Beyond Our Sight

By Ryukansen

Chapter Twenty One: Good Night, Good Morning

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Author's Note: This chapter took forever, sorry guys. It was just like some weird writer's block that was trying to eat out all the emotion out of this chapter, when this chapter is supposed to be very emotional. Anyways, thanks for the reviews! Continue reading and reviewing please!!!!

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If there was one thing he could change from the past, it would undeniably be to make his brother happy, even if it meant to sacrifice everything.

They stood in a stunned silence, in that one embrace. The sunset was finally laying itself to sleep into the midnight blue, and the tranquility of the area only seemed to seep into their inner cores, dampen their hearts and even darken their relationship. The feeling of misery swept both of them off their feet as one clung to the other, while the other simply stood limp with utter disbelief.

All this time, Alfred had been keeping a dreadful memory away from him. All this time, he had been smiling with something haunting him; something eating at his already diseased heart – like a hell reliving inside him.

"I deserve this ending, Arthur…" Alfred's voice suddenly whispers into his ear. The warmth, despite the cold arms surrounding his waist, touched his left lobe with such a refreshing feeling. Arthur shivered at the sudden contact, but nevertheless did nothing as the ghost smiled bitterly while releasing his arms around the other.

It was like a huge weight leaving his shoulders, but as soon as the American let go of him, another weight planted in his heart.

Looking back up as soon as the coldness left him, the Briton found those laughing blue eyes dancing down at him like a song full of emotions. The last rays of the blood red sun, shriveled around the American, and for once that smile hanging onto Alfred's pale face seemed so depressing.

The golden sunset never looked so uglier to him.

What should he do? How should he comfort someone who had obviously made the mistake? Why was it Alfred who had come to him? Why did he have to face all of these problems? Why couldn't his life be perfect? Why was Alfred still a mystery to him?

"…But you're alive, Alfred…" He began, his throat aching to crack as he turned his gaze back at the American.

That stupid smile was still traced onto the ghost's thin lips, and those stupid sapphire eyes still glittered with that mocking hope. All of the American's traits were trying to convey to him the inevitability of where they stood, and yet, there was still that hope inside him.

"You're still alive…and, you understand what you did wrong…" He whispered, finding his hand travelling towards the American, and grasping that white crispness of Alfred's shirt. "You can ask for forgiveness." He replied, his voice wavering as he touched his forehead against the American's chest. "You can ask for forgiveness…"

"Arthur…"

And never before has he found that voice so damn annoying.

"FORGIVE YOURSELF, DAMN IT! What would your brother think, if he knew his death was bringing you down?! God gave you a chance, and here's your chance – damn you, you piece of…"

And never before has he found that cold trait of the ghost to be so comforting.

Here he was crying, but here he was telling himself that everything would be okay, because whatever that book said – he knew it was true. That book, it told him everything – and yet those depressing looks from the American made his heart shatter every time he looked up.

"You piece of shit…" He croaked, trying to tie his hands together around the American's waist. Was Alfred this huge? "You're a piece of shit." He replied softly, murmuring into the American's chest as he tried to comfort himself.

Alfred stared down at Arthur, a frown tingeing the tips of his smile as the shorter male tried to comfort the both of them.

He didn't know what to say; because he knew what other words he had left would only make a crack between their already disappearing bond.

The only thing he could do is remain silent, and smooth his hands back and forth across the fragile man's back.

"It's alright…I'm alright." He lied while inhaling the soft scent of Arthur's hair; a soft strawberry, his favorite fruit. "I'm alright." His forehead touched the top of Arthur's hair, as he felt the softness of the Briton's mane. It was so silky.

The lie behind those beautiful words, hurt too much. Arthur understood Alfred knew where he stood, but he was a dumb American, and Arthur would prove to Alfred he was still alive.

"I'll find you," Arthur muttered while crushing the American with all the force he could muster with his thin arms. "I'll show you, that everything will be fine, you stupid git." He replied, glaring up at those hideous, blue eyes.

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"Mr. Bonnefoy, please come in." A nurse smiled softly as she unlocked the door leading to the patient's room, and allowed him to enter in.

It never felt so magical before; it never felt so right, as soon as he took his first step into Matthew's quarters.

It was a heavenly room, all clad in white, and shining as the sun sprinkled every corner of the room. It was like a fairytale that was finally receiving its happy ending.

"He'll be waking up shortly," the woman replied, bowing slightly, while leaving to attend other family members. Francis nodded as he saw her shadow leave, and turned around to face the sleeping figure atop on the bed.

Matthew lay on the crisp, white sheets, inhaling deeply. His golden tresses curled on the edges of his pillow, and, to Francis, he never looked so beautiful in his life.

The heart monitor was beating evenly, and Francis felt a whole burden leave his shoulders as he gazed patiently for the younger man to wake up.

What should he say? What should he do when little one woke up? How should he react?

He never felt this excited in his life before. He never felt so relieved in his life before.

Finally, Matthew would be waking up, and he would get to see that smile and those purple eyes, again, because God, has those things been taken away from him for too long.

His hands instinctively wrapped around Matthew's own hand, and all of a sudden he could feel those eyes starting to flutter open.

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He wouldn't let go of him, and Alfred could sense that the Briton was determined to keep close to him, just like a child obsessed with its toy.

They had returned home, and Arthur, selfishly, asked for him to stay with him the whole night; his hand never leaving the ghost's hand, as they lay side by side one another on the bed with a strange awkwardness.

Arthur didn't feel embarrassed, no, in fact, he felt more comforted with the American right by his side; no matter the awkward situation he had given to the both of them. It felt right to be with one another.

"Good night, Arthur…" The ghost let out a weak chuckle, as he found the Briton slowly dozing off. His hands, still, never were leaving the other's hand. "Good night…"

He didn't want to sleep, he didn't want to doze off, because, maybe if he could stay up the whole night; he would get to see one more morning with Arthur. And that if he made himself pass through the night, without feeling any weakness, any moment of fatigue, he would get to say goodbye properly.

He tried telling the other man the circumstance he was in; that he was dead, and that his brother was the one giving all of them hope, because somehow, he and Matthew, were just always together, for some reason.

He wanted to tell him so many things, so many things about him, and that whatever Arthur learned from the past few weeks with them together, was nothing.

He wanted to tell him almost everything; what he loved doing, what he hated, what he wanted to be, what he ended up becoming. He had so many things to say that he would never get the chance to.

Because tonight, was their last night.

Hands still locked into a tight bond, the American got up, and gazed closely at the sleeping figure, below him. The Briton looked so peaceful in this state; it made his heart churn up in a painful twist, knowing that he wouldn't be able to see Arthur like this again.

If he was crying, he wouldn't not admit it, because this was going to be one of those memories he would keep up until he would stop persisting in the world and afterlife.

"Thank you for everything, Arthur." He smiled softly, wiping those sandy locks away from those closed eyes. God, he was just like Sleeping Beauty perched up in the bed, with no fear or knowledge of his surroundings. "Thank you, thank you." His voice was croaking, and he could actually feel those silver tears sliding against his cheeks.

"Looks like I won't get to see the morning with you," he replied, and stared at the Briton with regret. "…But, at least, I get to tell you this. I really, really like you, Arthur. I do." He smiled widely, chuckling, as he kissed the man's forehead. His mouth quivering, as he lay back down; feeling accomplished.

"Goodbye…" His soft breath ghosted over the sleeping Briton, as he closed his eyes.

And he could feel that air of relaxation warp around him, and that feeling of bearing no guilt wave inside him. He closed his eyes, and finally, he could feel nothing. No more pain, nothing. He was free, until Hell claimed him.

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"Bonjour, Mathieu." A voice, soft and familiar, welcomed him; as he fluttered his eyes opened to gaze at the man he held dear to him, hover above him like an angel. "Welcome back," murmured the Frenchman, and he could feel the same warmth resonate within him, as he gazed into those violet eyes.

"…Francis…" The young man replied slowly, his eyes blinking with realization, as he gazed at his surroundings with fear. "Francis…Francis…" He repeated, embracing the other man, while his mouth quivered softly.

"Now, now, I'm here," The man whispered back, smoothing his hands back and forth on the small of the boy's back. "I'm here, Mathieu. I'm here."

"Where's my brother?" Those violet eyes seized to shimmer, as he gazed weakly at the Frenchman who remained baffled.