Because I haven't really written these two on their own and that needs to change even if it's a random short thing I wrote when I couldn't go to sleep even though it was 3 hours before I had to wake up for school ;_;

warnings: OOCness, continued inability to pick appropriate genres, random switch in tenses

Arthur smoothed out the old tweed coat, checking his appearance in the rear-view mirror of his car. The floral bouquet sat in the passenger seat, fresh from the shops. He hadn't quiet gotten the names of the flowers, but it didn't matter. They were the perfect combination of brilliant blues and soft violets.

He looked at the empty, tree lined stretch of road both ahead and behind him.

He's not here.

Good, because Arthur was always the first one to come. Had been for the past four years. Was going to be for the fifth. Francis was fully capable of arriving at the same time or earlier, but he always came late just to please Arthur.

And I always misinterpret that as a sign for something more than courtesy.

He got out of his car, bringing the bouquet of flowers with him. The cool autumn breeze played across his face as he walks down the familiar dirt driveway. The lush red and orange trees appeared more vibrant in the early morning sun, and Arthur found their tranquility as he walked towards the grave site.

Their tombstones were in a secluded area in the rolling green grass. They were two identical crosses, cut out of a dark stone he could not name, standing tall and proud. Between them, Arthur placed his bouquet of flowers.

He knelt to the ground and rattled off a quick prayer that his boys were doing good, creating enough havoc in heaven to keep it sane. During the first two years, the prayer had been longer and more emotional.

Therapy and isolation had fixed that.

A second bouquet, one of red roses, was placed neatly beside the first. The owner knelt as well, and recited the same prayer but in its original, longer form.

The two men straightened up afterwards, and like they did in the past five years, spoke to the tombstones and not to each other.

"They'd be graduating high school right now." Arthur said simply. "Hard to believe it's been seven years."

"Hard to believe it's been five." Francis replied, and the comment still had the ability to make Arthur stiffen.

"They would have been fine young men." Arthur murmured, reaching out with his fingers and running his hand over the cool stone of both the crosses.

And we would still have been a fine young family.

"They are fine young men." Francis corrected softly. "Ils habitent dans le ciel."

Had it been normal circumstances, Arthur would have berated the French. But it hadn't been normal circumstances for seven years, and five years ago when the two realized that staying together hurt too much, Arthur had lost his right to scold Francis over such petty things.

"Would have been better if they were living with us." Arthur sighed, but the voice had long lost the desire for the words to be real.

They were gone, there was no denying that. Those two boys that they had worked so hard to raise were long gone, and so was the relationship between the two. Had they remained together, just seeing each other in the morning would have reminded them of what was. Of what could have been.

"They're with us."

It had actually been Arthur who had first said those words, many years ago at the funeral. At that time, Francis, in an uncharacteristic move, slapped the comforting smile off Arthur's face. Later on, when they signed the divorce papers, Arthur knew why. Had Matthew and Alfred actually been with them, they wouldn't be going through a painful situation. For being a staunch believer in magic and the supernatural, Arthur couldn't deny that their two children had moved on from the mortal world.

They stood there in silence, for it had become their routine. There hadn't been a year so far where they had found anything left unsaid between them.

And as part of the routine, Arthur finally spoke when the lack of noise had become too heavy.

"I always imagine how it would be if they were still here." If we were still whole.

"I'm sure one would be raising hell." Francis mused quietly. "And I would probably be teaching the other to cook. He always did love cooking, which isn't much of a surprise given what he was often given to eat."

Sharp green eyes narrowed, still not daring to look into the cobalt blue ones beside him.

"Bloody hell," Arthur grumbled. "Five years of being apart and it still always goes back to my cooking."

Francis gave a light chuckle, and placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder.

Words are not exchanged after that. The two part ways with a simple good bye; no one is asked for their number, their address, or how they are doing in their new life.

And they do not look at each other.

Both know that their relationship has crumbled past the point of salvation, and they will continue to have the same exchange over the graves every single year. That will still be the only time of the year they meet; the rest will be spent leading lives they have started anew, rid of any trace of their previous relationship.

Francis Bonnefoy and Arthur Kirkland consider each other strangers now, because history is easier to erase than most people say. Want for what had been has dissipated within both of them.

But as they both drive home to cities far away from their old life, they will, for at least one day, indulge in a little wishful thinking.

Fin

Ils habitent dans le ciel- "They live in the sky." Or something roughly like it. If it's wrong, please let me know (: