A/N: Okay, this one's kind of a shorty. There was going to be more, but I was writing it and it just seemed to end at the right spot. There will be more FrUK here than originally thought, but I plan on keeping it one-sided.

No one goes crazy yet. We have two or three chapters before that happens ;).

Hope you like. Thanks to anyone who read this. ^^

I don't own the characters.

~*~*~weeee~*~*~

{[(ARTHUR'S POV)]}

"Why isn't it raining?"

"Hm? . . . I- . . . I don't know Arthur. That's just . . . it's just sunny today."

"Well it should be raining."

". . ."

In all the movies I'd ever seen where someone died, it was always raining at the funerals. Always. It was so fitting. It felt to so right. It made it seem like the world beyond this was anguished by the loss as well.

So why wasn't it raining then? Someone died. It was a funeral. So where was the rain?

Why? Why were the heavens dry-eyed? They witnessed the terrible death of an angel, shouldn't they be on their knees sobbing? If not out of sadness, then out of joy that they're getting such a sweet, loving creature back?

They should've been, but they weren't. It was a beautiful, perfect, sunny summer day. Just more proof to me that there wasn't anything up there . . . I was seriously contemplating about turning atheist.

There weren't many people here on earth weeping either. Which simply repulsed me. If they weren't going to mourn, why did they even show up for the burial?

Really the only tears I could see shed were those of Alfred's mother, his brother (whose name I couldn't remember for the life of me), and my own. Francis had cried for a bit earlier, but that was only when I was on my knees bawling my soul out and he had to comfort me for about an hour. That fucking bastard didn't give a single shit about Alfred.

I believe I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I hate him. I hate him with all that I have. Nothing he – or anyone else – ever does will change that.

My eyes were a dull, lifeless forest color as I watched the elegant casket (not quite as much so as its contents, but elegant nonetheless) be slowly lowered into the ground. It shouldn't be . . . he was too good for that. The dirt didn't deserve him, and especially not the worms.

Repulsive things – he always hated them. And now he has to be surrounded by them for the rest of eternity . . . It's not fair!

But he couldn't have been cremated. No, then he'd be nothing but ash that would blow away with the slightest hint of a breeze. Ash was weak, and he was so strong . . . besides, he didn't want to be burned. He was never too fond of heat.

Down he went; into the dark of the ground. It took all that I had to keep myself from jumping in there with him.

I swallowed a lump in my throat and rubbed at my eyes. Next to me, Alfred's mom fell to the ground and wailed that he didn't deserve it. I couldn't agree with her more.

Her other son - Marcus? Martial? – kneeled by her side and tried to calm her. It only led to more cries, however.

Francis glanced at me from his spot a few feet away, but I didn't look back at him. I didn't take my eyes off the casket. Even after it was out of vision, my sight didn't waver from where I'd last seen it. From where I'd last seen him.

I took in a staggered breath. Was I still crying? I couldn't feel the tears anymore. Of course, I'd pretty much gone numb quite a while ago.

Since I got that call on that fateful day, all I'd been doing was sitting in my home, staring blankly at the wall and occasionally having a bottle of rum . . . or two, or three, or sometimes four.

I hadn't gone to my job at all either. After a few weeks of calling in sick, they just decided to fire me. I didn't really care. So what if I didn't have any money?

The frog checked up on me daily. He'd make meals for me (I would never eat willingly. If he wanted me to have food, he'd have to force my mouth open and shove the food down) and would sometimes stay for a while and look at me while I looked at nothing.

Almost every day he'd try to get some kind of reaction out of me. He'd tease, and poke my face. Make insults directed at my cooking and fashion sense. He'd break my china on purpose and say he refused to clean it up. He'd put on music he knew I hated, tell stories that were supposed to make me laugh, tickle me, pull my hair, kiss my cheeks, and make his damn love confessions that meant absolutely nothing to me. But I never so much as batted an eye.

Once he even started crying, and began to plead and beg me to show some emotion, some recognition that I was still alive.

And when he cried, I got angry. He wouldn't shed a single when I told him Alfred was gone, but he'd burst into hysterics if I didn't react to his stupid actions? That fucking prick. Oh god, how I wish he'd drop over dead. I wish it'd been him instead of Alfred.

But I decided to give him what he wanted. I looked at him blankly and weakly whispered three words, "I hate you . . ."

It wasn't meant to come out sounding like that. It was supposed to have venom dripping from every syllable. I was planning on hissing it out while wearing a face of absolute disgust.

But for some reason, it was but a pathetic murmur that even I could barely hear, and my face still held that blank, unseeing appearance.

It looked to be enough for Francis though. A smile spread across his face, and he moved a few stray strands of hair from my eyes.

"I love you too, cher . . . cher? Oi, Arthur, Pouvez-vous m'entendre? Can you hear me?"

Brought back to reality by the soft jostling of my upper arm, I realized that most everyone had left the cemetery. Was I really zoned out for that long? It didn't seem like it.

Francis continued to push my shoulder lightly. "Arthur, hey, come on. It's over. Time to go home . . . are you listening?"

Slowly, I nodded. "Y-yes." My feet were on autopilot as the started to leisurely move their way out of the graveyard. Sandy blonde hair hit my face as my head hung as low as it could go. Water still trickled from my eyes. I didn't feel like wiping it away, so I let it roll off my face and drip to the grass below.

Francis stared at me as I went. "Do you want me to drive you home? It wouldn't be a bother."

"No. I took a bus here and I can take one back . . . " I had a car and could operate it magnificently, but I didn't have the willpower to drive properly that day. I decided it'd be better to take public transportation rather than kill a bunch of pedestrians and myself with reckless driving . . . maybe I should have driven after all.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive, froggy."

"Alright . . . promise you'll call me if you need anything."

"No." And with that, I left and began my slow shuffle to the bus station.

~T.B.C~

A/N: like I said, it just ended in the right place.

Hope it was okay.

Bye~