A flash, a sudden shove, followed by the single most horrific sound Arthur had ever heard. As he fell, hitting his head on the hard concrete of the curb, there was a thud, dull, yet sickening, mixed in with a short scream of pain, followed by tires screeching as someone sped off down the street, obviously aware of what they had done. Suddenly, he felt numb, unable to move as people ran to the scene, their annoyance at being woken at two in the morning morphing into feelings of both shock and horror. There were screams, people running to call for an ambulance, the murmured knowledge that no one wanted to admit... It was too late. Finally, a woman noticed Arthur, kneeling down next to him and trying frantically for a response. He couldn't remember anything else of that night; he didn't want to. He knew he would never forget the incident, though, and most certainly not when he got the news...

Tears ran down his cheeks as he sat there, but the memories would not cease. He hated to remember, but he knew when he stopped, he would be even more alone. That would be so much worse...

"Arthur Kirkland?"

The man looked up, acknowledging that he had heard the voice, but doing nothing else. He was in the hospital now, the day after "it" had happened, hooked up to all sorts of machines as doctors struggled to confirm his health. His eyes were hollow, face drained of all life, and he didn't seem to care whether he was okay or not.

"It seems you managed to avoid a concussion." The doctor smiled, the smooth flash of teeth somehow aggravating Arthur, "In fact, you seem to have escaped with nothing less than a chipped tooth!"

No. No. His tooth was the least of his problems...

"Francis." He said, something finally beginning to stir underneath his blank expression.

"Pardon?"

"Where is Francis?" The Englishman began to raise his voice, eyes filling with tears, "FRANCIS BONNEFOY! TELL ME WHERE HE IS!"

The doctor frowned, looking at him calmly, "What is your relationship to Mr. Bonnefoy?"

"I'M HIS BLOODY BOYFRIEND!" He screamed, tears beginning to flow; he was sure he knew what he wold be told.

"...I'm sorry to tell you that Mr. Bonnefoy is no longer with us... He died on impact with the car. But it was quick and painless!" He added hastily, as though it was supposed to make the situation better, "I'm afraid there was nothing we could do..."

"N-no!" Arthur began to sob, burying his face into his hands, "No..."

A year later and Arthur still didn't know the identity of the driver... Of his love's murderer. Whoever it was had driven off, and with not so much as the color of the car, there wasn't a lot that the police could do.

"Y-you bloody frog..." Arthur cried, his tears burring his vision so that the delicate script on the tombstone in front of him disappeared, "Why didn't y-you let it hit me? You b-bloody fucking g-git..."

A month after Francis Bonnefoy passed away, his lover, Arthur Kirkland, overdosed. When his brother Alfred arrived to check in on him, something he had been doing daily since the incident, he had found the man passed out on the floor, a bottle of painkillers laying empty on the living room table. Help came within minutes of the American's call, loading the blonde into the ambulance and rushing him to the hospital. Luck was on their side that afternoon, they only just managed to get Arthur there in time to save him. For once, Alfred really was the hero. The Brit had to spend a few weeks in recovery for his little stunt. He hated it...

"I-I miss you, Francis..." He whimpered, trying unsuccessfully to calm his sobs, "Damnit! Th-the end w-wasn't supposed to c-come s-so fast..."

He missed Francis. He missed the man's cooking, so much better than his own; the feel of his arms wrapped tightly around him, as though they could protect him from all harm. He missed the surprisingly comforting scratch of the French man's stubble on his cheek; those times when their lips pressed tenderly together, neither sure who had started it, but both knowing they'd be unwilling to end it. He missed those nights when their bodies were molded together, moans rising to shouts as they climaxed. He would never be able forget Francis; never be able stop hurting... Never be able to let go... H-he couldn't.

The clock struck two, and Arthur cried harder, his sobs piercing the silence of the night. At exactly 2AM one year ago, Francis had been hit by a car, protecting the man he loved's life at the cost if his own. It was official; a full year had passed, he was gone forever.

"F-Francis..." He choked out, barely able to breath, "I-I miss you... P-please... Please c-come back!"

But he couldn't. And it tore his soul apart to see what he had turned his love's life into.

AN: So, uh, yeah... A short little idea that popped out when I was supposed to be writing an essay on tennis. xD;; One of my friends told me, "No matter how much you love somebody, you're always going to have to say goodbye; you can't be together forever." And it got me thinking. So, rather than writing my tennis essay, I decided to fail PE and get this little fic out there~ Hope you guys like it. c: Reviews are love~ -hinthint-