Suddenly he was running.

The streets were flooded with people, and it took all of his mindfulness to run as fast as he could without colliding into people in the crowd. The sun was high up in the sky. The heat was surprisingly more intense today. He could feel himself starting sweat as he ran, chasing after that familiar face in the crowd. Had he lost him? He couldn't lose him. He turned his head side-to-side, trying to find the person he was chasing. With all of the faces in the crowd moving and turning like multiple ocean waves at a high tide, it was nearly impossible to make out one out of all of them.

He panted and fought to catch his breath as he stopped running. He could feel his anxiety and maybe a little bit of anger bubble up in his stomach like acid. He almost had him. He was almost at his fingertips, and he was seconds away from being able to grab him by the shirt when the crowd devoured him, and he had to go on a chase.

He lost him.

"WHY?!" he screamed in frustration, earning a couple of gazes from the crowd. "Why does this keep happening?" he asked in a whisper, particularly to nothing.

This just keeps happening. Everyday he thinks he's got him for sure. Everyday he does all he could to get him to stay. He compromises even his principles just to make sure he never loses him. Yet he always leaves. Always. He leaves, and of course Francis would always chase him. He would run and lose his breathe and feel the ache in his lungs and limbs before he even thinks about giving up. At the end of the day, he always loses him, and there doesn't seem to be anything that he can do to fix it or make it better.

"Why do I keep losing you, Arthur?"

He awoke with a start.

His eyes flashed open and was met with the sight of his cream-colored ceiling. His chest ached as he panted heavily, feeling his heart race faster than he could catch up to. He could feel the little beads of sweat starting to form on his forehead and temples, like he actually ran for miles.

Fighting for composure, he tried to breathe. Breathe in. Breathe out.

He sat up slowly, the blankets warm against his skin. A sigh and a groan later, he tossed the blanket off of his body and shimmied to the edge of his bed, sitting properly as he rubbed his eyes and his face with shaky fingers. It was another nightmare.

He was no longer surprised, however. This has been going on since the day Arthur left. Why would today be any different? He was only a bit relieved, albeit in a bittersweet way, that this one wasn't as bad. It didn't sting as much as the other nightmares did where sometimes he would just hear Arthur berate him for being such a terrible partner and person that didn't deserve any love. This one felt almost kind, and almost more rational than the others.

He sighed once more and got up, his eyes flitting towards the clock on his way out of his room. It was 12:45 in the afternoon. No wonder he was sweating bullets.

The kitchen was a mess. He completely forgot to clean up the night before as he was busy making a lot of phone calls. Making a lot of very adult phone calls. Calls to the bank, hotels, and legal consultations. He had a lot of things to settle as he was trying to cancel an oncoming reservation in Santorini. He and Arthur had been planning to go for some time now and he had already made reservations before things went to the shitter. Now he was stuck with not only a broken heart but also a broken bank account, conversations with the bank disputes team, and hotel policies that he was realizing were a bit unfair for the first time.

He couldn't help but sigh once more as he remembered he had to follow those calls up tomorrow. Two to three working days they said. This is all so tedious, but he understood why it had to be like this.

Moving on.

He decided to clean a couple of things up first before he could get started on breakfast… or lunch. Whichever one worked. He put a couple of the stray cups and plates into the dishwasher and dumped the used pan onto the sink. He wiped down the counter with a rag and a hefty dose of surface cleaner. The artificial smell of lemons and cucumbers wafted through the air like a chemical fruit salad that he had no intentions of eating. He groaned.

"Why do they make these smell so strange?" he grumbled under his breath. He noticed the ashtray on the kitchen table and sighed. He really needs to stop smoking again. It's only been recently. It wasn't every day.

He knew he was making excuses.

Quitting smoking had been a hard accomplishment but he persisted for about half a year. He was more successful than most and managed to be clean for 2 years, until the breakup. Then the nightmares kept coming and he found himself lighting up a cigarette to calm down. It's started from there. He told himself it would only be whenever the anxiety became too unbearable, but it's been happening so often that he might have to start working a little harder to shake off the habit that he had begun again. How frustrating.

He decided he would just make omelet. That was the quickest thing he could make without overthinking it. It was fool proof. He had little to no energy left to deal with more. It was almost ironic as cooking used to be his way to destress and relax. Now he finds little excitement in all the things he used to do all the time. He has lost interest in pretty much everything and he hates that. He wants to feel better but not even the things that used to help were helping anymore.

He was busy with the pan of cooking eggs when his cellphone buzzed and lit up on the counter. He flashes a look at it and tapped the stove to a low heat before walking over and grabbing his phone. He got a message.

"Fran it's Matt. Can I come over? I have to tell you something important!"

He stared at the text and smiled softly. Matthew had been such a ray of sunshine to him for the last few years. He never failed to make Francis smile or just fawn over him. Francis definitely has a soft spot for Matthew and would often find himself unashamedly biased when it came to him. He couldn't help it. Matthew was such a light of innocence and was kind to anyone and everyone he meets. Francis would definitely throw hands at anyone who hurt his little baby.

He found himself about to reply when he stopped. Did he really want to see Matthew? Right now?

He looked around his house and saw he's been a bit of a mess. Quite uncharacteristic of him. Does he really want to let Matthew see he's let it get this bad? He saw that there were things lying around everywhere and there were far too many used ashtrays. His home smelled of nicotine and sugar, which were odd scents to mix together. Then he sniffed and could smell something toasted. No, burning. He looked behind him in horror and forgot he was cooking, and the eggs were now toasting on the pan. He quickly dropped his phone and rushed to turn the stove off.

He burned an omelet. This is bad.

Matthew definitely can't see him.

Nobody can see him like this.