
“Really?! That’s amazing, Pierre! Well done,” Charles says earnestly, grinning broadly and contagiously. Pierre can’t help but smile back.
“Thank you. It is actually close by, you will have to visit now that you are living here,” Pierre informs him.
“I definitely will do, do not worry about that,” Charles promises. They’re standing with boxes and bags between them, but it doesn’t stop Charles from reaching out and squeezing Pierre’s arm, even if he drops it a second too early. The feel of it lingers on Pierre’s skin, even though the material of his sleeve. “I’m so proud of you, Pierre. I knew you would be able to follow your dreams here in Paris.”
“You did the same in London,” Pierre points out, and Charles reluctantly nods, blushing once again at the reminder of his success and turning his attention to his stuff instead. Pierre watches for a minute as he places his duffel bag onto his bed and then unzips to look inside, before grabbing his suitcase and repeating the action.
Feeling like an intruder in the midst of Charles’ unpacking, with nothing to do to help him out without seeming like a weirdo, Pierre knows he should leave him to it. But there is something keeping him rooted, and despite himself, he asks more questions to keep their conversation flowing.
“How are your brothers? Your mother?” he asks, genuinely interested. Although his own parents - especially his mother who still keeps in touch with Charles’ - have filled him in here and there over the years, the news has thinned out in the recent years.
“They are well, all back in Monaco again now Arthur is at university,” Charles informs him, turning to face him with a kind smile. “I know I should have called after, but thank you for your flowers after Papa passed.”
Taken aback, Pierre merely nods. It’s been almost six years since Charles’ father had died after a long illness, and though he would have loved nothing more than to travel down to Monaco for the funeral, he knew his presence would not have been beneficial for Charles’ grief. So he had kept away but sent the family flowers so they knew he was thinking of them.
That he was always thinking of them, no matter how many years pass or where either of them ends up.
“It’s okay. You were going through a lot. My maman had mentioned and your father was a great man, so I wanted to pay my respects.”
“Thank you. It meant a lot,” Charles says sincerely before changing the subject. “How about your parents and your brothers? You must have so many nieces and nephews by now!”
Pierre perks up immediately. “Oh, Charles, you have no idea! There are seven of them now, and they are all so adorable,” he gushes, wishing his phone wasn’t currently charging in his room so he could show Charles the most recently photo he has of all the kids with their favourite Uncle Pierre. “They are all well, and all over France. Maman and Papa are still in Rouen,”
“I haven’t been back in years. Is it still how it was when we were kids?” Charles questions in genuine curiosity that makes Pierre chuckle loudly.
“Of course! It’s Rouen. Does it ever change?” he asks rhetorically, earning himself a giggle from Charles. “You know, Este and I opened up the Alpine Café together.”
Charles audibly gasps, eyes widening at the news. “No! I know you both were planning on going to the same pastry school, but I didn’t think you two would make it out alive, let alone still friends,” he confesses.
“I mean, I wouldn’t call us friends. But when it comes to the café, it is something we always agree on,” Pierre says. He doesn’t add how Charles was something he and Esteban both also agreed on back in their school days as the elder two of their friendship group, how important he had been to them, albeit in different ways.
They slip into silence once again, but it’s not as awkward or tense as it has been so far that morning. Pierre’s not sure whether to offer to help Charles unpack so they can keep on talking or to give him some space to settle in when the decision is made for him in the form of a knock on the door.
“Sorry to interrupt, but are you ready to go?” Yuki asks after popping his head in, looking directly at Pierre and pretty much ignoring Charles’ presence.
“Merde, yes, I am just about to change. Give me two minutes,” Pierre assured him border turning back to Charles. “I am sorry, Charles. I have to get to work. Settle in and we can all catch up again this evening after closing.”
“Sounds great. Have a nice afternoon,” Charles says, bidding him goodbye as he leaves. Pierre hopes it is nice afternoon, because he knows it is definitely going to be a long one.
---
YUKI
Yuki likes to think that they have all settled in well. It’s been a couple of weeks but he’s not noticed anything weird, and they’ve all had their fair share of joint meals and merely hanging out on the couch. If there was anything to see, he would have noticed.
If he really thought about it, perhaps he could say that Alex and Pierre have been acting slightly differently since Charles and George had moved in.
Well, differently than normal. They have always been interesting to observe to Yuki.
And perhaps there have been a couple of slightly awkward moments involving Charles and George, but nothing he would question.
Such as that evening, when he returns home with Pierre after closing he café to see the two new roommates on the sofa, Charles with a red throw over his lap and his head cushioned on George’s shoulder, who merely keeps eating out of the massive bowl of popcorn placed between him and Alex.
Alex, who keeps looking between the movie playing on the screen and a sniffling Charles.
“What’s going on?” Yuki questions, throwing himself onto the empty side of the couch. From his position, he can see the glassy look to Charles’s eyes and the soft flush tinting his face.
“Charles decided to watch ‘13 Going On 30’. Again,” George informs him in exasperation.
Hearing Charles whine indignantly at the comment, Yuki can understand the exasperation.
“You still watch that?” Pierre asks in surprise, coming to perch on the edge of the sofa next to Yuki and getting in his way. Unfortunately, with his eyes only for Charles, he doesn’t move out of his way when he shoots him a dirty glare.
“It’s so beautiful. He loves her so much. After all that time...” Charles sighs, and Yuki wants to throw up at the look of pure adoration that comes over Pierre at his words.
“Isn’t this meant to be a romcom?” Yuki asks, because he fails to see how any American romcom movies can make anyone cry. Cringe, sure. But cry? Only out of boredom, perhaps.
“Yes, Yuki. Yes, it is. And yet…” George trails off, gently patting Charles on the knee as he sniffles once again.
There’s a reason why Yuki might like George the best of them all. This might be it.
“Shut up. I am a romantic, okay?” Charles huffs, wiping at his eyes with the edge of what Yuki can now see is his Ferrari throw.
It clashes horribly with their Red Bull decor but Yuki isn’t going to be the one to tell anyone that lest they decide to redecorate and rope him into it too.
“Some things never change,” Pierre murmurs with an affectionate shake of the head and sharing a smile with Charles. Yuki gives up on trying to get him to sit back and out of his way.
---
GEORGE
By the time George arrives home with Charles in tow, he’s ready for a stiff drink and some good food after a trying day at work. What he didn’t expect to walk into is the sight of Alex and Pierre in the kitchen, squabbling and giggling like children as they attempt to make dinner together.
It all looks rather domestic, and when he turns to Charles, he can see confusion with a hint of hurt playing across his features, similar to how he feels himself.
Before Alex or Pierre can say more than ‘hello’, and ask how their days have been, George excuses the two of them with a line about needing to freshen up. If they want to question why he grabs a bottle of red wine from the rack, he doesn’t allow them the chance as he gently ushers Charles towards his bedroom.
Which is how they find themselves lounging on George’s bed, the bluetooth loudspeaker sitting by the door and playing a playlist from Charles’ phone filled with beautiful classical music to drown out their words from the outside. They’re both dressed in his sweats - far too large on Charles and make him look smaller than he is - and sharing a bottle of wine without glasses, along with some British snacks George had brought with him for when they needed their small comforts.
Coming home to see their exes playfully messing around in the kitchen whilst making dinner is reason enough to break them out.
“You know,” Charles starts after passing him the wine bottle. They’re pressed shoulder-to-shoulder even though the bed is big enough for them to have a side each. It’s more comforting this way, being each other’s support, physically and emotionally. ”I asked why they had two rooms available when it was a couple that moved out. Apparently, they were all just friends when they moved in here and once Mac and Don-“
“Max and Dan,” George automatically corrects. Charles has always had a hard time remembering names, even after he has met them and put faces to them.
“Yes, them,” Charles says with a single nod. “Where was I? Oh right, they were only friends but coupled up after they moved in. So they kept the two rooms, one each, even though they used one most of the time. Apparently.”
“Who told you this?” George questions, taking a swig of the wine after.
“Pierre. I asked him,” Charles tells him casually, adding a shrug that he can feel rather than see.
Coughing as the wine goes down the wrong way, George takes a couple of test breaths as Charles watches on worryingly. He shakes his head when he reaches out to pat him on the back but hands over the bottle instead.
“You asked?” George is finally able to get out, incredulous at Charles’ blasé actions.
“I wanted to know. It makes sense,” Charles defends himself. “Plus, Pierre said ‘we were all just friends’ specifically. Not that ‘they were just friends’.”
Mulling over the words as he chews on a Percy Pig, George has to admit that Charles has a point. “I guess it makes sense.”
“Do you think they haven’t said anything so as not to make things awkward?” Charles asks quietly, peering over at him from under his lashes as he clutches the wine close to his chest. George sighs and pries the bottle out of his hands before he breaks it, ruining his new sheets and mostly likely injuring himself.
Charles is accident-prone like that, unfortunately.
“Maybe. We have just moved in and they did say they had a hard time finding new roommates. Nobody wants to rock the boat,” George tries to rationalise.
Given the situation they have found themselves in, it would make sense if Alex and Pierre were testing the waters before they decided to announce their relationship to them. As much as they all try to pretend to be normal roommates, the truth of their past lingers in every conversation they have, every TV show or movie they watch, every minute they spend together.
“What does that mean?” Charles questions with a frown, interrupting his runaway thoughts.
“What, ‘rock the boat’? Charles, how did you spend seven years in London and not pick up on basic sayings?” George asks in disbelief, rolling his eyes when Charles pouts at him and snatches back the wine along with a handful of Hula Hoops.
“I spent most of my time with other musicians,” Charles huffs, munching on two of the crisps on his fingers and taking a sip of the wine. “And this one banker who helped me once when I dropped my phone all the way down the escalators at Tottenham Court Road station.”
“I still don’t know how that phone survived,” George laughs, still remembering the day an iPhone had landed squarely at his feet, followed by a very frantic and apologetic looking Monégasque who had rushed down the escalators - and almost tripped twice - in hopes of still being able to retrieve his phone.
London is filled with pickpockets, afterall. A fallen phone is prime for stealing.
George had brought Charles aside and handed him the phone. Ever thankful, Charles had insisted on buying him a tea, coffee, or a drink, and given that it was 6pm on a Thursday evening, they had headed to the closest pub that had space for them.
And the rest, as they say, was history.
“Fate. We were meant to meet, to end up in Paris, to see Alex and Pierre again,” Charles says wistfully, shuffling down on the bed until he could rest his temple on George’s shoulder. “Perhaps not like we expected though.”
“No. Not exactly how I thought I’d ever meet Alex again,” George agrees. Grabbing Charles’ wrist of the hand that still holds the wine bottle, he lifts it in salute before bringing it towards him. “To fate.”
“To fate, and having no idea why,” Charles adds, taking the final sip once George is done with it.
“Amen to that,” George chuckles wryly and rests his cheek on top of Charles’ soft hair.
---
PIERRE
“What’s that about?” Pierre asks as soon as the music starts strumming through George’s door. Their rapid entrance and exit had him and Alex throwing each other questioning looks from either end of the kitchen, but they had shrugged it off until the sounds of piano and violin vibrated gently through the loft.
“No clue,” Alex replies as he turns off the stove where he was simply watching a pot of pasta to keep it from boiling over. Pierre had made sure that the sauce was all of his hard work, and therefore delicious. Even if Alex had jokingly tried to ruin it by pretending to salt the sauce instead of the water.
“Maybe they’re having sex and don’t want us to hear,” Yuki comments out of nowhere. Pierre and Alex whip around at his voice in surprise. There is no way Yuki has been home all this time, and yet, here he is, right in front of them.
Not even bothering to offer to help with dinner. Just spouting nonsense.
Or what Pierre hopes is nonsense.
“Yuki, that’s not- You can’t just-” Pierre stutters, stopping to take a breath and cross his arms. “Even if it’s true, you can’t say that!”
“Why not?” Yuki counters.
“Because!” Pierre replies, but when Yuki continues to just stare him down questioningly, he turns to his other roommate in hope for some backup. “Alex?”
“Because it’s rude,” Alex adds, and Pierre nods along as if that is definitely what he was trying to say and not that it's a thought he never wants to pass through his head, let alone have it said out loud.
“Yes, it’s rude. And we don’t want to be rude to our new friends,” Pierre repeats pointedly, but Yuki merely rolls his eyes and heads to the fridge to retrieve a Red Bull.
“Fine, whatever. We had to listen to Max and Daniel have sex all the time. At least this is considerate to us,” Yuki reminds them. Pierre cringes at the memory - or memories rather - and wishes that was another thing that no-one said out loud.
“He has a point,” Alex sighs as Yuki grins widely at them, in that manic way of his that tells them he has done what he had come to do, and is leaving them to deal with the fallout.
Pierre is sure he’ll be thinking about this for days to come now.
---
ALEX
Alex pretty much pounces on Pierre when he returns home from his opening shift at the café, having been home to finish up his dissertation that day. He had gotten up soon after Pierre had been done in the bathroom, determined to make the most of the day ahead. It also meant he had ended up making an unfortunate discovery.
“I saw Charles leaving George’s room this morning,” Alex quickly gets out before Pierre has even shut the door behind him. Or Yuki, rather, who follows him inside with a glare aimed at Alex for having blocked his entrance.
Pierre’s eyes widen at Alex’s announcement though - making Alex relax because he can’t be overthinking it if this is the reaction Pierre has - and huddles closer to him to conspire. “They still haven’t said anything, though. I don’t get why they’re trying to hide it.”
“Poorly too,” Alex retorts as Pierre frowns but nods. “We’d be chill about it. We’re all friends now, it’s been years, it’s all cool.”
“Totally chill,” Pierre agrees readily.
“Should we tell them we’d be super chill about it?” Alex asks, and Pierre raises his brows as he seems to contemplate the option.
“Nothing says you’re chill about something like telling them you’re chill about it,” Yuki interjects sarcastically, pushing past them to get to the corridor towards his own bedroom. “And neither of you are chill about it, you weirdos. You’re keeping track of their movements out of each others’ rooms!”
In an unprecedented turn of events, Yuki actually has a point, and Alex feels himself back down from the building adrenaline that was about to surge and convince him into confronting George and Charles when they arrived home that evening. Together, like always.
It’s be sweet if it wasn’t so annoyingly heartbreaking.
“Maybe we ask them separately?” Pierre suggests instead.
“Subtly,” Alex adds. They bump fists to seal the deal.
---
CHARLES
Charles is going about his pre-work routine when he is suddenly stopped by Alex on his way to the kitchen to fill up his water bottle.
“Hey Charles, can I ask you a question?” Alex calls out from his place at the table. There are textbooks and notes surrounding his laptop, all with various images of animals, bullet-pointed tables, and highlighted lines.
It’s far too much science for Charles’ artistic mind to wrap around. Thankfully, he will never have to.
“Of course!” he replies with a wide grin as he continues towards the kitchen. He likes Alex. He’s a fun, bubbly guy with a sweet nature and a good - albeit sometimes very silly - sense of humour.
Unfortunately, that is also Pierre’s type.
“You liked being in England, right?” Alex asks him.
“Sure, it was okay. I was there for school and then I was lucky to train further with the Royal Academy,” Charles replies, because that is what England was to him. He hadn’t gone because he had been in love with the country. In fact, he would have loved to return to Monaco or to stay in France, perhaps even in Paris. But he put his education first and he knew the best he could get was in London.
So to London he went, leaving his parents, his brothers, his friends, and his Pierre behind.
Though, not so much his Pierre anymore.
“What about personally?” Alex prompts, snapping Charles out of his thoughts.
“Personally?” Charles echoes, frowning at his flask as he tightens the lid onto it once again. Returning back to where Alex sat, he can’t keep the downturn off his lips as he continues, “Did George say something?”
“No, no! Not at all, I promise. We’ve noticed how close you two are, and we didn’t want to say anything, but if you want to talk about it…” Alex says, trailing off, looking imploringly at him.
Charles is almost at a loss at what Alex is trying to get to. There is clearly something he wants to know, but like his relationship with Pierre, he is being subtle about it. And if there is one thing that Charles fails at, it is understanding subtlety.
Deciding to take it literally, Charles focuses on his relationship with George instead. “Oh. I mean, George was my first proper English friend, after- you know, Adam.”
“Who’s Adam?” Alex questions, and Charles realises that maybe he didn’t know about Adam.
Then again, how would he when he hadn’t been there when it had all happened?
Taking in a deep breath, Charles purses his lips as he tries to think of the right words to explain it all without going into too much detail.
“Adam was my boyfriend and I thought I loved him very much, but he wasn’t right for me, and that was so, so hard to realise,” he says, unable to keep some of the emotions at bay as he recalls the difficult weeks of trying to reconcile the idea of loving Adam whilst not liking him. Fortunately for him, he had one very new and very amazing friend who put it to him bluntly enough to accept it. “But luckily I had George!”
“You did?” Alex asks, looking confused and slightly taken aback, so Charles puts on a smile and tries to explain.
“Yes! He showed me how Adam was treating me and our relationship was wrong, and what love is meant to feel like. So I’m all okay now, thanks to George,” Charles informs him, recalling once again how much he owes to George, and not just for moving to Paris with him. Smiling broadly, he softens and adds, “He really is great, you know, Alex.”
“I know,” Alex replies with a smile of his own that Charles can only class as nostalgic. “He’s one of the good ones.”
Which is definitely not a lie. No matter what their relationship is, Charles knows that Alex still remembers the George from their teenage years as highschool sweethearts. As much as they have all grown and changed over the last seven years, George has kept that sweet, loving side of him, the one that looks out for strangers he meets in tube stations and gives honest, sage advice on relationships he has no vested interest in whatsoever.
Charles is lucky to have George, that is for sure.
“Okay, I have to go to work now. I’m glad we talked. I hadn’t thought about Adam in a while but being away from England makes it feel like…” Charles sighs, this time with content. “Like it's far behind me now.”
“I’m glad I could help,” Alex tells him, words laced with confusion that Charles can’t quite place. But there’s a smile on his face so he lets it go and heads off for his day.
---
PIERRE
The late morning crowd is thinning out at the Alpine Café just as the early lunchers start to pop in when Pierre spots a familiar face among the few newcomers. The café is frequented by everyone who lives at the loft, but considering most of them have a full-time job, and one is at the end of a very stressful degree, he doesn’t tend to see them during the normal working hours.
“Hey, George! Your usual?” Esteban greets him at the counter, despite the single wait staff they hire and pay being right there to take their customer’s orders.
Pierre hides his roll of the eyes as he continues to stock the display cabinets with the freshly baked breads and artisan sandwiches, created by his own hand.
“Yes, please,” George replies, polite as ever. Pierre puts aside a ham and cheese sandwich for him that will be perfectly grilled with lashings of butter to make the best croque monsieur this side of the Seine.
Not that he’s biassed or anything.
“George, what are you doing here?” Pierre finally asks with a smile as he finishes with his task, leaning against the glass cabinet to talk to his roommate.
“Do you greet all your customers like that? You might lose a few with your brashness,” George teases in that classically British way of his; sarcasm worked around eloquently pronounced words that no-one really uses outside of England.
“Tell me about it,” Esteban mutters under his breath, though it’s loud enough for George to hear and smile, and for Pierre to hear and scowl deeply.
“I meant,” Pierre starts, emphasising the second word to show his displeasure at Esteban’s comment and the fact that he is ignoring him simultaneously. “What are you doing here in the middle of your working day?”
George brightens at the question, piquing Pierre’s curiosity. “I’m meeting Charles here in a bit. I’ve taken the afternoon off and we’re going to go visit the Musée d'Orsay.”
“Your French, man. You need to work on it,” Esteban laughs as he hands him a bottle of water that George had ordered.
“Yes, thank you, Esteban. I realise I’m not quite French yet,” George drawls dryly, and even though Esteban didn’t let it affect him, it still made Pierre smile. “Honestly. You’re both so rude to your paying customers.”
“Customer. Just the one,” Pierre jokes, pointing directly at George.
“Pierre would never be so rude to Charles,” Esteban adds without reason nor prompting. It makes George choke on a sip of water, and Pierre can tell he is starting to burn red with embarrassment at being called out so obviously about Charles in front of George of all people.
George, who is about to take Charles out on a mid-day date, apparently.
“So, d’Orsay?” Pierre pries whilst shoving the sandwich towards Esteban to prepare for George and to get him out of the way. He also moves down toward the service counter to put some distance between them, George following.
“Charles and I used to take random afternoons off to go visit the London sights, especially when we needed some time to just hang out together away from work and other stressors,” George explains, a twinkle in his eye that pushes a surge of jealousy through Pierre.
He knows he has no right to be jealous - that Charles is George’s now and he has no claim over him - but he can’t help it. It might have been seven years but no-one has told his emotions yet.
Clearing his throat, he plasters on a smile and hopes his words don’t come out as bitter as he thinks them. “That’s sweet. You and Charles are very close, huh? You take very good care of him.”
“Yeah, well, of course. I met him when he was going through a rough patch so I’m a tad bit too protective of him but I love him, so I get to be. I wouldn’t have followed just anyone to Paris, but he needed to get away from England and his past, and I was eager to try living in a new country. France was a happy opportunity for us both,” George explains, and there is a small pang of longing in Pierre that wishes he could have been the person who was there for Charles when he needed it. He wants to know more - everything really - about Charles’ rough path but George carries on before Pierre can ask any further, with a soft, “For us all.”
How can Pierre hate someone like George after that? Someone who looks after and loves Charles, who appreciates their friendships, who understands what they’re all going through in one way or another.
“Indeed,” Pierre agrees, just as Esteban returns with George’s lunch and effectively ending their conversation. It’s given Pierre a lot to think over, at least.
---
GEORGE
George has no idea why he keeps walking in after work to people - no, his roommates - flirting and teasing and playing around in the kitchen, but he would like it to stop.
This time, however, he had coincidentally caught the same train as Alex and had walked into the loft to hear Pierre and Charles giggling away in French.
"S'il te plait? Pour moi?" Charles pleads, and though George’s French is still very basic at best, he can understand the context of his friend asking his ex to do something for him.
He also doesn’t need to see him to know that Charles will be pouting or fluttering his eyelashes - or both, if Pierre is truly that unlucky - to get his way. From the sound of Pierre’s sigh, he’s succumbed to Charles’ charm as he tells him gently, "Va le sortir du frigo.”
"Merci, Pierrot," Charles’ light voice practically sings, flowing as beautifully as his piano pieces throughout the loft.
"Hmm,” Pierre hums just as George makes his way past the entrance area of the loft with Alex, having kicked off their shoes, peeled off their jackets, and dumped their bags. He turns the corner in time to see Charles leaning across the breakfast counter where he is perched precariously on a stool, hand outstretched towards the wax-paper wrapped item with a scheming look on his face. The tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth retreats as quickly as his hand does when Pierre slaps at it with a wooden spoon, before pointing it at him menacingly. "Hey! Ne touchez pas! Tu peux attendre que ce soit fait comme le reste d'entre nous.”
"D'accord!" Charles huffs, collapsing back into his seat dramatically and finally catching sight of the two of them. He breaks into a wide grin, all previous annoyance immediately forgotten. "Bonjour, Alex, George. How was your journey home?”
“Busy. Hungry,” Alex grumbles as he makes a beeline for the stove where multiple pots simmer away and then peers into the oven. George can smell the freshly baked bread from where he is.
“Dinner will be done in 30,” Pierre announces to the both of them with a welcoming smile before turning back to where he is cutting into a round block of cheese.
“I’ll go get cleaned up,” Alex says in excitement, passing George by. From the experience of the various meals they have had since moving in, he can understand the sentiment.
“Yeah, me too,” George adds as he locks eyes with Charles and nods towards his room. “Charles, can I talk to you for a moment?”
“Okay,” Charles replies easily, hopping off the stool to follow. George catches him slyly grabbing a runaway piece of the cheese Pierre is working on, popping it into his mouth with a giggle before the chef can hit him again. “Trop lent!”
Charles is still in a giddy mood when George closes the door behind them, and he hates to be the reason to change that but he can’t help but to address the elephant in the room. It’s his duty as his friend, as well as everyone’s roommate.
“What was that?” George asks as softly as he can.
“What was what?” Charles replies, brow furrowing and head tilting slightly as he tries to understand.
Lord, why does it have to be him who had to bring Charles down? For all of his hardships in life, Charles is a bubbly and positive person, and he deserves to remain as such. It’s a cruel twist of fate that they find themselves in the situation they are currently in.
“You and Pierre, in the kitchen,” George tells him, but when Charles only frowns, not understanding, George has to pinch the bridge of his nose to keep himself from yelling. “You were flirting, right in front of Alex too!”
The gasp that leaves Charles’ lips is offended and dramatic, and well, what else did George expect from him given the conversation? “We weren’t flirting, George. It was just about food.”
“You sounded like you were flirting,” George reiterates, crossing his arms.
“We were talking in French, George,” Charles tells him slowly, over-enunciating each word as if he wouldn’t be able to get it otherwise. Perhaps if it had been in French, but he’s great with English. “About adding Camembert to the dish because that’s how one of our favourite places used to do it back in Rouen. You know, where we used to go to school?”
George rolls his eyes at Charles’ exaggerated sarcasm. “I thought you were from Monaco?”
“Mon dieu, George! You know I am but we had to move to France for my papa’s job, remember? That’s how I met Pierre,” Charles begins to rant, and though it is true that George does in fact remember that, he reckons he can be forgiven for forgetting the specifics when he’s trying to stop his best friend from becoming the other man in their exes' relationship. “You know my family are now in Monaco. You have visited them with me!”
“Okay, okay. Sorry for not remembering every little detail of your life before me, Charles,” George says placatingly, albeit dryly, rubbing his arm when he pouts petulantly.
“You should be,” Charles mutters, evidently choosing to ignore the sarcasm for his own benefit. George didn’t expect anything else.
---
PIERRE
Pierre isn’t trying to listen in. The fact that he has gradually gravitated closer towards where George’s room is located is just a coincidence.
The fridge is nearby, afterall. And he was in desperate need of a drink. A nice, cold Red Bull.
Which currently sits unopened on the counter, but that’s besides the point. It’s ready for Alex when he reappears soon after and the two of them stay quiet, communicating only with eyes until silence falls upon the loft.
“What do you think that was about?” Pierre whispers, huddling closer to Alex so his voice doesn’t carry, afraid of breaking the calm as well as being overheard.
The hypocrisy is not lost on him.
“I don’t know but I heard ‘Rouen’ and ‘Monaco’,” Alex answers back, just as quietly. “And I heard ‘visiting’. Maybe they’re planning on visiting somewhere?”
“Could be. Charles did say he hadn’t been back to Rouen since he left. Though his family are all in Monaco again,” Pierre reasons, still frowning.
“Maybe George doesn’t want to go,” Alex shrugs, and Pierre can’t say why but there’s something telling him that this isn’t the case. George would go if Charles asked him, he’s sure of it. That’s just the type of guy George is.
Plus, who would say no to a trip away with Charles to Monaco of all places?
“Or maybe they’re just talking about Charles’ life because George doesn’t remember,” Yuki states, his voice and sudden appearance startling the two of them. Pierre has to grab onto Alex’s elbow as he jumps to stop him from toppling into the stove and ruining their dinner - and hurting himself. Once he’s processed the words, Pierre is still unable to do anything but blink back wordlessly at Yuki. “I could hear them better than you, clearly.”
“Have you been home this whole time?” Pierre finally asks, because he’s been cooking for the past hour and had returned home after the morning shift at the café, believing he had been home alone the entire time.
“Yes,” Yuki merely replies. “Is dinner done?”
---
GEORGE
It is a rare occurrence when all five of them are home and awake to enjoy breakfast together on a weekday. If Alex isn’t pulling an all-nighter or running late for a lecture, then George and Charles are already out the door to catch the train before the rush hour hits, or Pierre and Yuki are opening at the café. They are often like ships in the night most days.
But not this one random Friday morning, where they all have enough time to sit down at the dining table with their respective breakfasts and relax with each other. It’s rather nice, George notes. Almost like home. Like a family.
Unfortunately, that brings back the nostalgia that’s been hitting him hard lately, not having been so far from England in all his life before.
“You know what I could do with?” he announces during a lull in their idle chitchatting, not waiting for a reply to answer his own question. “A good old fish and chips from the local chippy. I miss British food.”
There is a synchronised reaction of furrowed brows among the table, all except for Alex who brightens at the mention of their long-forgotten Friday tradition, and Charles, who also frowns from opposite him.
“Geor-” Charles begins, quietly yet firmly, only to be cut off by Alex’s gleeful voice.
“Oh, my god! Me too! There’s actually a really good fish and chippy nearby that no-one will come with me to,” he says excitedly, and George can tell there is a plan forming already.
“We can go tonight? It is Friday after all,” George points out, ignoring the collective groan that vibrates around the table from the other three.
“Yes, that sounds like a great idea,” Alex agrees. “Would anyone else like to join us?”
“Pass,” Charles is quick to reply around a bite of his toast, causing George to stare at him in surprise, and not just because of his terrible table manners.
“What? You love fish and chips, Charles!” George exclaims, recalling their Friday lunch of choice if they had taken a half-day to spend the afternoon together. Even those times they had journeyed out to the coast, sitting on the beach or the benches along the promenade, a warm bag of donuts between them and fish and chips in their hands.
This is not the reaction he had expected from his good friend.
“No, I tolerated it when I was in England. Now, we are lucky to have the gift of choice,” Charles clarifies, though he does add a smile to soften the blow. “And two very talented chefs.”
“Who still won’t cook for you daily,” Yuki reminds them, even though most dinners did end up being cooked by Pierre or Yuki, with any of the others attempting to help them out.
“Would you rather have Charles in the kitchen? He just burnt the toast. Again,” Alex jokes, pointing towards Charles’ plate piled with three slices of toast, all missing small chunks.
“No, no, I did not, Alex! Do not lie! I burnt the crust. But that’s okay because no-one likes the crust,” Charles defends himself, and although it is almost true - there were some slices that were blackened further in than just around the crusts - the acrid smell of burning still lingers in the kitchen.
“Anyway, back to dinner plans for tonight…” George changes the subject, peering over to Pierre who merely shakes his head.
“No, thank you. I am not a big fan of the dish.”
“Frenchies,” Alex mutters good-naturedly with a smirk and a wink thrown at George. Pierre merely offers him a middle finger in reply. “Yuki?”
“I have other plans,” Yuki tells them, to everyone’s utter shock. It’s no secret that Yuki has a life outside of them and the café, but they are never privy to it. Half the time, George isn’t even sure if the other man is home or not, and they share a bedroom wall. “And I don’t like your bland food.”
“Geez, thanks, Yuki,” George laughs, rolling his eyes. “Looks like it’s just you and I, Alex.”
“Perfect,” Alex replies, matching his smile with one of his own, and if their eyes lock for a moment longer than respectful - well, no-one is paying that much attention.
Or so he thinks, right up until Charles clears his throat and pushes back his chair loudly.
“George, are you leaving soon? I wanted to go with you,” he asks with a raised brow, even though George can tell by the undertone that it is anything but a question.
“Uh, yeah, I guess I can leave. Let me load the dishwasher,” George says, shoving the last triangle of his marmalade-covered toast into his mouth and following through with his share of that morning’s chores.
---
CHARLES
“I cannot believe you just arranged a dinner date with Alex in front of Pierre!” Charles hisses the moment the elevator doors slam close in their apartment building and frowning at George as deeply as possible to show his utmost displeasure about the situation he has created.
“What? No, that’s not what happened! We asked you all, you all said no,” George quickly brushes off, but Charles is not having any of it.
“You also insulted Pierre and Yuki! That’s Alex’s boyfriend and our roommates! They’re going to throw us out, George,” Charles tells him with a huff, brushing past him when they reach the ground floor and exiting the lift with all the speed of a mighty and fearsome tiger - or so he would like to think of himself as such. He still holds the front door open for George when he follows however.
He might be mad but he still has his manners.
“Wait, wait, hold on. Let’s take a few steps back here,” George tries to placate him as they head onto the street, towards the closest subway station. “When did I insult Pierre and Yuki?”
“When you said you missed British food,” Charles says, as calmly as he can, but all he gets in return is a pinched look of confusion.
“There’s nothing wrong with that. I grew up with some good British food, I miss it,” George reasons, which Charles supposes isn’t untrue. And it’s not like British food is Pierre or Yuki’s speciality. They may be pastry chefs, but Yuki excels in Asian cooking, and Pierre is a professional when it comes to European food.
Continental European, that is.
“But they’re chefs, George. Imagine if-” Charles breaks off, trying to think of a similar situation involving his friends’ expertise instead. Being an art professional, finance and business are also not one of his strengths. “Like, what if they wanted financial advice about taxes or something and decided to go to the bank instead of you? How would you feel if they ignored your livelihood for some stranger?”
“I’d be confused and tell them they’d need an accountant, not a bank,” George replies lightly, a hint of laughter underlying his words that makes Charles scowl.
“Okay, you know what I meant,” he grumbles, knowing George chose to be purposely obtuse about the example to ease the tension growing. If not between them, then within Charles.
It works, Charles realises, when he sighs and feels the weight on his shoulders leaving him too.
“Look, Pierre didn’t seem offended and Alex was excited to get some fish and chips too. Look at it this way, maybe it kinda works out for them both? Alex gets to eat what he has wanted to for a while and Pierre doesn’t have to deal with it,” George explains, making complete and total sense like he always tends to do when Charles gets a bit too carried away with all the semantics. “And Yuki has plans and probably doesn’t even care.”
“It does sound like a win-win situation,” Charles mutters, acceptingly. It’s not beyond the realm of possibility that George and Alex going out for dinner is completely platonic and will be seen that way by everyone involved, Pierre included. And it’s not like they can spend the rest of their lives - or for however long their tenancy together lasts - not spending alone time with their respective exes. That would be weird and awkward, and Charles can’t help but think that there is one little thing that would help ease them all. “Why do you think they haven’t told us about them yet? They’re not subtle at all, with all the whispering and running in and out of each others’ bedrooms.”
“Maybe they’re trying to get a feel of us, make sure we’re okay with it,” George suggests with a shrug.
“But we are, aren’t we?” Charles questions, and then adds, “I like to think I am.”
“I like to think the same,” George assures with a gentle pat to the arm as they near the corner of the subway station. Instinctively, Charles moves in closer, expecting a growing crowd of people to appear with each step they take towards their destination. “We shouldn’t push them. They’ve let us move in with them, right? It was their place first. We just have to let it play out as it does.”
“Okay, I guess you’re right,” Charles agrees reluctantly, and decides to let the subject go before he ruins his whole day by overthinking it. “Maybe I’ll make dinner,” he adds with a thoughtful hum.
“Please don’t. That will get us thrown out for sure,” George laughs, skipping down the stairs and shooting Charles a smirk as he tries to keep up with George’s longer legs.
“Fine. I’m only trying to be nice,” Charles grumbles, even though deep down he knew that being left alone in the kitchen - and the kitchen belonging to two chefs nonetheless - is a disaster waiting to happen. He desperately needs to visit his mother for some cooking lessons before Pierre tries to teach him again.
Which was great and all, except being that close in a room with that much heat?
It didn’t do wonders for Charles’ complicated feelings.
There’s another arm rub from George as they pass through the gates, and when Charles looks over, he can see the mirth mixed with genuine affection clear as day playing on his face. “And we all love you for it, Charles. But leave the cooking to the professionals, okay? And the rest of us.”