( Author: AUGH, so this is my third and final rewrite of the whole story. There have been too many public and personal problems with this story so I'm finally making the characters and setting much more realistic and describing things further and not looking like I'm writing a hypothetical "weeaboo" fiction. Thank you for sticking in with me, and welcome to the final version of "A story of two mere men.")

In 1990, on April 23rd, a small baby boy named Arthur Charles Kirkland was born to his parents Linda and Jonathan. Both were eager to hear of his health yet learned some rather odd news. Arthur was born intersex. He had both the outer and inner parts of a male, yet harnessed the inner parts of a female. They nearly decided to have the feminine anatomy removed, due to the very odd affliction it may have on a male, but prompted not since the doctor revealed that the extra set wouldn't do a single thing to harm or morph the child. The English parents then decided that it would be a secret to never tell their son, as it may hurt him.

Arthur grew up to have a normal life, and despite being quite spoiled and rude as a child, ended up an honor's student and a school representative. He never in the slightest found out of his condition and all seemed well. As a boy, he had grown up in a marsh valley, located in the odd jagged border of England and Scotland. The small cottage belonging to the Kirklands was next to another, owned by a much wealthier family known as the Bonnefoys. Both families always fought, whether it be over petty things such as the Kirklands owning horses and the French being avid of horse meat, or bigger things like who would cut down which trees for winter firewood. Arthur's father absolutely hated Stephane Bonnefoy, the man who owned the rich abode next door. The feeling was mutual in animosity.

However, Arthur met Francis, a small little boy of three years older, who was very lovely compared to the demon of his father. The two became instant friends and even shared a first kiss, only for it to be ruined by Francis's father finding out and moving his family away. Arthur's dad would tell him it was because Francis's mother had died of disease, when Arthur knew it was really because he was corrupting Francis. A boy could not be with another boy.

Unless fate took it's toll-

Arthur got a scholarship many years later to a college in Yorkshire due to his above-average grades and being a prodigy at the skill of writing. He also deemed to be the best in his class and found life much more acceptable, despite his irritable demeanor. Then one day while leaving his dorms in the morning, he ran into a man whom came to the college for a master's painting course. Whether it be the last name Bonnefoy, the age difference of three years, and that same romantic urge, Arthur certainly knew who this man was. It was Francis, his childhood love. Of course it took Francis a while to realise whom Arthur was since he blocked out most of his childhood due to his abusive father- But he equally fell in love. As expected, the two instantly got into a relationship.

After about a year together and after finishing college (They had met during their last semesters) They had moved in together into a very expansive home in the town of Birmingham. Soon, it was 2012, a new year, and a fresh new start for the couple.

Here, their life finally began.

...

"I didn't expect Christmas to be as strenuous as that was." Arthur huffed as he made it home, carrying an ample amount of presents he got from his parent's house up north. His emerald eyes glistened their usual glowing green, and his fluffy blonde hair was streaked with snow, tufts poking out from under his hat. Soon, his boyfriend followed after, a lanky body heaving with the weight of presents as he got home, dropping them to the ground and sighing. "Mon dieu. Your famille never fails to spoil moi." Francis said, breathing a bit heavily, as he wiped his cold brow. Winters in England were hell, and the long drive to get back deemed impossible, but somehow they made it home, safe and sound. Arthur looked at the man as he shut the door behind them. "What can I say, dear? They absolutely love you. They even still believe we are virgins." The Englishman gave a short chuckle, taking off his coat and removing his boots.

Francis joined into the laughter, unpacking some of the lighter presents given. "Of course they do. I have this innocent impression on nearly everyone, and you're very good at faking to be positive. Plus they think my accent is tres "adorable" as they put it. Or they think it's amusing I still don't know complete English, non?" He unpacked a few wine bottles, cocking his head curiously and pausing. "I do not remember getting this."

Arthur also curiously leaned over, taking one of the bottles into his hands, the punt resting in his palm. "Oh yes, I know why. Father said these were for us, as a present to celebrate the new year tonight. I believe he wants his virgin impression to end." A smile of jest overcame the man's mouth as he came up to Francis. "Besides, what better way to begin a new year than to be in your embrace." He went into their kitchen to pull out two wine glasses and put them onto the counter, filling both up to corresponding amounts. "Well, here's to a new year." He said lightly, leaning into Francis, kissing him before taking a sip. "Here's to us both."

After a while, a glass each, turned to a bottle each, and the two men were as drunk as physically imaginable. They couldn't even get their hands off of another for the most part and it wasn't until Francis slurred something about going to their bedroom, did the best part begin. Soon the feeling of warm skin and light sweat was all that mattered, and the couple of hours that followed.

Once finished, Arthur gave a light breath, the only one that could escape through his panting. "Happy new year." He muttered drunkenly, not wanting to be anywhere else than in his lover's arms, before passing out.

...

It took about two weeks after New Year's before Arthur fell ill.

He woke up one morning, groggily with a headache, and feeling a little weak. His head throbbed and his chest felt heavy. He couldn't breathe for a few seconds and sat there, clenching the bedsheets in his hands. Francis laid next to him, still asleep, not noticing the distressed man. Arthur then got up and walked into the bathroom, deciding his face needed a cold wash, and as he did so, his stomach turned a bit and then he threw up. After a few rounds, the man's body was wracked with cold chills and in an instant, it finally stopped. He had to crawl his way back into bed and shivered, clenching onto his sheets again and wrapping himself up.

What the hell was that? He thought to himself, tearing up a little. He had drank nothing the previous day, and it wasn't food poisoning since everything he had eaten was fully cooked. If it was a stomach bug, then he would have felt bad pains, but nothing seemed to have phased him. he laid there in bed, absolutely afraid.

Then it continued for another two weeks as Feburary began. Francis began to take notice and whenever it happened, he'd put a warm, damp towel to his love's forehead or put a blanket around his shoulders. There was even a time where with a ton of pouting, he convinced the man to drink some hot tea and spend a day to rest while Francis went to work.

You see, Arthur had lost his job recently as a barista. He used to work at a mainstream coffee shop but got fired due to being "too irritable and unapproachable for customers." He also did burn several tongues if the person never tipped. He actually did like the job due to the satisfaction that he could never burn or ruin tea and coffee, despite all the non-edible food he often conjured up. Francis had a job at a basic office complex and was a manager of editing economical statuses among other businesses- Well, you already can get the idea that it is a boring job. However, for a miraculous reason, Francis somehow made a very cumbersome sum of money, the same that bought their house.

Now, Arthur seemed to have his worst round yet, and was even sobbing and screaming at a rather alarming rate. Francis rushed to his lover's side immediately, bringing Arthur to his side. "Cher, cher, look at me, look at me." He said, very softly and tenderly, the words whispered from his pale lips. He watched as Arthur's screaming halted and the man looked up at him.

"I want it to end so badly, Francis." Arthur said, wiping at his eyes.

"I will make it end if I can, mon petit ami."

"P-Please do."

Francis's indigo eyes then lit up and he smiled. "I remember, I actually called for a doctor. You may get better. And-" He thought to himself for a bit, releasing a hand to bring a finger to his chin. "It should be tomorrow at 10, dix to be exact." He smiled, closing his eyes happily.

Arthur's head leaned up just a bit more. "T-That sounds lovely." He said, coughing a little before telling Francis to leave so he could engage into a shower.

Giving thoughts to himself, Arthur did feel like something was wrong. He didn't know if it was physical or mental and figured whatever making him sick wasn't going to be something normal. The idea he had cancer entered into his thoughts, stopping them like a train hitting it's break. His chest tightened and he teared up. He knew if he died, Francis would kill himself too, and he just could not have that. He gripped at himself for a while but stopped, deciding he needed to relax. "No." He said to himself, amongst running water. "I'm going to be okay." His voice cracked and then he began sobbing.

Francis was downstairs, making breakfast for the both of them. He knew that the only way to make Arthur happy was to make his favorite meal of fish and chips. He moved back a few locks of golden hair as he cooked and sighed. He was worried for Arthur as well, and thought the sickness was a terrible flu or cold since it was bitterly cold out. His wide eyes flickered over to the snowy atmosphere outside and he frowned. Around lunchtime, the storms were always at their worst. Once he finished, he hung up his apron onto a metal rack, cleaning up the kitchen.

It took Arthur a while to stop crying but once he did, he turned the shower off and dried himself completely with a towel, shaking severely. The man soon got dressed, his pale body shrouded in a grey sweater and charcoal jeans. His collarbones showed just off the edge of the collar and his hair was just as messy as ever.

He took a cup of tea that was offered by Francis, drinking it as if he needed it. Arthur sighed and stared into whatever dregs of tea were at the bottom of the mug, his mind on one and only one question. "Francis," He started, still looking down as if looking up was forbidden. "Am I...Well, quite frankly...Am I different to you?" He gave a slight, yet feeble laugh, feeling pathetic.

Francis stared at his boyfriend. He had never heard such a question even leave that man's lips before. He blinked for a bit, his hand resting into his jaw in thought. There was a silence between them both for a while before Francis spoke. "Oui. You have become more beautiful." He said in all honesty.

Arthur blinked, his eyebrows furrowing as he glanced up to Francis. He mouthed the words back to himself and frowned. "What in god's name is that supposed to mean?"

Francis laughed nervously, noticing his love took offense. "Well, despite being ill these past days, you've just been much more loving and there for me. It's very hard to explain." His accent faded a little, as it did whenever his mood turned dreamy.

The two of them just ate in silence, before Francis suggested they cuddle and watch a movie which Arthur did not oblige to.

They finished and sat down on the couch while Francis put in a movie they always liked. Casablanca.

"I remember when we first saw this." Arthur said, cuddling into Francis and smiling maybe even too brightly.

Sitting down beside him and wrapping his arms around him, Francis laughed. "The characters on the screen wore grey, you wore blue." He said, purposely referring to the movie and cuddling into the Englishman. He also grinned, pleased at his own reference.

"I only wore blue to match your eyes. That was almost a year ago, love." Arthur joked, watching the movie and sighing happily, loving the embrace of the other. "We've had so many great dates." His stomach seemed to have settled from earlier that morning and his body wasn't cold and shaking anymore. Even some color came back into his face. The Englishman was getting healed just with Francis there.

Francis sighed as he reminisced, his eyelashes fluttering. "Remember the time when we went to the park and had a picnic?... Then I mentioned something about your eyebrows and we came home covered in dirt and wine..." He laughed, leaning his head into the crook of Arthur's neck.

"That was one of my favorites. Or that one where we were walking on a sunny day until suddenly we were in the middle of a blizzard. It took us a whole hour just to get home." Arthur sighed contently. "We were so bloody cold that day."

Francis smiled. "Do you remember that one night where we were drinking here and you were so drunk you were hitting on me the entire evening?" He chuckled a little "When we got to the bed that night, I couldn't help myself…"

"T-That was New Year's, how could you forget?" Arthur said, laughing nervously at Francis's recollection of that night. "I hope I didn't drink too much and tarnish my body." He gripped at his sweater. He started feeling anxious again, his body sweating and chills climbing up his back. An idea sparked in his head that perhaps he had massive liver damage from that night and that was the start of this burdening sickness.

"Arthur..." Francis said, his face paling just a bit. "It was the same as any other night. You're fine." He felt bad for making Arthur riled up and anxious again, but ever since that illness took over, Arthur was just a nervous wreck of some sort.

Said man was on the brink of tears, gripping onto his sweater so tight his fists were turning red. "No! It's not okay! Something is wrong with me and I am not alright. I think I ruined who I was." He then got off the couch and ran upstairs, slamming the bedroom door.

Francis flinched at the loud noise. Arthur had never been so moody in a while and knew that if he was sick, he wouldn't be in a good mood either. He then heard the man crying upstairs but forced himself to sit still. It was torture for about ten minutes, and Francis felt as if he were father listening to his own child crying, but lived through it. Once Arthur was quiet, he decided to go up into bed to join him, turning off the television.

After tucking him in, Francis got into bed himself and curled up close to the smaller Brit, looking at him for a while. "Dieu...You're so beautiful…" He whispered, kissing the Englishman's head and falling asleep after him.

...

Hours later, Arthur awoke early with a groan, realizing he overslept for a very long time. He then tried to think and remember what was so important about today but then smiled, knowing it was a doctor's appointment. He glanced over and saw Francis but said nothing and got dressed. He also washed his face and shaved for good measure. What if he contracted his sickness from getting cut during shaving? He thought vaguely, walking downstairs.

Francis woke up in the morning much later and checked the clock. He saw that it was 8:37 and headed into the shower. He decided to ask Arthur about what he had said last night, after work, finding as it was unusual words for his lover to say. Arthur ruined himself? What did that mean?

Arthur wrote down his plan for the week and put the slip of paper in his back pocket, with a little bit of money. He would be productive, compared to yesterday. If he had the gnawing thoughts of cancer or a soon-to-be-death, it might just kill him with stress. He took an apple from a ceramic bowl, biting into it and hearing his favorite man out there walk downstairs.

When Francis got downstairs he saw Arthur and weakly smiled. Straightening his tie and dress shirt, he pecked him on the forehead. "Bonjour, mon cher. Sleep well?" Francis worked at an office job that he despised so much since he desired to be a painter. However it made him excellent money which he needed to support his unemployed Arthur and to have nice things for them both.

Arthur nodded, with a smile. "Of course I did." He mumbled, laughing quietly. "It was nice to wake up with you next to me like usual~" He said, wrapping his gentle arms around the other. The two of them nuzzled up for a bit. "Are you heading to work early today, love? Usually you aren't up until noon." Arthur said, his voice gentle in contrast to the previous night.

Francis groaned a little, sighing. "My boss is having us all come in early today. Be sure to call me as soon as you're finished at the doctor's. I want to know exactly what to do to make you feel better." He gave Arthur a sweet kiss, pulling him close. The fact that his love could not be alright gnawed into the back of his mind. Although the bliss of a kiss was soothing, it was not for Francis, because the thought of cancer was a sprig on the growing tree of his love for Arthur.

Arthur nodded. "I see. Just don't work yourself too hard. I want you to be happy." He gave one of his cute smiles. "And don't worry, I'll tell you. I promise." And to reassure the Frenchman, Arthur pulled him into a deep kiss, playing with his hair a little. "...Well, I have to be there by 10, so I probably should leave early. " He sighed. He moved his body away so he could get ready.

Arthur then took off out the door, blowing a kiss to Francis and getting in his own car.

Finally, Arthur made it to the doctor, signing in for his appointment and waiting until he was led into a back room by a tall man. His stomach felt weak and he kept soft breaths at bay.

"Well Mister Kirkland, I understand you have been going through an unknown sickness. Looking through your symptoms, there's no way a stomach flu could last so long. It would only be a few days." The monotone doctor said, reading off a clipboard.

Arthur awkwardly looked down to his lap.

"But a rather bad thing is that I know you have had kidney problems in the past, so if you'd be willing to take a few tests, we'll see if they have been causing your sickness."

The Englishman obliged, and as he was walking down the hall to take his urinary test, he heard his doctor talking to a nurse.

"I just don't understand what he could have. It's unlike anything I've ever seen."

"Well, the symptoms are popular...But that only happens to women, David. It would be a medical mystery."

"Should I test him for that too? I know it's impossible but with his kidneys…"

They stopped talking, perhaps because of an eavesdropping fear.

Arthur shook and continued on to do his test and after he was done and came back he saw an ultrasound machine. He got a little nervous. Did he have a tumor? Was he going to need surgery? It was until the doctor explained, did he calm himself.

"I'm going to scope out your kidneys. We're going to make sure nothing is wrong." The doctor said, offering a weak smile to him as he got Arthur to lay down on the resting chair. He rolled up Arthur's shirt to place the gel on his stomach.

"Don't you see them from my...back?" He said, shivering from the metal wand being placed against his skin. He grew a little suspicious.

"Don't be silly, Mister Kirkland, it's harder that way because so much skin and muscle covers it up…"

Arthur sighed, tensed up because he frankly was scared.

"Well." The doctor said after a few minutes. "The right one is in very good shape, it can certainly stay there for you, but the left one is really bad, it's not filtering out as well as it should and we might have to cut off circulation and get a transplant if it dies. You'll most likely survive if you get it done in time…" He moved the wand and let it relax on Arthur for a while as he talked to him. "And I know you have had troubles in the past, tons of infections and having to be put on dialysis as a child according to your medical record. And 23 years with the same pair…Are you listening to me?"

Arthur was too busy staring at the ultrasound screen, zoned down. He directed his view to the man. "Of course." The doctor then continued scoping him, as if something new had come up.

Arthur gripped at the man's wrist to force him to stop but he was quick and got a screenshot of something on the ultrasound. The doctor, after doing so, ran out to go talk to a nurse, potentially the same one Arthur had heard earlier. The doctor had left there for minutes, leaving Arthur to his imagination. Tumor? Infection? What was it? But it took a little more thinking and his eyes lightened up and he instantly felt his whole body pale and shake.

The doctor came in with a scan of the ultrasound, handing it to Arthur, telling the man he was a father.

"Fuck. Goddammit, this can not be real!" Arthur said, shaking almost violently, and brushing a hand through his hair. "T...Thank you for your time, I suppose...But I've got to leave now...My boyfriend is going to leave me…" He put the picture into his bag and walked out of the room.

He walked out of the building soon after and called Francis. His voice was completely dark and shaky. "I'll tell you once I get home. We need to talk." He said, hanging up without waiting for a reply. Soon, he took off for home, mixed feelings building into him.

...