Goodbye, Apathy.

"I can help you out
I'll be what you need
I'll do anything
goodbye, apathy."

- Goodbye, Apathy by OneRepublic

Arthur sat back in his chair, avoiding eye contact. The lit cigarette in between his fingers burned on, the smoke filling the air and ashes falling onto the floor. His light blond hair was tussled and it was quite obvious that he had run his hands through his hair more than once. His eyes had purplish bags under them, which did not go well with Arthur's pale skin. But then again, Arthur did a lot of things that weren't good for his body, much less his skin.

Francis gripped the armrests of his chair; hard enough that his hands were in pain, but not hard enough to leave a permanent dent or the like in the leather. "Mon chéri, I'm trying. You do understand that, correct?"

Francis saw Arthur's lips curved inward, as if he was holding his remark back with force.

"Say what you have to say. I can handle it." He continued, shifting forwards in his seat so he was sitting straight. He could see Arthur better now, his sickly thin frame that looked like it would break into two if touched. The shirt that he wore hung from his shoulders and made things looks ten times worse, because apparently that was possible.

Francis remembered 11 years ago, meeting the 12 year old Arthur. He had been 15 and a friend of Arthur's second oldest brother and his only sister, who were both 18 and not really close with Arthur. None of Arthur's siblings were really close to the second youngest child in the family, not even little Peter who had been born when Francis was 18 and ready to leave England ASAP.

So he left.

But he remembered the starry-eyed teen that believed in fairies and the like, who seemed to hate Francis even more than he hated his own siblings.

Hate, as they say, is a strong word.

Before Francis had left on his plane, however, Arthur had pulled Francis in and kissed him. Francis, who could admit to himself that he had started to develop feelings for the hot-tempered Brit, was shocked. However, Arthur had run away before Francis could say anything. Francis would have run after him of course, but if he had, he would've missed his flight.

To this day he wished that he had missed that damn flight.

He was gone for six years. No more, no less.

While he was gone, Arthur had taken up a nasty habit.

"Heroin is one hell of a drug, I can tell you that." Arthur had said, smoking a cigarette and staring up at the cream ceiling of the room that the two shared; the 21 year old needed a place to stay - having been kicked out of his house a few months before - and Francis was more than willing to offer. "Cocaine is crap, never taking that ever again. With heroin? You're numb. You don't feel a fucking thing and you can just disappear, it seems. It's fucking fantastic."

Arthur had changed.

The child who had believed in magic and in unicorns was long gone, and here was an adult who had taken almost every drug under the sun. Francis did not know how his Angleterre had gone down this path.

"I don't fucking know, frog. Shit happened." Arthur had said when the Frenchman had asked how he had started taking drugs.

Shit had most defiantly happened.

There were days when Arthur didn't take heroin. Those days absolutely terrified Francis, because he did not know what Arthur was going to do next. One moment he'd be in the front room doing alright, the next he'd be in the room curled up in the sheets and Francis felt like he could not do a thing.

And he absolutely hated that feeling of uselessness.

He would've done anything for Arthur. Anything at all, even if they were apart.

Arthur finally looked Francis in the eye. The once brilliant jade green eyes were now dull, as if all life was drained from them.

"Why are you even trying anymore? I'm not worth it."

Francis would have been lying if he said that his heart did not break as Arthur muttered those ten words.

Pushing himself out of his chair, Francis walked over to Arthur. He grabbed Arthur by the shoulders and kneeled down on one of his knees, so he was now looking up at Arthur.

"Don't you dare say that ever again Arthur. I love you. I love you so much… But I don't think I'm what you need. Not right now.

"I wish I could be what you need, but what you need is help. Help that I can't provide for you."

A silence came up between the two men.

"So is this it? Are you getting rid of me?" Arthur said, his eyes growing darker.

"No! No. I'd never 'get rid of you'. You just need to get help, mon chéri. You need to stop doing this to yourself. You're killing yourself –"

"What if that's what I want Francis? Have you ever thought of that? I'm sick of this world. I'm just… tired. I'm so tired." Arthur snapped, his voice lowering into a whisper as the sentence came to a close.

Francis cupped Arthur's cheek with one of his hands. Arthur was not crying, something he hardly did.

All of this was happening right now because Arthur had come home really fucked up on something that not even Arthur himself knew. But he was awake and he was talking and he was more alive than a few days ago. Francis had finally sat Arthur down, like he had been planning too for weeks, and told him the truth, that he desperately needed help with his problem.

"Arthur, I… I don't want you to give up. There is so much to live for. You may not see it. Not yet. You won't see it if you give up."

Arthur didn't say anything in return and Francis sighed, knowing that Arthur was too stubborn to listen, no matter how important the situation.

"If you're tired, you need to sleep… Just sleep on it, okay? Think about it. " Francis said, pulling Arthur to his feet and taking him to their bedroom.

Arthur didn't say anything in refusal. He got into bed with Francis, Francis throwing an arm over Arthur and pulling him close.

"I'll see you in the morning. I love you."

"I love you too…" Arthur muttered, falling asleep.

Francis did not see Arthur in the morning.

I've got to go.
I'm sorry, but I need to do some things for me.
I'll come back. I promise. I'll come home.
Don't look for me.
- Arthur.

A day passed. Francis didn't stop looking and Arthur didn't come home.

A week, a month, two months, six months, one year, a year and a half and Arthur still hadn't come home.

Nothing came up in the newspapers, and the police even tried looking. They saw nothing.

But Francis never stopped looking. He didn't want to let go of the illusion that Arthur really would come home. But deep down, a part of him didn't think that Arthur would come back. He got his best friends, Antonio and Gilbert to help him. And they got their partners, Lovino and Maria, to help; which Francis was very grateful for, but it didn't help. Not really.

Eventually two years came.

Francis put a hat on his head and moved to tie his shoes when a knock on his front door made him look up from what he was doing. Francis rarely got people coming to his door besides Antonio and Gilbert, and he was going to go visit them, so it surely wasn't them.

"Wait a second!" Francis called, finishing with his shoes. He went to open the door. "Hello?"

Standing there in a black trench coat and a light grey scarf was Arthur Kirkland, looking healthier than Francis had seen him in years. He wore a blank expression, the won he usually used to wear before.

"Hey." Arthur said, as if he had not been gone for two fucking years.

Francis just stood there, doing nothing. How was he supposed to react?

"Can I come in?"

Francis nodded and Arthur came in, not taking off his jacket or his shoes or even his scarf. His body was completely tense.

Francis led Arthur to the chairs where they sat two years ago, the night before Arthur had left.

"…It's been two years… What have you been up too?" Francis started awkwardly. He couldn't stop looking at Arthur. He looked healthy, but Francis could see the same haunted look in those green eyes.

"I was on the streets for a day or two… I got help though. I put my pride behind me… I went to my parents' house. My dad didn't want anything to do with me, but my mom and siblings? My brothers might be arseholes… But they care. They dragged me to rehab and I got out a few months ago… I've been trying to get my life back together… I'm trying to put everything in the past. I got a job at a bookshop… The old couple running it doesn't seem to mind my past, which I'm grateful for."

"Really?"

"Yeah… I'm doing well. You… You were right." Arthur grimaced. It looked as if he was still as stubborn as before. "I'm not completely well, however... I'm missing something."

Francis smiled to himself.

"I can help you with that."

"I have a lot of baggage."

"And I could care less."

A/N: Thank you very much for reading this. I posted this about a month ago on my tumblr, but I edited out a few sentences from the end that were awkward. Review, if you'd like.