The sky seemed like it was going to fall to pieces that night, with the faint light of the stars dimming and the edges of the moon softening. Fog hung heavy and low in the air and a bird perched itself on the edge of Francis's lavender balcony. He sighed and took a sip of rosy red wine, stretching out to reach the city below him. He murmured lonely comments to himself about the man that he used to spend evenings like these with, the man that made them lively and worth staying awake for. Misty silver arms slinked their way around Francis's waist, unbeknownst to him.
"I miss you, you know," Francis spoke after a moment. His voice frayed with every syllable.
"I know, I miss you a thousand times more," responded the quivering ghost.
"I never stopped thinking about you," the weak statement came.
"You should. It's not going to solve anything, what's done is done..." Arthur knew it was a waste of breath to utter anything further, because words from a ghost's mouth go unheard by the living. Francis couldn't see him, feel him, nor hear him.
"I know we were never in a relationship, and you'd never have wanted to be, but..." Francis let his grip loosen on his glass and it hung over the edge as he took a deep breath, leaving his sentence unfinished.
"But...?" Arthur whispered.
"I loved you, Arthur," Francis mumbled down to the roofs of houses and buildings underneath his apartment.
"I... You did? You actually l-loved me?" Arthur's eyes widened in shock and the words tumbled from his lips.
"I wonder how you'd react if I told you that when..." the trail of letters slowly started to cease, and then were picked back up again. "When you could hear me..."
"But I can, I can hear you, Francis!" Arthur was growing teary eyed from the frustration of not being able to converse. The drunken confessions from Francis slowly came to a close after that.
"Francis, I loved you too... I never thought- that you-" Arthur intertwined his fingers with Francis's and passed a look of concern into his crestfallen eyes. Francis set the half-finished wine glass down onto a side table and moved into his bedroom. He changed into a nightshirt and pants and slipped under the cold covers of his bed. The ethereal figure stared down at him, not wanting to leave his presence. Arthur laid on Francis's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart that was now absent from himself.
Morning creeped into the room just a few hours later. Arthur had stayed awake the entire period, not daring to miss a moment of Francis's snores or one bit of his sleep-talking. As the night glissaded past, the ghost of Arthur began to fade away from earth and back into the heavens. The only trace of him was the small molding left in the fabric of his figure from the spot he laid in. Francis brushed it off as him simply rolling around when he slept and carried on with his day like normal. Little did he know, he was under the careful observation of a certain snarky British angel.