Chapter 1: Gilbert's POV

This is not how I wanted to start my day.

I sighed softly as I held my best friend's hair out of his face as he vomited what little he had in his stomach. I could feel him shaking, but I didn't know if it was because he was puking or because he was sobbing. I hated getting calls from Francis like I had that morning—at three in the morning, with him in tears saying that he had relapsed. Again.

When he was done, he slumped to the floor, resting his forehead against the edge of the toilet as he cried. I rubbed his back soothingly, murmuring soft words of comfort. I couldn't stand feeling so helpless as I watched him slowly waste away; I was a therapist at a psychiatric hospital for fuck's sake. But I specialized in schizophrenia, not eating disorders, so I had almost no idea what to do to help him.

"Francis, let's get you a glass of water, okay?" I kept my voice soft and he nodded slightly.

I helped him stand up, resisting the urge to flinch as I saw how shaky his legs were. I led him out to the living room and sat him on the couch, half carrying him because he could barely support his own weight. He curled up, hugging his knees tightly against him. My chest felt restricted; it hurt to see Francis so broken when he used to be so confident and amazing.

When I brought him the glass, he took it shakily, grimacing as he took a sip. I would have given him something more substantial, but I knew that he wouldn't have accepted it. It was one of the things that I had learned over the years that Francis had been… well. I didn't want to think about what had caused his current state.

"I'm going to call Toni about this. He needs to know."

Francis hesitated and nodded slowly, looking down in what seemed like shame. I sat down next to him and pulled out my phone, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as I pressed the first emergency contact on my phone, calling Antonio. Francis, Antonio and I had been best friends since middle school, and we were the only two who knew what condition Francis had been in for the better part of a year and a half.

Antonio picked up, and I felt a bit guilty because I had clearly woken him up. "Gil, what are you calling for? It's three in the morning."

I sighed softly and cut my eyes sideways at the blonde beside me. "It's Francis. He relapsed."

"Alright, I'll be over in five. Give him a hug for me, alright?" I could tell that he was instantly awake, and knew that he'd probably be knocking on the door in a lot less than five minutes.

I hung up and leaned over, giving Francis a full-on hug. He looked confused; I wasn't usually a very touchy-feely person.

"That's from Toni. He'll be over soon, okay?"

That got him to smile a bit and he nodded, taking another drink from the glass. I kept my arm around him, trying to give him some sort of comfort. Like I had expected, Antonio was walking into the living room about three minutes after I had called. When it came to Francis, neither of us were ever going to dawdle or mess around. I knew that Antonio and I were going to have a hard time convincing the Frenchman to do what we knew was necessary, but we'd get there eventually. Despite the fact that we both worked at the same place, neither of us had any idea how to help our best friend and it was killing us slowly.

Antonio shot a worried glance at me before rushing to Francis and hugging him tightly. The Spaniard whispered a few words to our friend, but they were too quiet for me to make out. When he pulled away he sat on the other side of Francis, his arm joining mine around his shoulders. My eyes met Toni's green ones and a silent conversation ensued. Well, more like a silent agreement that we needed to get him help immediately.

"Franny," I said gently. "Look, I know you've been trying to get better, and you have. You've been doing fine on your own. But…" I trailed off; I had always been bad with words and I didn't want to hurt Francis with a misplaced phrase.

Luckily, Antonio seemed to know exactly what I was trying to say. "You need more help than just us, Francis. We might be therapists, but we don't know any more about what you're going through than an average person. We don't specialize in helping people like you. But… we do know someone who does."

I silently thanked any deity who was listening that Toni was more delicate with his speech than I ever could be; it was one of the many reasons he specialized in treating depression.

Francis' eyes widened slightly as he caught on to what we were suggesting. He opened his mouth, definitely to protest, but before he could Toni cut in again.

"Look, there's a new therapist who just transferred to where Gil and I work. He had a one hundred percent success rate at the last place he was, and none of them ever had a relapse after seeing him. We promise that if you give him a chance to help you, you'll be perfectly fine afterwards. So, please, Franny… try?"

He hesitated for a few minutes, the tension between the three of us building with every moment of silence. Both my gaze and Antonio's were fixated on Francis' reluctant blue eyes and we both sighed in relief when he nodded slowly. I reached over and wrapped my arms around Francis, hugging him tightly. Antonio did the same, and I was relieved to see the soft smile on the Frenchman's face as he hugged us back.

Francis looked seven shades of nervous as he followed Toni and I into Hetalia Psychiatric Hospital. Antonio went to get him checked in while I walked through the labyrinthine corridors to the office of one certain Brit. He was annoying and loud and was constantly dissing American cuisine despite the fact that he couldn't cook for shit—although, I had to admit that he could bake fairly well—but he was good at his job. Out of all the therapists that treated eating disorders in the facility, as much as I hated to admit it, Arthur Kirkland was probably the most trustworthy in my eyes, and that was why I trusted him with my best friend.

I knocked on the simple wooden door that matched every other door in the place, my hand falling to my side when I heard a chair scrape against the floor. Half a second later, the slightly shorter man opened the door and glared in annoyance at me. "What do you want?"

I sighed; I had completely forgotten that Arthur was anything but a morning person. "There's a patient waiting for you in the front lobby. He's a close friend of mine, and I know you're good at helping people like him, so get your ass out there and help him, dammit." I growled, not in the mood to put up with his shit right then.

He looked surprised, then sighed and nodded. He stepped out of the room and closed the door firmly behind him. "Alright, then, let's go."

I led him back out to the lobby where Antonio had his arm back around Francis' shoulders, murmuring quietly to him. The Frenchman was staring into space, nodding occasionally to whatever Toni was saying.

Both of them looked up as Arthur and I approached, Francis seeming to shrink in on himself a bit when he saw the man behind me. Gently setting a hand on his shoulder, I motioned at Arthur.

"Franny, this is who we were talking about earlier. His name is Arthur Kirkland, and he can help you, okay?"

He nodded and cut his eyes sideways at the aforementioned person, swallowing heavily. A nurse rushed up and whispered something to Antonio that made his eyes widen practically to the size of golf balls. He stood up and hurriedly apologized to us, saying a quick goodbye to Francis and wishing him luck before getting whisked away by the nurse.

I straightened up and ruffled Francis' hair, trying not to cringe at how brittle it felt and doing my utmost to ignore the strands that stuck to my hand when I pulled it away. It was horrible to see Francis reduced to the mostly mute mess he was, but it was hazards of what he had lived with for too long.

"I have to get to work, too, Franny. I'll drop by and visit later, okay?"

He nodded and I walked away after one last forced smile, trying to ignore the crushing weight of the guilt sitting on my chest. I didn't want to leave Francis to deal with Arthur's evil morning personality, but I didn't have any other option. I had a shit ton of paperwork to do and, according to one of my colleagues, Alfred, I was also getting a new patient that day. Which, to be honest, would be a relief. I had been mostly dealing with small two- or three-day stays for several months and it was getting old. That and a long-term patient would get my mind off Francis.

Even so, I couldn't help but wonder what new surprises would be in store for me with the arrival of another person who had been through hell and back.