I used to be depressed. I used to cut myself. I seriously needed help, but I was too afraid to tell. In fact, I didn't even want to tell what was wrong. I was careful to hide my scars because I was afraid that someone would force me to tell.

That's why I really appreciate the silent way Francis acted when he found out.

I was sitting on the floor of my living room. There was quite scary look in my eyes as I stared at the razor in my hand. To be honest, it was my best friend back then. The way I acted was mechanic; sleeve up, razor against the skin, deep cut from wrist to elbow.

I watched the blood to stream from the scar, hypnotized by the bright red liquid. I was in some kind of trance; I didn't hear, I didn't see anything else but the cut.

Then there was a small noise; someone clearing his throat. I froze, the scary look in my eyes changing into a scared one. I wasn't ready to tell anyone. I didn't want to be forced to speak.

Someone kneeled down next to me, a large hand tugging the razor from my hand. I was still staring at my arm, not wanting to know how had caught me doing such a pathetic thing.

The next thing that was heard was the sound of ripping and then a cloth that looked like a piece of sleeve was wrapped around my bleeding arm.

I still refused to look at the other one, thought the man's silence made me feel somehow a little bit less nervous. And then, I was pulled into an embrace; warm and comfy. Those strong arms around me and the strong chest I was leaning into made me feel somehow safe.

I breathed in the smell of the man and I knew who it was; the smell of roses was unmistakable. Francis didn't loosen his grip from me and he didn't say a word. He knew me well enough to know exactly how to comfort me.

And I trusted him. I was sure that he wasn't going to laugh at me and he wasn't going to tell anyone else about this. I buried my face into his warm chest, letting the tears I had been holding for a long time stream down my pale cheeks.

Francis murmured some soothing words along with endearments into my ears with his low voice. That was all he said. He didn't ask anything; he knew that I needed time before I'd tell what was wrong.

He was very patient. He held me close, letting me cry, letting me sob and letting me clear my thoughts. I slowly climbed into his lap, searching for more comfort, which I got as soon as I felt more of his body against mine.

And before I even knew it, I was telling him what was wrong. I explained all of it, how I felt so lonely, useless and abhorred. At first he didn't say anything; I just get a gentle peck on the top of my head.

Then he called me stupid and an idiot. But he said those things with a soft, almost guilty voice. He told me that I was actually quite well-thought-of. And there was no reason for me to be lonely; there was someone who has always been by my side.

As he said it, I felt so unbelievable stupid. Francis was so right. Because he, the snail-eating, wine-slurping bastard had always been by my side. But I had been too blind to see it. I had been too stubborn to admit how much I needed him to be with me. And I was the luckiest man ever since I had someone like him, someone who didn't think it twice to stand by my side, to protect me, to defend me.

I told him that and I earned another sweet kiss. A kiss that made a shiver run down my spine and my heart jump into my throat. It was also the first time ever when I heard him saying that he loves me.

Why all of this came into my mind so suddenly, you might ask. Well, there's a reason.

We all know that everything good must end someday. And our relationship ended as well. No, not in the way you think; we didn't divorce, I'm still wearing the wedding ring.

Francis had been sick for a long time. The doctors were clueless; there was no way to cure the disease. When I first time heard about my love's disease, it broke my heart. But Francis was so strong, he acted like he wasn't sick at all. I've always admired the fact how brave he was.

No one knew he would die so quickly. We were at home as he suddenly collapsed down on the floor and I of course called an ambulance. As we got to the hospital, he opened his eyes for a moment, saying that he wanted to see me for the last time.

I had no idea what to say. He was the only good thing about my life; I didn't want to lose him. But, it was too late. He squeezed my hand firmly and then reached up to wipe away my tears, smiling as he closed his eyes.

Today was the last time when I heard him saying that he loves me.