I will post a proper author's note next time, but for now I am too depressed and disappointed in the electoral college that I cannot find it in me to write something happy. I am sorry. Here is Francis' and Arthur's backstory.
Arthur sat on the threadbare carpet, pushing a toy truck back and forth. The faces of his parents were blurred smudges, unrecognizable to his toddler eyes. The only face that stood out was Francis', sitting beside him and playing with a matching toy. Both boys were still soft with baby fat, Arthur a bit more than Francis. Neither of them gave any thought to the disease slowly chipping away at the city; all they could think about was each other.
"We'll be best friends forever, right, Francis?"
"Of course, Artie." Francis gave Arthur a sticky kiss on the cheek, causing him to blush.
"Thank you, Franny. I don't want to ever leave you."
"And I you, mon petit lapin."
...
Arthur stood by his parents' covered bodies, silent tears leaking out of his eyes and down his cheeks.
"I can take care of him! We can take care of him! Right, maman, papa?"
"Of course, Francis. We loved Arthur's family, and we love Arthur. We wouldn't let those awful companies have him, we aren't going to let him grow up into somebody who would take freedom away from others for money."
Francis swept little six-year-old-Arthur into his arms and peppered kisses down his cheek to get him to stop crying. Arthur sniffled a little and looked into Francis' cerulean eyes, calming somewhat.
"I've got you, Artie. And I'm never going to let you go."
...
"I guess we're on our own now."
Arthur nodded grimly, picking at his torn clothing.
"I'm sixteen now, so I can take care of both of us, right? We won't be hurt by that disease, we would have caught it by now, no?"
Another nod. Arthur was silent, sitting in the armchair previously occupied by Francis' mother, cheeks blanched to cream. Francis sat across from him, a tear glistening on his cheek.
"It's going to be okay, Artie. We can make it through this."
...
Francis screamed, trying to staunch the flow of blood pouring from his empty eye socket.
"Help me! I can't stop it!"
Arthur rushed over, face contorted into a mixture of shock and horror as he saw the winking, oh so familiar aqua eye rolling around on the carpet and the almost endless fountain of plasma gushing from in between Francis' clenched fingers.
"Call an ambulance!"
...
"They're taking me away tomorrow."
Arthur sat by Francis' hospital bed, talking to the limp figure whose right eye was covered by a white medical patch.
"At least you got a replacement, so you can still count as Perfect. We can still stay together, right?"
"Um, about that..."
Francis, slowly and carefully, removed the white patch with two fingers, revealing, instead of a beautiful orb, a sewn up socket, carefully stitched with lavender thread.
"I'm so sorry."
...
Arthur sat in the pristine white transition room, torn jeans and hoodie replaced with pressed white shirt and pants.
"Name?"
"Arthur Kirkland."
"Age?"
"16."
"Hair color, eye color?"
"Blonde, green."
They took his fingerprints, a blood sample, some hospital tests, and finally, a branded mark in the middle of his back, an image of an orchid and a carnation, stems intertwined.
"We let you slip away the first time, but now you truly belong to us."