Chapter Text
Walking home, the young Brit recited the list of growing responsibilities in his mind over and over again.
‘It’s your night to prepare dinner, Pocket cooked last night. You need to go pick up the food to cook with though, we ran out of onions yesterday and they are essential to tonight’s dinner.
You also need to clean the living area; you have guests coming over in a few days and you’ve really left it quite a mess.
Take your suit to the dry cleaners on your way to the shoppe and pick it up in a few hours. Don’t be late or you’ll need to pay a fee, and you promised Mr. Jaggers that you would be more careful with your spending.’
These things he could manage. But they weren’t what was plaguing his mind most, however.
Unfortunately, the most prominent thing replaying in his mind was the reminder to:
‘Don’t forget to do your lessons. Your English professor wants that essay early tomorrow morning. And your maths professor asked you to start a whole new chapter of statistics and wants the packet tomorrow as well. Don’t forget about the language test tomorrow either. Yes I know you hate learning French, but your required to if you want to pass. And your history notes need to be finished from the lecture today, and-’
The list just kept on going.
Lately he found that he was becoming more stressed than usual, and at first he wasn’t sure what was causing it, which caused him more stress. His mind and body felt like they were constantly running a marathon; one to which the end of he could never see. He also consequently felt more and more exhausted and irritable with each passing day, and he hated it. No, he loathed it in fact; loathed it to its very core! But for the life of him, he couldn’t pinpoint why he was feeling the way he was.
It all clicked a few weeks later however, when he realized just what was causing him to feel these things.
He was in his last French class for the week, working on finishing his writing to hand in to his professor who declared he wanted it before the students left his room. This one in particular was a bit more challenging for him, as he wasn’t yet completely fluent in the language (no matter how much his professor insisted that he should be by now). As a result, he didn’t complete the paper by the time the hour bell chimed, and he panicked. As the other students around him began to leave, he desperately tried to finish the sentence he was writing.
He failed to see his very strict French professor approaching where he was seated.
“Pirrup!”
The brit jumped and sat up straight, meeting the irritated stare of his professor. He couldn’t even stammer out a response before his professor snatched his writing from his desk.
“Class is over. Your late. Congratulations, this paper now means nothing to me.”
Pip could only sit and stare in shock and disbelief as the French sentences he’d been working on for over an hour were torn to shreds before him and watched as their remains fluttered to the floor. He was at a total loss for words, he couldn’t believe what had just happened. He didn’t look up from the floor.
“This is on you. Perhaps you’ll learn next time to do things the way I tell you when I tell you to. Now get out.”
His usual politeness wouldn’t even surface this time, as he quickly stood from his desk and hastily gathered his belongings. He wanted to say something, anything! But he didn’t. Because he knew that if he opened his mouth, that he would’ve screamed, possibly something profane (which was unlike him), and that would’ve gotten him into even more trouble for disrespecting his professor.
“Hurry up, boy!”
He didn’t need to be told twice. Once he had all his things together, he walked out of the classroom as if he were going to be murdered if he didn’t. And with the way his professor was glaring at him, he wouldn’t be surprised if he had been.
But that’s just how things were in his intense London schooling.
Rude professors, a mountain of papers and due dates that were constantly piling up and just kept getting worse, crowded buildings and classes just filled with an overabundance of people. It was when he was walking to his biology lesson that he realized why he felt so stressed.
It was his schooling, and the constant demands it asked of him.
It was slowly draining him and had been doing so for years. It was just now that it was all catching up with him, as he was in his final year, and thus much more was required of him at a rate that, apparently, he wasn’t ready to handle.
With this thought in mind as he entered his biology class, he sat at his desk in the back row of the room and took out the previous day’s assignment to give to his professor. Once the man had collected them all and began his lecture, Pip took the moment to lay his head in his arms atop his desk and cried, letting out silent tears of frustration.
God, he just wanted to go home and nap, but he couldn’t; not for another hour and a half yet, and he needed to pick up some things Pocket said he wanted from the market. Pip promised him that he would, as he would be going in that direction anyways to return to their shared flat.
Deciding he could no longer wallow in his own self-pity; he discretely wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket and sat up and began writing down the notes from today’s lecture that he would no doubt be tested on tomorrow.
It was that day that Pip realized why he felt so exhausted and stressed out all the time, and ever since then he’s acknowledged to himself every morning that while he is feeling this way, he just has to push on. He just hopes things will be better soon, that someday he won’t have all these responsibilities and demands weighing him down, and that one day he would be free to do as he desired.
He had to keep going. For his future, for his ever-generous benefactor, for Joe and Damien back home, for Pocket in London; but most importantly, for Estella, who had been sent to France to be educated for a lady. This is why he was doing this. He was being educated for a gentleman in London for Estella’s sake, hoping that once she see’s how educated and well-mannered he’d become, that she’d want to be with him. That she would no longer call him those retched names, no longer think he was coarse and common.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to cook tonight? You look absolutely knackered dear fellow, I should like to say that you should probably get some rest.” Of course, Pocket being the gentleman that he was would be concerned, but he was also Pip’s friend, and Pip wouldn’t break a promise to him.
The blond slowly lifted his head from the steaming pot beneath him and looked over at the redhead. He gave a light smile, still stirring the pot.
“Oh, don’t worry about me, I’m alright! Perfectly healthy chap!” The smile became a little more forced as the other’s look of concern remained, not completely buying what the blond was saying. Pocket knew that his friend had been more stressed out than usual and it was really beginning to show physically. He was paler than normal, with the rings under his eyes being the only source of color, and they remained a deep purple.
He had also been going to bed later into the night and would be extremely irritable in the morning (not that Pocket minded), and would come home from his lessons rightfully exhausted, but he just wouldn’t rest. He kept spouting off each of the assignments he had, how he had to make dinner and clean their room, and any other responsibilities of his. Pocket recently began to offer to take some the other’s responsibilities, like tonight in making dinner, but Pip just insisted on doing it all, saying with a tired smile “I can handle it!”
The redhead’s concerned gaze must have gotten to the other brit, as he turned his gaze back to the pot below him and continued to stir the wooden spoon, for if he didn’t their meal would burn. Pip knew he was tired. He knew he really needed a break from it all, but that wouldn’t be fair to Pocket. The other has been so kind to him and so friendly, and if there was anything Pip learned in becoming a gentleman, it was that always put others before yourself.
He didn’t want to be selfish; ungrateful.
Ungrateful.
That was a word he hoped to never hear describe him ever again, especially since it was one he had heard all throughout his childhood. His sister, her brother, her brother’s family, the common townsfolk that only knew of him through his sister’s complaints about him. Everyone knew him as the ungrateful younger brother of the blacksmith’s wife, an ungrateful child.
No one ever gave him the time of day, let alone took the time to get to know him, to really know him, save for two people.
So, when he was sent to London to be schooled, he made the best effort to be grateful, and when he returned home, he wanted everyone to no longer view him as the ungrateful child he was labeled as, but as an intelligent, friendly, and selfless gentleman.
With this justification in mind, he waved a hand at the other brit, the other still gripping the wooden handle of the spoon.
“Why don’t you make yourself comfortable chap, I’ll have dinner ready in no time! You’ve had a long day with mister Jaggers and whatnot, handling our finances for the month and all.” The other just stepped forward into the kitchen area and made to grab the kettle from where it rested near the stovetop.
“If you say so dear fellow, but I’m at least going to prepare the tea for tonight.” At this the blond flinched and made a grab at the kettle and snatched it up before the redhead had a chance to even get near it.
“Tea counts as a part of dinner, ol’ chap! I’ll get it!” He kept stirring the pot.
“Alright Pip, that’s quite enough! I’m not going to pretend anymore that we both know your overworking yourself, and your extremely stressed out! Now quit being like this and just give me the kettle!” The redhead grabbed the other end of the handle and tugged it towards him.
Pip, who was having none of this, tugged it back in his direction. “What are you going on about? I’m not overworked, I’m perfectly fine!” One hand on the kettle, one on the spoon.
The other brit wouldn’t relent. “No, you’re not fine! Every morning your upset about something and nearly every night I find you passed out on the sofa or at the table, still dressed in the day’s wear and looking exhausted!” He tugged the kettle back to him, “Speaking of which, have you seen yourself, lately? You look exhausted Pip! Your skin as pale as a ghost, and the rings under your eyes seem as though you’ve been sucker-punched! I’m just worried about you, Pip! Why won’t you let yourself rest?”
Pip suddenly froze, not expecting that. Was his exhaustion noticeable? For how long had it been? Had anyone else noticed it? Oh, how lovely, just lovely.
Why wasn’t he letting himself rest?
“Oh Pocket, you would never understand. Even if I tried to explain, my woes wouldn’t even make sense to you! You just wouldn’t understand!” He yelled, as he pulled the kettle back. “You didn’t have a childhood such as I, living as the runt of the litter who shouldn’t have even survived, when so many others died who didn’t deserve it. Forcing my poor sister, such a retched woman, to give up her life to look after the pathetic little runt, always getting himself into trouble and being ungrateful for everything!
“Everyone in that town hated me, no one respected me, and the only two who did are far away now, still living in that town while I reside here! That benefactor was the best thing to ever happen to me, and here I am, continuing to be ungrateful for my studies, ungrateful in having our civil duties, and if they knew that I was behaving like this…” He took a moment to breathe before speaking once again.
“So, I have to do this. I have to learn to do everything. Being a gentleman means putting others before yourself, and I must learn to do so if…
“… if I want Estella’s approval. I must be able to do everything so that she may never need to raise a finger, so that she can see how grateful I am for her even noticing me back when we were children… I have so many people with great expectations for me. And I need to meet their expectations. I have to, Pocket. I have to.”
At this point he had let go of the kettle and brought the hand up to his chest, gripping the front of his shirt tightly as he continued to stir the pot, not looking over at the other, who stood still in shock at his friend’s admittance, and nearly dropped the kettle. Slowly, tentatively, he began to speak, so softly in comparison to the blond’s outburst.
“Is that why you never let yourself properly rest? For the approval of others?” He waited for the brit’s response, who had since gone silent and stood still, shoulders sagging, and head hung low.
“…I don’t know. Possibly…” His stirring came to a stop and he slowly, mortified-ly, looked at the other. “I’m sorry, ol’ chap. I didn’t mean to shout, especially not at you. Your right, I am exhausted, but that’s no excuse for how I’ve been acting. I’m truly sorry. I’m sorry. Sorry…” As he trailed off, his legs felt like jelly as they slowly gave out under him, and he slid down to the floor, leaning against the wall for support. He dropped the spoon, dinner completely forgotten.
Setting down the kettle, the redheaded brit quickly moved to catch the blond as he fell forward, catching him before he kissed the floor. Thankful at the moment for being taller, he slowly lifted his friend from the floor and slowly made his way to the other’s bedroom, not before turning off the gas stovetop and making sure the flames had gone out.
Gently setting the other down and pulling his covers over him as he slept, the redhead stood in the doorway for a moment before tittering to himself. “You’re alright, Pip. I forgive you dear fellow, don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of things for a while, you just let yourself a break, yeah? Everything’s going to be alright, you don’t need anyone’s approval. I certainly don’t think so.”
Casting one more sympathetic glance at his friend, face relaxing slightly into the pillow, the other made his way out of the other’s room and quietly closed the door, wanting the blond to get the proper rest he deserved, and had no intention of rousing him. The redhead would let him get as much rest as he needed, and by God did he need it.
Making his way back to the living area, he glanced at the kettle before moving towards it. Deciding tea sounded particularly nice at this moment, he filled it with water and set it on the stovetop, clicking the knob until flames burst from the burner, effectively heating up the water. Moving back towards the sofa while he waited, something gleaming in the corner of his eye grabbed his attention, and he moved towards it.
The sun filtering in from the window had landed on a frame, housing a photograph of Pip’s childhood caregiver and the boy himself. The smile on the man’s face was sweet and genuine, as he clasped a worker’s hand gently on the small blond’s shoulder, who looked just as happy.
Pocket knew of this man, and from what Pip had told him, the old blacksmith meant a lot to him, and that while he was happy living here with Pocket, he still longed for the day he could return home and be encircled by those welcoming arms of the blacksmith, wrapped in a hug that only a father could give.
Suddenly the redhead got an idea, and smiling, he quickly made his way over to the phone mounted on the wall. Holding the receiver up to his ear, he quickly spun the number to London’s main system.
“Hello, London’s receiving center, who do you wish to connect to?”
“I’m looking for a mister Joseph Gargery.”