Francis didn't bother knocking; he used his spare key to enter the Brit's house. The house was quiet, all except for the constant coughing in another room. e fHe frowned as he scanned the nearly silent house. He stepped over to the vase on the coffee table. Arthur had managed to find irises, even this late in the year. Most flowers were dying off for the year, yet Arthur always managed to have beautiful flowers in the middle of the winter. These were wilting. Their water supply was low. Their caretaker hadn't tended to them in a while and they missed his presence.

"He's sick again?" The French man turned his attention to the room where the only noise in the house came from – constant coughing and sneezing. He frowned as he entered Arthur's room. e He He found the British man curled up under two large blankets on his bed. Arthur struggled to sleep with his eyes half closed, but the constant need to sneeze or cough kept him from resting properly. He would sit up quickly in a coughing fit and lay back down, only to do this several times.

"Awww, cher, you should have called, and told me you were sick. I would have been here sooner," he said sympathetically.

His cheeks were already red from the fever and he took little physical notice to the French man's words. His eyes shifted to look at France though and weakly reached for his hand, but his condition never showed any difference. "Can't," he mumbled. "I knew… you'd show up… eventually." Just a sentence caused him trouble. He had to breathe between every other word.

"I obviously can't leave mon petit lapin alone for along," he said calmly and sat on the edge of the bed. He glanced down at the bed before sliding his hand under the blanket to take Arthur's hand. On normal days, Arthur enjoyed a grip that made Francis squirm in pain and plead for him to loosen his grip, but this wasn't a normal day.

"I'm not…going to die… Right?"

"Of course not, cher," he answered.

Arthur rolled over to cough harshly into his free hand. His whole body shook at the act of propelling the virus out of his system. It took all his strength to merely cough. After the moment of the coughing fit, he rolled back over to face Francis. "That's good."

"Were you sleeping naked in the rain or something?" Francis joked.

"N-no… Just gardening in this… this weather," he muttered.

"Well, don't do that again," he said sternly.

"You can't say that! They'll die otherwise," he blurted out before lurching forward in a coughing fit once again. Francis frowned and watched him.

When Arthur stopped coughing, Francis began calmly, "I can take care of your plants for you, amour."

"You would get sick then, and I would have to take care of you, and that would make me sick," he muttered.

"And I don't want you to," Francis said. He tried not to sound like he was commanding in front of his lover.

Arthur didn't answer at first and lay down slowly. His breathing was getting heavy again, causing him to pant and struggle. "I… Do you recall… anything about the… garden?" he struggled. He looked up at the ceiling as he recalled the reason why and how he got sick. The weather in London was rarely full sun but despite the clouds, they had not gotten rain in days. Just cold, gray weather.

The garden if fine cher," he reassured.

Arthur knew this. That was why he was sick, wasn't he? "A-aye… Can you… check my temperature for me?"

Francis stood up and went into the drawer. He grabbed the thermometer and stick it gently into the Brit's mouth. He waited for it to beep and pulled it out. "104 cher… that's no good," he said, a slight hint of worry in his voice.

"It's g-gone up," he panted.

"Anything I can get you?"

"I… I don't think so… Food and water… Won't stay down."

"Rest is what you need then."

"I… I've been trying," he said weakly, trying to stop panting.

"Would you like me to sing?" he offered. "It has helped before."

"Yes please or get some… some more medicine."

"Is there any here?"

"I think so… I took some yesterday."

Francis left to go into the bathroom for medicine. Arthur, meanwhile, laid his head back as he stared at the ceiling, panting. He closed his eyes slowly as he waited. Francis quickly returned with medicine in a little cup. "Here you go." But Arthur didn't respond. His heard bobbed as he tried to remain conscious. He barely registered France's presence and his breathing had become quiet now.