The house was dead silent when Francis entered. 'Hmm…that is strange,' he thought. 'Usually Angleterre is awake at this time…' Shrugging, he slipped his shoes off and started up the stairs. 'Maybe he is already in bed.' Quietly he opened the door to their shared bedroom and peered inside. 'I do not see him…is he asleep? Oh well. Best be quiet to not wake him.'

His mistake was stepping into the room and starting to strip without looking around to see if he was alone.

The door slammed closed and he jumped and covered his chest reflexively.

"A little late, aren't you, Francis?" a cold but familiar voice asked.

"O-Oh…i-it is just you, mon cher. I thought it was someone else and-" Arthur walked forward into the shard of light coming through the mostly closed curtains and Francis could see the tension in his crossed arms and furrowed eyebrows. "W-What is wrong, mon cher?" Francis couldn't keep the small tremor out of his voice. He had not seen that look in such a long time and was not eager for it to be back.

"Where were you?"

As Arthur took a step forward, Francis instinctively took one backwards.

"J-Just working late. We received a large order and it needed to be taken care of instantly. I am sorry it took so long."

He started to reach his hand out toward the other's cheek.

"Who were you with?"

The hand froze.

"W-What?"

"Who were you with?" he repeated, voice even.

A slight frown of confusion passed over Francis's face. Why was Arthur acting so strangely? He had never given him a reason to distrust him.

"Why does it matter?"

"Just answer the damn question, frog!" he yelled and Francis tripped backwards in shock. The two of them had made it a point not to call the other names such as 'sourcils', 'rosbif', or 'pervert' anymore. "It's not that difficult!"

"J-Just the few employees w-who were still working! A-And Antonio and G-Gilbert stopped by to give me a h-hand since it was such a large o-order!"

"Liar!" the other screamed and slapped him forcefully across the cheek.

Francis's hand jumped to his cheek; he could feel blood running down his face. His eyes quickly darted back to stare in disbelief at the younger blond.

"W-What…? B-But th-that is the t-truth…"

The reply he got was another harsh slap, knocking him to the ground. A fist descended on him, hitting him hard in the eye. Scared and confused, Francis curled up and tried to protect himself as the other kept attacking him. The blows seemed to continue for hours and by the end he was a bleeding, bruised, crying mess on the ground with no idea what he did wrong.

"I want you out. Now!" Arthur said, his voice breaking through the silence that had reigned since he had stopped the abuse of the other.

"B-But wh-why?" Francis flinched as the other moved towards him, fist raised. "I-I d-deserve t-to k-know!"

"Because I'm sick of this!" Arthur shrieked. "I'm sick of pretending to love you! I'm sick of being around you! I'm sick of how oblivious you are! How did you not notice that you were only my toy?! My plaything?! My whore?!" The tears that had been falling down Francis's face froze at the last word. 'Whore' had been the word Arthur had promised to never to call him again. The word that was at the top of their list of terms they couldn't use anymore. Furious that the other was still staining his carpet, Arthur kicked the older blond. "What are you still waiting for?!" he demanded. "Get out of my house, slut! No one wants you here! Go sell yourself somewhere else!"

"A-Arthur, d-do not do this! I love you! Y-You love me too! You told me so yesterday! W-What has happened to you? Are you sick?" Francis jumped up and put his hand on the other's forehead for a moment before it was slapped away. "Do you have amnesia?"

"Don't touch me, bitch!"

Not giving up on the one he loved so much, Francis hugged the other tightly, his tears falling onto the younger's shoulder.

When he felt a hand winding through his hair he thought that Arthur had decided to stop playing the weird joke he had started. Then the hand formed a fist and was roughly torn from his hair, ripping a large chunk of his hair out. Francis screamed. He could feel more blood trickling down the back of his neck.

Deciding he was done with the older, Arthur pushed him out of the room and down the stairs where he landed in a bloody heap. Reaching the foot of the stairs after a leisurely walk, he crouched down and pulled him up by his hair and threw him out of the house before locking the door behind him.

A long time later Francis regained consciousness, shivering violently. He reached into his pocket for his phone to call Arthur. Not finding it, or even a pocket, he was confused.

Looking down he saw he was only in his boxers, lying in the snow; that might explain the shivering, he reasoned.

Gravel crunched as a car passed and he tried to pull his leg out of the way to keep it from being crushed.

"F-Francis?!" a shocked voice called and he attempted to sit up enough to see who had called his name but was too weak and injured to manage. He desperately hoped it was Arthur coming to get him, cradle him, tell him how sorry he had acted, say it would never happen again, that he was drunk. Instead a pair of strong arms slid under him and lifted him out of the snow bank. "Don't worry, Francis! I'm going to get you help!"

Francis passed out again before he was laid in the backseat of the person's car.

AN:A new story I started a few days ago. Yes it has more France abuse but not for long...I think...