Not much to say about this chapter. It's short and kinda shit.

It was so goddamn cold outside. Matthew couldn't figure why, the days had been so warm lately. It was dark, too. That was understandable though, it was 11 pm and certainly not the time to be out.

But he had a reason. Maybe not a good one. But he had a reason.

He noticed the familiar figure at the end of the street, back to him. Matthew walked faster to reach him.

"Francis."

The blonde turned around. Matthew flinched. Francis's face was pale, he looked sick, and his eyes were puffy.

"Bonsoir, Matthew."

"You look like shit", the Canadian said. Francis let out a quiet laughter.

"Oui, I suppose I do. That tends to happen", he responded, and looked at Matthew. "You don't look your best either. Have you been sick?"

"Uh, kind of."

Neither of them said anything after that. Matthew studied Francis. Once the definition of beautiful, Francis was now a ghost of himself; he was like a corpse. His hair was dirty and messy, so very unlike him. His clothes were probably something he had quickly grabbed from the closet. It was intimidating, really. Then the Frenchman broke the silence.

"I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I'm sorry. I wasn't supposed to be like that. I didn't want to harm you. I just...lost it. I don't know why. Je suis desole."

Francis looked Matthew straight into his eyes. His regret was obvious. Once all-mighty and powerful man, now there was a little child in them. Matthew's stomach twisted.

"It's okay-"

"No it's not", Francis cut him off. "I was a dick. A massive dick. I made things worse than they could've been. And all because I was angry and stupid and delusional and jealous-"

"What?"

"Quoi?"

Matthew watched his upperclassman in confusion. Things were too damn difficult. He wanted an explanation. He exhaled, and determinedly set his mind to find out why all of this had happened.

"Francis. You tell me everything. Tell me why Arthur and you hate each other so much."

Francis sighed, fidgeting. "Do you really want to know?"

"I've been beaten, avoided, alone and I lost a friend because of this shit. I need to know."

There was a silence, Matthew staring Francis, Francis avoiding his eyes.

"We fucked. Once. We were drunk. Really drunk. It was...stupid. Really stupid."

The Canadian couldn't find the words. He had expected something like this, but sex? Not that. What he knew, Francis and Arthur had hated each other since they met. How on earth they could've fucked, even if both were drunk?

"You should ask Arthur for more. After all, he's your boyfriend."

"Arthur won't tell me", Matthew blurted. Francis chuckled. "I know."

"Then how am I supposed to make him tell me?"

"You're a cunning little shit. You'll figure out something."

Someone once said Arthur shouldn't drink any sort of alcohol more than a glassful unless he wanted to be labeled as a crazy hobo. Arthur had ignored it; usually people with multiple heads were either imaginary or stupid.

But maybe they had been right, the heads. Arthur knew he wasn't right; today the usual portion of rum hadn't been enough. He had taken another cup, still not enough. He was still shaking, anxious. He had headed towards Alistair's cabinet. Many shiny bottles filled the small space, and he had picked one randomly. Whiskey. Good whiskey. Alistair might complain about that later when he got back home from work. Didn't matter; Arthur's anxiety was easing.

Shitty Sunday.

Arthur slumped more on the couch, gulping the last of the whiskey. Empty. How sad. Had to do. He didn't want his head severed, anyway, and he was buzzy enough to feel good. He had to be numb, Arthur wasn't a weak person, he could handle stress perfectly fine, but knowing he is hurting Matthew did eat him, because it wasn't right to make shit happen to good people but oh, how good did it feel to have that person all to yourself. A mess, a raging storm was inside him, and alcohol would make hi forget it. Even for a while.

It wasn't going to be a thing, really. Arthur would come up with something that wouldn't hurt anyone.

Did someone knock the door?

Nah.

Arthur hummed a tune, closing his eyes.

Someone did knock the door.

Shit.

For a moment, he wondered if he was drunk enough to ignore it or sober enough to go answer the door, but then they knocked again and he got up, wawering a bit, and stumbled to the door, muttering something about mint bunnies.

How did you use these things again?

After a moment of thinking, he remembered the manouver, and managed to open the door.

Shouldn't have.

"Oh my God."

That was the first thing Matthew managed to utter. There Arthur was, wawering, distant, drunk. His T-shirt had a wet spot on it. Arthur's hair was even messier than usual. Eyes hazy.

Fucking pissed.

"You're drunk", he said, and Arthur blushed. The Brit tried to say something, mouth opening and closing, but no words came out.

Fucking pissed.

"Arthur, what are you doing?"

"...I'm...drinking whiskey", Arthur answered, not really aware of himself. Matthew sighed. "Yeah, I can see that. Why are you drinking?"

Arthur's eyes darted between the bottle and Matthew. "I..." the sentence was never finished. Arthur just stood there, awkward, blushing, drunk.

Matthew was disgusted, really.

For several moments, they stood there, staring each other. It was almost like Arthur wasn't there; a cold, ugly shell stood at the doorway trying to figure out how to speak with out a mind. Matthew was speechless. One day, just in one day Arthur managed to transform into this...filthy slob.

"What are you doing?" he repeated. Arthur shrugged.

"I'm not good. I'm bad", he muttered, eyes cast down. Matthew blinked. "What do you mean? Arthur?"

"I'm bad. Bad things happen to you because I'm bad. It's not good", the Brit slurred, stepping back a few uncertain steps. Matthew shook his head.

"No, it's not because of that. Bad things happen, no matter what. It's not because of you", he argued, trying to reason. Arthur scoffed.

"Fuck that! Bad things happen because of me. I know it. I know it. I'm bad. I'm the worst."

"You're not-"

"I'm shit. I know it hurts you to be with me, it's not good for you, but you're so lovely I don't want to let you go...You're mine. I don't..." the rest of the sentence faded away.

Matthew stared at his boyfriend. At his state, there was no way anything was coming out of the bastard. Arthur was hammered. He might aswell interrogate a cat. He sighed.

"You know what? I'm not going to argue with you when you're drunk. You can't think straight. Call me when you have sobered up. I mean, if you have the guts to do that."

He turned around and left, angry footsteps echoing in the hall. Arthur watched as Matthew walked away, desperate to find the words to apologise.

Some winner had Matthew picked up.

Just remember what a cute little thing this used to be...hahahhahaha. Angst for the win. Don't worry, I'll make it up to you.