Okay, it's been a while and I am so sorry, but for those who follow my Anti-hero series, that's being remade more than likely. I hate the format, I hate the writing, and I hate it, hate it, hate it, hate it.
I also hate the way I wrote this. But here you go.
Also, I do literate RP's now, you can message me on Instagram hetalia . wow . boi
you can message me about what I do and don't rp if you want. What ever, here you go.

Francis had gotten home late, probably too late.

It was later than usual, no normal person with a career that didn't influence it came home at 3am, even if they live alone, or they're still living at their parents' house. But even as he slid the key into the velvet colored door, (To which Francis had insisted they put it in, especially if Arthur could have his damned library,) but once he entered the living room, it was an odd feeling of overwhelmed emotioned. It was too quiet, and too eerie for him to even comprehend. The atmosphere seemed tense, and too full of something he didn't know.

He set his suitcase down anyways, and glanced around the living room. Everything seemed to be in order, remotes correctly placed. The kitchen wasn't destroyed, and Arthurs shoes seemed to be intact.
He inched around the home though, careful not to disturb the silence that had fallen, careful not to wake the monsters inside, but he checked the other rooms. Guest room, bathroom, library, and even the computer room.
Nothing, everything was in place.
Maybe something happened when Francis was out, his phone had died while he was working, and what if Arthur couldn't get a hold of him. What if he was hurt, what if he was killed. It wasn't anything he expected though, it was also highly unlikely something like that could happen, it just doesn't make any sense. But he crept through the empty dark halls expecting something, to pop out, to grab a hold of him and never let go. Francis never enjoyed the dark, it was too suffocating.

Francis inched the door open though, a huge aura of misery and grief flooded his blood stream. Francis questioned himself slightly, but the questioning ceased when he heard crying, impromptu crying from over the way. Unveiling bits of sadness, and those tears were all too familiar.
"Arthur?"
He slowly walks towards the bed, to Arthur was face down, covering his eyes, hardly even aware of any extra presents. The Frenchman laid a hand on his shoulder, only to have it shoved away suddenly to an obviously frightened Arthur, who gasps for a desperate amounts of air, and it was expected honestly, but Francis gives a measly chuckle. "It's just me am-" the hand was quickly slapped away with a screaming Arthur.
"YOU'RE SUCH A PIECE OF SHIT, HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!"
Francis was taken back by the sudden fit of anger, he doesn't let this phase him long,
"Arthur- what are you talking ab-"
"I know about the bloody WHORE you've been seeing!" Arthur screamed in a fit of panic, throwing a cup coaster at him, barely missing him, and cowering on the other side of the bed.
"I'm sorry, WHAT?!"
"You've been home late for the past three weeks! Later, and later, every damn night, Francis! Don't fucking lie to me!" Both hands cover over his ears in attempt to hide from the silent blank noise, but it was obvious he was screaming through tears that had raked his soft pail cheeks for a while.
"W-What did I do wrong? I tried, I- I really did, please tell m- me…" He sobbed quietly into the brand new bedroom carpet, The tears streamed nonstop down his face as he attempted to calm the loud noises in his head, prevent him from, IMAGINING the fact that Francis was fucking someone behind his back.
"Arthur," Francis gives a rigorous tone, "How DARE you accuse me of such things!" He storms to the other side of the bed, slamming himself ruthlessly in front of Arthurs ugly weeping body, Francis was even crying of anger.
"I- I am NOT cheating on you Arthur." He practically growls, "I said to you the day I said my vows, I would never do that. Why now?!"
Arthur wasn't answering, he was shaking with tears. They were ripping through him like waves turing a tsunami. To Arthur at the moment, the floor seemed too comfortable to even attempt to being himself up, but he forced his words to leave through his mouth through hiccups.
"You've been gone, f- for weeks, you w- work late, and you're never home with me like you used to-" He breathed in, trying to calm his nerves to get out a sentence. "I-I'm scared, Francis, I don't want you to leave me, I don't want to be alone." Digging his hands through his hair in frustration, "Please don't leave me- The voices came back, and said you'd left me. I'm scared." He finally says.

Francis looks towards him with sympathy. He was a shitty husband.
Arthur had separation anxiety, that was apparent, but with a side order of depression and schizophrenia. Medical help and psychiatric help, as well as different medications helped keep certain disorders at bay, Arthur hated it, but he did it for Francis.
Cradling Arthur in his arms, he whispered-
"I'm so sorry, and I've been meaning to keep it a surprise, but if I knew this was going to happen, I would have said something sooner-" The Frenchman kisses his forehead in apology. "I've been staying late because I want to do something for you." He needs to tread very lightly, "Remember when we looked at houses a couple months ago, and there was one that you really wanted in a really good neighborhood, I remember you saying '-this is the one'." He smiles at the memory fondly, "I want to buy it for you, Arthur, and I've been working late so I can."
The Brit doesn't say anything for a moment, aside from the sniffles, Francis hoped that he didn't do, or say anything wrong, but he suddenly felt arms wrap around him tightly.
"I'm sorry Francis," The atmosphere suddenly changed from sudden sadness to an uplifting feeling, finally happiness was in the air, and the Frenchman enjoys evert second it's there. He gives a small peck to the side of Arthurs head.
"It's okay, all is forgiven. Francis planted a kiss on Arthur's head again.
It was going to be okay.