Francis and Arthur always walked a very thin line when it came to their relationship. When taken into serious consideration, and put in metaphorical sense, it was as if they were tiptoeing across the edge of a precipice, tottering with every step they took. They knew that if they misplaced even one step, they would be falling into the void of hurt and depression that surely waited below.

Arthur tried to distance himself from the cliff's edge. It never worked; he was an irritable and snappish man who would always end up the louder voice in an argument. He would be the one to kick and scream, to hurl the most cruel and cutting insults just for the sake of hurting his target. His target was a much kinder man.

Francis was, admittedly, a little vindictive when he argued. He did try to stay positive, but there is only so much rain a cloud can carry before it will burst and pour. When not in a fight, he was genuinely cheery, albeit a little arrogant. He was a ray of sunshine against the grey of the man he loved. He would never say anything that would truly hurt or dig deep, even in an intense time of dispute. He held those back, as he loved the man deeply.

It wasn't hard to see that these differences in personality had bubbled into poison. Snarky comments were ordinary, although onlookers not in the know would have shrugged it off as playful bickering. Arthur would jab at Francis with bitter poison to every word, and Francis would take it and try to spit it back. He could not.

"For the fifth time today, fix the bloody plumbing!" Arthur huffed, storming out of the bathroom with only a towel around his thin hips. He was dripping wet, and leaving watery footprints as he charged through the house.

"Mm?" said Francis, looking over his shoulder from where he had been reading the newspaper and enjoying half a glass of wine. "I checked the pipes for you earlier. I had to get my hands all dirty, and it was hardly nice at all," he mused softly.

"You obviously didn't do it right, because the water decided to turn boiling hot and then suddenly cold again and it refused to stop!" Arthur snarled. "The faucet for the sink is spitting all over the floor."

"I am not a plumber," Francis sighed, putting down his glass and folding the paper. "You expect so much of me simply because I am older than you."

"You should know about things like this, aren't you the 'man of the house'?" Arthur sneered.

"That is a term I have used once, and only when dominating you in the bedroom," Francis pointed out calmly.

"Shut up!" He grunted, clearly flustered. "Don't bring up things like that so casually!"

"Do you want me to look at the pipes?"

"Yes. You have to anyway, it's because of your incompetence that they've burst open."

Francis frowned, but had Arthur take him to the bathroom anyway. Francis went in, and Arthur went out, going and getting dressed before returning. When he did come back, Francis was crouched at the sink, leaning in to observe the pipe. He was crouched, not wanting to go onto his knees, for the floor was covered in water, and he had long trousers on. As he actually got around to looking at fixing the pipe, a barrage of insults and crude comments began to be sent down to him.

'You can't even do this right.'

'I bet you'll just fail again.'

'You're so useless.'

'Why do I even keep you around?'

Francis blocked it out for as long as he could, but finally he decided enough was enough, and stood up. He didn't care that the faucet's water continued to spit out at his leg. "Arthur!" he barked, creasing his brows. "Will you please stop! You want me to do this for you, but I find it hard when you wish to insult my every action!"

Arthur scoffed. "Maybe if you just did it properly the first time, I wouldn't have to be so critical!"

"Arthur, you don't need to be so tyrannical! Please, can you just stop!"

Arthur tensed in his journey along the edge. Just as he trembled and threatened to fall, he grabbed his lifeline, Francis, and threw him down instead. He stared down as Francis fell to the void.

"You're the one who's over-reacting!" Arthur hissed. Francis had definitely had enough, and he went to dash out of the bathroom. He had not factored in the water on the floor, and slipped on it, landing quite badly; his head was slammed to the tiles. "Francis?" he mumbled, taken aback. He crouched, panicked over his lover. "Francis! Get your stupid head off the floor right this instant!" Francis did not, instead laying there with his eyes shut. In fact, when Arthur examined closely, his eyes snagged on a red cut upon Francis's forehead, and then the blood that had started to drip from it. Worried and frightened, he called for an ambulance.

Francis blearily blinked his eyes open, trying to look around the room. The first thing he saw was Arthur at his bedside. He glanced down, noticing that Arthur's hands were on top of his own, and he slowly rotated his wrist to touch their palms. "-I'm so glad you're awake, I-"

"What happened?" Francis interrupted quietly, furrowing his brow.

"You slipped," supplied Arthur, worry evident in his voice. "You were mad at me and I was mad at you, and you slipped."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry, Francis," Arthur mumbled, shuffling his chair a little closer to Francis's hospital bed. "I've been truly terrible as of late."

"I'm not going to deny that, if that's what you are expecting," Francis sighed, and turned his head a bit.

"No, I mean it." he assured. "Francis, I've been less than grateful for having you in my life, and I want to make up for it."

"Why the sudden change of heart?" Francis queried, paying less attention to Arthur and more attention to the bandage that crowed his head.

"I thought for a moment you'd died," Arthur admitted quietly, giving Francis's hand a faint squeeze. "And I thought that you would leave me without knowing I truly care for you, even if my words are harsh and my attitude sour."

With that said, Arthur threw down a line of hope, and rescued Francis from going over the edge.

have a oneshot i wrote in 1 hour bcos im so uninspired for super zeroes it hurts