It had been twelve months. Twelve months, fifty-two weeks, three hundred and sixty-five days. It had been an entire year.

Arthur sat on an old armchair, his fingers playing with a plastic rose as his emerald eyes stared off out the window at the evening sky, the sun sinking past the horizon as yet another day faded.

A while ago, the night arriving only to welcome a new day would not have been a problem for the blonde Brit. That was then. Now. Another day passing meant that there was less belief, that there was less hope.

It meant that Francis was less likely to come back.

Even though a year would usually zip by for the Englishman, the past one had felt more like several centuries. Several centuries of waiting for a loud knock on his wooden door, with the familiar French accent calling through it to let him in, that he had simply left his key at home again.

He has been waiting for the man whom he had fallen for so long ago, the man whose heart he had owned for three years. He has been waiting for the return of the blue eyes and blonde hair he longed to see, the person who he would give up owning everything to find. Time, unfortunately, decreased the chances of any of these happening, no matter how much Arthur would wish for fate to work otherwise.

The small calendar sitting on the wooden windowsill read May the 23rd. The blonde haired Brits eyes avoided the date today, going as far as avoiding the newspaper and taking off his watch. He didn't like the memories that would come back if he looked at the date.

He would remember waking up to an empty bed, and being surprised when the scent of some delicious breakfast wasn't wafting from their kitchen. The entire house was empty of Francis. Arthur assumed that he had gone shopping and forgotten to leave a note. The emerald-eyed man ate his self-prepared burnt breakfast by the phone, waiting for it to ring. He hadn't bothered calling his lovers mobile; it was still on their bedside table.

After forty-eight hours, the police where notified. He's not actually missing, it's just the right thing to do he had told himself.

When the French man had not turned up anywhere for two weeks, his friends and family had began to accept that he was missing. Tears were shed and prayers saying goodbye were made, but Arthur simply smiled at them. "He's not gone, he can't be. Trust me, he's out there somewhere and he will come back tomorrow!"

After a month of waiting, Arthur had finally broken down. Tears finally spilled down his cheeks as he sobbed. Different people came to his place and attempted to comfort him. Matthew, Kiku, many old friends, hell, even Alfred had tried to help him, obviously upset that his close friend, his old brother was so upset. They were all pushed away. "I don't need you! I need Francis!" he had cried between sobs, curling back up on his armchair and crying at the empty one where his missing passionate lover had once sat.

Arthur couldn't sit by the window for the rest of his life. He had to continue his life, he had always been a busy man, and he couldn't waste away waiting for a lost love.

As he managed to attend meetings and carry on, everyone else assumed he had gotten over the event. The Brit acted like himself, getting pissed off easily at the obnoxious American easily and defending his 'friends' (because Flying Mint Bunny is real!), so everyone assumed Francis was in his past.

Arthur hadn't stopped wishing for him though. He hadn't stopped drinking his afternoon tea by the phone and window, waiting for either a call he would never receive or a man running back to him, whom would never run back. He hadn't stopped saying 'Goodnight Francis, I love you.' when the stars showed themselves on the sky and he headed off to bed. He hadn't stopped carrying a plastic rose around with him, of which Francis had given to him in a cheesy 'I will love you until the last rose dies' act, where a bouquet of a dozen roses had been given to him, the fake one breaking a smile on the old Brit's usually annoyed face.

Subconsciously fiddling with the plastic petals, Arthur's eyes wandered from the fields outside of the window to around the room. Many of the things Francis had owned had began 'mysteriously' disappearing when his friends had tried to make him accept that it was only himself now (probably mostly Alfred's doing.) The armchair and a few pictures still remained, and nothing said could convince him to dispose of them. It was all of Francis he had left, and he was going to cling to them as long as possible.

Eyes welling, he realized it was getting dark. The moon shined in the now black sky, a few lone stars scattered across it. Another day without Francis had gone. Blinking away the tears he refused to cry anymore, he began to put away his cup and plate, leaving them in the sink to wash tomorrow.

Walking by the window to his room, the Englishman muttered "'Night Francis. I love you."

The moment his head hit the pillow, Arthur was swept into a world of dreams. He had made sure he could sleep easily, as the first few months of his loneliness had consisted of late nights simply thinking or crying, and he couldn't have that anymore. Although his love was gone, that didn't mean he could be so hopeless. He head to remain strong for Francis.

His grip around the flower loosened as he slept. He had to be strong, but that didn't mean he had to throw away his hope. His hope was in the flower that he had been given. The flower reminded him that somewhere, out there in the world, Francis may still love him.

And in Arthur's eyes, that was enough to stay strong for.

Author here :DD

I came up with the idea for this fan fiction while going to draw some fan art, but I'm not sure if I should continue... Maybe let me know be reviewing if you'd really like me to continue (but you don't have to, of course...)

Yeah. If there is another chapter, expect it a few days to months from now =.= My timing is terrible XP

Okay then, bye~!

EDIT: It's been a while, but I have gone to edit this chapter (Not very well though eheh). Because yes, I am thinking of continuing. I finally thought of a short storyboard thing.