Black clouds polluted the periwinkle sky that was so clear only a few hours ago. In an attempt to calm down, Francis exhaled and brushed his hair back as his foot tapped on the grass, half-heartedly trying to fill in the space of the abandoned wedding reception. Boadicea was scolding her two sons a couple dozens of metres away. They tried to be discreet by lowering their voices, but Francis could hear snippets of the lecture she gave them. Still tapping his foot, he clenched his hands together as he waited for them to finish. With the other wedding guests gone, Francis was left to figure out the stages that lead to the fight. How did that happen? How did such a perfect day crash and turn into such a disaster so quickly?

The two were bandaged immediately after the brawl. And… that was it. Angus had punched Arthur so hard he dropped onto the ground like a rag-doll. He thought that Arthur would attempt to calm Angus down, but Arthur punched Angus back. Why did he retaliate? Surely Arthur wouldn't do that?

Arthur must've started the fight.

Francis jolted. Where did that thought come from? Arthur, starting the fight? No. But then his mind countered - why else would he punch back? Why else would he insult Angus in front of his dear Marianne? He argued back that no, there must've been another reason.

What, then?

He had seen Arthur and Angus having a conversation. The two had seemed to be conversing normally - Arthur had even mustered up a small smile. Francis thought that he was apologising and giving an apology. Something must've happened there, because the last thing before all hell broke loose was Arthur screaming in Angus' face, his face burning a frightening red, those same bottle green eyes suddenly vengeful and angry.

Vengeful and angry - two words he had never associated with Arthur. He was always good-humoured, always considerate. Then again, maybe he didn't know Arthur as well as he thought he did.

No. Not Arthur, who's always so enthusiastic with his interests, who's good-humoured, always making a joke whenever the atmosphere's too tense, who cared about the people around him, who struggled to do his best every day, even when it wasn't apparent. There was a reason why Angus and Arthur started fighting, and it could never be because Arthur was like that at heart.

So Angus started it? Well… no. He shook his head - it wasn't right to scapegoat an entire problem onto a single person. Most of the time it was a variety of factors that influenced fights like that.

But even if there was no direct cause of the problem, there wasn't any reason why Francis shouldn't have stopped it. He should've paid closer attention before the fight broke out. Tonight was supposed to be joyful and go on without a hitch. Even if he was a little late, he could've tried to talk some sense into Arthur.

But he had been too shocked! He had seen Arthur's conversation with Angus, but Arthur's small smile made Francis think that he was apologising and giving his apology. He thought that Arthur was going to be alright…

There it was. Without enough to go on, the same conversation looped in his mind over and over, spiralling down further into a pit of confusion and guilt each round. It was happening again, just like it always did. Just as it did shortly after he left France, or at the park that night, or…

The train yesterday. Only that it hadn't been him, it had been Arthur. Spacing out, staring at the train seat, stressed by the thought of seeing his family again. Oh, Arthur, hoping for a positive reunion only to result in him being injured. But none of them saw it coming. Even if Arthur had expected the worst, Francis wondered if the same thing would've come, anyway. At the very least, Arthur had had some happy moments with his mother and brothers, had at least tried to patch things up a little with them, before the disaster.

It did more harm than good to play detective and try to predict the cause of the fight from such a small handful of evidence. As a bystander, the best he could do was to wait and see what happened next.

Gradually, his mind calmed down. Francis took a deep breath through his nose. The cold, rich scent of the nighttime air chilled his lungs and nostrils, easing him out of his spiralling thoughts and back into reality, breath by breath. Trees rustled and nightingales whistled – he had almost forgotten they were there. It was nice to be in the now again.

He bolted up when a pair of footsteps dragged closer to the seats.

"Arthur?" But now that he could properly see him, Arthur's sorry state sent a shock of horror down his spine.

Arthur's head hung down like a broken doll's, one hand supporting an ice pack for that hideous bruise on his cheek, the other dangling limply at his side. Even from his low angle, Francis could see a white square bandage stuck on his nose and the ugly purple bruise covered up by the icepack, as well as growing bruises on his knuckles. Flecks of brown crusted blood studded his blonde hair. His new blazer, now ruined, was removed so that he was only wearing his pants, tie and white dress shirt, but they weren't spared, either. Dried blood stained the emerald green tie, the white cotton shirt, even the dark coloured pants.

"Arthur!" He rushed by Arthur's side. "Are you alright? What happened back there? Are..." Francis prepared himself for any reaction at all. Any - whether Arthur screamed, sobbed, ranted, he was ready. He was a sensitive man, something like this would surely provoke a reaction.

Those he could prepare for, those, he was expecting. He was prepared for anything.

Anything, except for silence. Unlike so many times before, Arthur didn't react to his words at all. Not a flinch or a glance. Something was wrong. His nose was swelling under the thick, cotton patch, his shirt was crusted by his dried blood, and his cheek bore that bruise. He shouldn't be this calm. He should be angry, confused, with a million words coming out. Not like this. Never like this.

Francis stepped closer, carefully placing a hand onto his shoulder. "Arthur? Are you…?" Arthur blinked, his head still hanging down. "Arthur..." Francis found himself touching Arthur's other shoulder. He expected Arthur to flinch away, not wanting intimacy at this moment. Not even a glance.

Francis' eyes widened. The surroundings froze, trapping him into a state of paralysis. This was how much Arthur was hurting. To feel so destroyed that you've given up on everything and didn't care enough to do anything anymore.

Finger by finger, Francis slipped his hand away. A dangerous, toxic bubble brewed inside his chest, threatening to burst. He bit his cheek, hoping to hold it back, but his trembling bottom lip stopped him from doing that.

"I'm sorry. I-I'm s… so… s-or…" He had to stop himself there. That bubble threatened to erupt, threatened to break everything and force him to erupt into tears. He hung his head down as he gripped onto his own dress shirt, forcing it down. This was the last thing Arthur needed - to think that he was at fault for Francis' tears.

A gasp slipped out when a hand touched his cheek. For the first time, Arthur gazed into his eyes with his own calm ones, and it was then Francis noticed a red ring around his eye that will turn into a black eye.

He widened his eyes. Suddenly, the bubble burst and a tear rolled down. No! Arthur needed him to be strong right now, he couldn't do this! Ashamed, another tear slipped down as he twisted his lips into a thin line.

With a thumb, Arthur brushed the tear away, leaving a cold, wet trail. Francis scrunched up his face and held his breath until he felt dizzy and his lungs begged for air. The tears stopped, and Arthur slipped his hand away.

A cold sensation hit his shoulder. Then another, and another. Francis realised that it was the rain from the dark clouds he'd seen earlier. The drops of rain multiplied, growing louder and louder each time. Very soon, the static sound of rain encompassed them both, encompassed everything. He heard Arthur sigh.

"Let's go back."

"Angus, your nose…"

"No, there's no need to fret, Marie. It's not broken, just a little swollen." Albeit bleeding and stuffed, but Angus had seen worse cases. At least the cartilage inside wasn't snapped.

His mind wandered back to Arthur. That crack as his punch had landed was loud. Loud as a crack of thunder. Arthur's punch was weaker than his own. Was that simply because he was smaller and scrawnier? Or because he… Angus twisted his mouth. Was it that Arthur couldn't bring himself to punch that hard? No, that couldn't be the case, Arthur wasn't like that.

Angus glanced to the side as he put down his icepack. Marie looked forwards, her face in a neutral position as the rain on the car windows swirled and distorted the light outside. The silence made it feel as though there was some strange pause in time.

Despite everything that happened today, Marie didn't seem to be in the mood for a talk, despite her chatty nature. Then again, he would find it hard to find anything to say after what happened. The more he looked at Marie's violet eyes, the more he realised that there wasn't much anger or sadness in her eyes, just… disappointment. Was she disappointed in him? Perhaps. Angus let out a quiet sigh.

"Marie?" He reached out to touch her hand. At the sight of her gold ring, something shrivelled inside and he retracted it again. He sighed. Fuck. He just had to do it today, didn't he? On his wedding day. It could've been yesterday. It could've been tomorrow. He just had to fight Arthur on his and Marie's wedding day. And now Marie's day was ruined. "I tried to hold back, I really did. I…" Angus looked down at his hands. He had been clenching them for so long his nails had carved red crescent welts into his skin. "I… guess I was angrier than I thought." Marie finally glanced his way with her lovely violet eyes, but to his disappointment, they now held sadness. She nodded and to his surprise, slipped her hand over his. Angus relaxed into her calming presence as Marie stroked her thumb on a knuckle. If only her silk glove wasn't there, so he could feel her skin against his.

"We can apologise to the guests, at least." Oh, Marie. Always so forgiving and always trying to find a silver lining. How did she do it? Angus reasoned with himself that in reality, she was probably just as angry as he was.

"Are you mad?" He asked. "It's okay, I… I deserve it."

"No."

"No?"

"I'm not mad, just…" she sighed. "I'm a little disappointed. But no use crying over, erhm…" She scrunched her nose as she glanced to the side. A small smile crept up. Marie always had trouble with her idioms.

"Spilt milk?"

"Yes." Marie nodded, her lips in a small smile. "No use crying over spilt milk."

"Ah." He gave her a small smile, but Marie had faced the front again, and the quick conversation was over. Finding nothing else to do, Angus looked to the front, too, and fiddled with his thumbs.

'If you are really that upset about it, why don't you go back in time and fix it?'

He frowned. There it was again! Goddammit, the way Arthur liked to act like a smart ass always made the roots of his teeth itch. But just like Marie had said, about the spilt milk… Angus huffed. Fine, so maybe he couldn't go back in time and make Arthur come back from the train station or something. The past was in the past and all that shit. But that didn't mean that Arthur shouldn't pay for what he'd done.

Didn't Arthur said something about talking to Dylan, Peter and Mum rather than take the blame on him, too? Something in his chest twinged. He hated to admit it, but Arthur had a point. They were the ones most affected when he left, not him. Confronting Arthur was the first step, he told himself. He could talk with his siblings and Mum later. Angus remembered how Marie was right next to him when Arthur yelled at him, too.

"Marie?"

"Oui?"

"Are you mad at what Arthur did?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh! Erhm..." She stroked her chin and twisted her lips. "I don't know enough about him to make a judgement."

"It's okay, you can say that what he did was wrong." Marie glanced his way. Folding her hands on her lap, she scrunched up her eyebrows and looked down.

"Yes, he shouldn't have interrupted us like that. But… Angus, didn't you say something to him?" Angus raised his eyebrows. He looked forward and adjusted his glasses.

"I… well, yes. But he was just so… smug and ignorant, I had to! Really, he said…" Angus frowned. Arthur had congratulated him on his marriage and growth. But that must have been because Arthur didn't know about the true damage he caused. He "Arthur… just offered congratulations, but that's because he didn't know what he had done." Marie scrunched her eyebrows, confused. That look was enough to turn his stomach into lead. Angus scratched the back of his head. "So… yeah. I told him about what had happened at home. Y'know, about… Mum's depression and Dylan blaming everything on himself and Peter being too young to know what's going on." Marianne twisted her eyebrows but in a musing way rather than a surprised or confused one. She tucked a lock of her chestnut brown hair behind her ear.

"Angus... it is true, Arthur didn't know what he had done. But from the way you've always described him to me, saying how prideful and narcissistic he was, he would never give an apology at all, especially to you. So perhaps he has good intentions after all."

"Good intentions, huh…" Angus looked down. It was true, there was no way Arthur could've known what damage he had caused.

Marianne offered to apologise to her relatives, and Angus agreed to apologise to his. He went around, apologising to some distant relatives and to Sean and Connor ("Get some security guards for next time," Sean had said). At last, he would need to apologise to Dylan, Peter, and Mum, and Francis.

With the lights turned off, the dying twilight outside cast shadows around the house. Francis was sitting at the dinner table with Arthur, still in his ruined dress shirt, and Mum standing nearby. They seemed to be talking about something because Mum was placing her hand onto Arthur's shoulder. Arthur stood up and whispered something to Mum. It must've been something heavy, because Mum took a step back and stood still without a word. They all stayed still in the pregnant silence, the frigid air thick with tension. A moment later, she nodded.

Arthur walked upstairs immediately without another word. What did he and his Mum agree on? As Francis followed Arthur upstairs, Angus rushed to her side.

"Mum? What did he say?" Mum was unnaturally calm, too, only glancing back at the sight of him.

"Arthur…" she tucked back a lock of hair. "He asked if he can go back to London."

"Back to London!" Bloody bastard. Angus marched towards the stairs, but Mum held back his hand.

"No, Angus. I let him. He had a good point, he's… he's better off out of here."

"Better off out of here?..." But the conversation has stopped, as Mum sat down and poured herself some tea. He furrowed his eyebrows. Why was mum so compliant this time? She sat down, making herself comfortable. "Mum?" She didn't respond. There it was. She had a habit of spacing out whenever the tension was too high. He frowned. It was best to leave her alone, and anyway, Angus could take the chance to go for Dylan and ignore Arthur and all that. Looking upstairs and back again, he took a step back and went up the stairs.

"Something's really wrong, Arthur." Angus stopped. The room in front of him was Arthur's. Francis was talking to him. Angus leaned against the wall, pressing his ear to it. "Aren't you devastated? I-it's okay, let it all out. It's better than holding everything back."

"Can't," Arthur whispered. Angus frowned. He sounded and exhausted, not a hint of spite in his voice at all. "My nose would hurt like hell, and it's blocked, anyway." Angus frowned and looked down at his fist, remembering the snapped cartilage inside. It'd take at least 3 days for the swelling to go down.

"Why are you packing?"

"The train to London's leaving at 9. They… they don't want me here anymore." Don't want him here? Right. The brawl.

"Oh." There was a pause as a shuffling noise came from the room of Arthur folding his clothes. Angus remembered about his navy suit and how it was stained by blood and ripped apart. Really new too. Must've been expensive. "Arthur…" Angus widened his eyes at a small sniff. "I'm so sorry. I-I shouldn't have asked you to come back here." It was Francis who convinced Arthur to come back?

"No, it's all my fault, Francis. You did your best, I-" Why was Arthur stopping? Angus remembered about how he accused Arthur of being self-centred by pointing out his use of I's. Up to now, Arthur hadn't said a single sentence that began with I. "I… fuck, I-I didn't do shit! I was too self-centred to notice anything wrong. I'm sorry, I shouldn't dump my problems onto you like this…" Arthur's voice trailed off. "Francis…" he said in a hushed, gentle tone, "Are you okay?" Francis! What happened?

"Yes, I'm fine. It's just... What you went through was horrible. Actually, no, never mind me. Are your bruises fine?"

"Well, they still sort of hurt, just not as much." Angus looked down at his hands, A long bruise flushed his knuckles a purple pink colour. They'd hurt like hell, never mind tomorrow - when the bruises have properly set they'd be aching like hell.

"It's okay." There was a small pause. "You know what? That's fine. My family doesn't want me here? Fine. We can pack together, go back to London, and pretend this whole thing has never happened." Why did Arthur talk as if his family were the antagonists? No. It was Arthur who had caused this entire problem, right? He shouldn't run away from his responsibilities, right? But the way he said it suggested something otherwise. Angus thought about how Marianne had wondered if Arthur had been truly happy for them. Now, maybe that was true after all. It honestly sounded as though Arthur had tried to be accepted again but failed, thinking that he was unwelcome.

Angus twisted his lips, remembering how Arthur had described it as the whole family being against him. Of course, Angus himself was the only one who had accused him of anything. He was the only one of them who stood up and beat him down. Not Dylan, or Mum, or little Peter.

What if he hadn't confronted Arthur? Sure, he'd be bitter, though everyone else was happy. Though… he wished he could stop being bitter, with everything in his system out, but after that confrontation, he was still resentful. Why?

Angus sighed and rubbed his temples. Goddammit, nothing was supposed to have happened today. If he had never talked with Arthur, this mess… this mess wouldn't have ever happened.

When the door suddenly opened, he jolted. Francis was frowning, something bitter and angry stirring inside his eyes, pink and shiny from tears. Angus' heartstrings wrenched and twisted into a painful knot, pulling tighter and tighter as the seconds ticked by. Francis, his good friend, now sad… Angus couldn't stand to see him hurt like this. Worse yet, he knew that Francis was disappointed in him. Angus, his old friend, who had just hurt his new friend Arthur.

Before Angus could respond, Francis shook his head and turned away.

"Francis, wait-!" Francis leaned against the other side of the open door, his back against Angus. Angus stepped forward, but seeing what was inside Arthur's room, stopped.

Arthur sat on the bed, surrounded by his room's dark shadows, his form crumpling like a discarded sheet of paper. His head hung down, looking away. He looked completely defeated, a half-filled suitcase beside him, his hands clinging onto a fleece. He was sitting completely still as if expecting something.

Angus' heart hammered against his ribcages like a war drum. All at once he was questioning everything that he had believed about him. This wasn't a prideful, arrogant prick, this was someone defeated, someone who accepted their fate.

How long did he stare? He forgot. It was long enough until Mum went upstairs and dragged him back downstairs. Francis looked back, his eyes sorrowful. Finally, he sighed and whispered one last thing to Arthur before he closed the door.

It was raining outside. Peter glanced out of the window, marbled by the rapid rain. He could see his house on the other side of the street, even though the rain made the window pane all blurry.

After the fight happened, Peter's mum sent him to Erik's house across the street, where they played Assassin's Creed on the living room floor. Despite having been at the wedding, Erik seemed to be calm, snacking on a plate of saffron cakes as he fiddled with the controller.

Peter exhaled, tapping his fingers on his knees. "What happened at the wedding was crazy."

"I know right?" Erik responded as he swallowed a bit of the cake. "Damn, did that escalate quickly!"

"Uh-huh!" Peter furrowed his eyebrows, thinking back to the fight. How viciously Angus and Arthur were at each other... Trying to take his mind if it, he leaned back and rubbed the back of his head. "It was sort of scary, actually."

"Scary? Ah. Yeah, I guess. Erhm…" he looked down at the plate, only one saffron cake remaining, and pushed it towards Peter. "Here, you can have the last one! I'll get some more from my dads."

"Ah! Thanks, Erik!" Peter picked it up and bit into the warm, buttery cake, fresh from the oven, humming at the tasty treat.

Sitting back and eating the saffron cake had brought up another thought in his mind, though. How was Arthur? There was so much he wanted to catch up with Arthur. Whatever memories he had were hazy, and it didn't help that his mum never talked about him, either, so it'd be nice to know how he had been over these past… 7 years.

7 years! Wow. That was more than half his entire life! Was he really away for that long?

"Aww, my character died. Here, it's your turn!" Before Peter could respond, Erik handed him the PS4 controller. Peter had been so lost in thought that Erik had gotten another plate of saffron cakes and played another round.

Yeah, his turn. Shrugging, he bit into the rest of the saffron cake as he grabbed the controller.

Today had been a mess. An absolute mess. Today, both Arthur and Angus fought and got injured. He should've never sent that email. If he didn't, at least Arthur would still be in his London home, reading and writing his books, happy. Even… even if it was without him or mum or Angus or Peter or Connor.

Was it selfish to send that email? Thinking that he could mend this family again and that every worry they ever had could be fixed just by bringing Arthur back? Thinking that he could restitch an already healed scar?

Dylan blinked. Now, mum was downstairs lecturing Angus for the second time today. She had sent Peter to his friends' house in order to be able to deal with Angus and Arthur. Upstairs, Arthur packed his belongings, ready to go back to London while bystanders like Francis are all roped into this mess.

Frustrated, he grasped onto his hair. No, there had to be another way through this, he just wasn't thinking hard enough!

But…what could he do now? Arthur didn't want to be here anymore. That… that was understandable. And he couldn't change that fact. Ever.

Pushing away his mental struggle, Dylan sighed and stood up. If he couldn't do anything, the least he could do was to say goodbye.

Arthur's bedroom was closed. Funny that. Arthur always liked to leave the bedroom door closed when he was a kid. When Arthur left, Mum would always leave the door open, hoping that Arthur would come back, skip in, and coop up in there like he used to. A sad smile stretched across Dylan's face. Now that will never happen again. Maybe he should've spent more time with him when Arthur was a kid.

It was so quiet inside it seemed that the room was empty. He knocked the door. No one replied. Dylan had to bite the insides of his cheeks again. Had Arthur left already? Or was he being quiet like always? Please be the latter, please be the latter… he sucked in air.

"Hey, Arthur." Dylan clenched his hand, fighting back the flooding tears as biting his cheeks again would make him sound funny. "I know you… y-you don't want to talk to me. But I'm here to say that…" he put up a smile. "Thanks for coming back, e-even though you…" he bit his cheeks again, but his knees gave way. No, that shouldn't be it. He shouldn't make his little brother sadder. "I'm sorry I sent that email…" no, not it.

"Never mind that! Erhm… I meant that…" He sighed and grasped his hair. "That… I'm really… I'm… really… sorry that today was so… bad?"

Arthur didn't respond. A funny, melancholic feeling wobbled in his stomach as his jaw twitched. It melted his knees into soft dough that collapsed under his weight. The ground seemed to ripple as his knees collapsed onto the carpet.

No, he needed to be strong. He was Arthur's older brother, he was nearly 30, he should be able to think of something to do.

But what was there? Arthur hated him now. He hated Angus, he hated mum. He hated them all. Maybe not Peter, but that was because he knew how hurtful it was for an older brother to belittle someone just for being naive and young.

Because… they, in turn, did the same thing.

Dylan's jaw twitched. Arthur had been right 7 years ago. A small town like Carroll was too small for someone with big dreams like Arthur. Where else to take his dreams to but the capital, mighty London itself?

Don't make him feel guilty, Dylan, he told himself. Arthur wanted to go back to London. That was Arthur's own choice. Not his. London was his home now, not Carroll, and he needed to go back from this place. Even if he'll miss him… London was where Arthur belonged. Dylan drew a big breath in as he curled up his hands.

"London must be so exciting, mustn't it? With all the different people there from all over the country, you probably know a lot more people who finally understand! Better not keep them waiting." Dylan rubbed his face, wiping the tears away. His voice wavering but hopefully not too much. "Oh, and your nose should be better in a few weeks. Make sure that you leave the bandage on for a few days. There should be some at your local pharmacy. Keep on icing your bruises, too for at least 2 or 3 more days." Wobbling onto his two legs, he touched the door's wood one more time. "Bye, Arthur."

"Go. Just go!"

Boadicea rubbed her temples as Angus walked away. She sat, expecting stomps to echo throughout the hall. But none came. She lifted her head up.

Angus' head hung down as he traipsed down the hall. The stress in her mind melted into at the sight. Angus was her happiest son, cheerful even during tough times, albeit with a flaming temper. Her little Celtic warrior, she liked to call him. He was never this sad nor defeated

"Angus?" She called in a hushed tone. "Angus, love, I'm sorry." He kept on walking. Still had that stubborn streak, huh? Angus was always a stubborn kid, if reasoning had no use then, it never could. Letting out a long, tired sigh, she sat down. and poured some more tea, now lukewarm

He was such a contrast to Arthur, who had changed so much. Last night when he arrived, she had to blink twice to make sure that it was him. Arthur's cheekbones had sharpened. He had trimmed his hair, he had taken out his piercings, and bags hung under his eyes. His eyes didn't quite glimmer with that eclectic energy like they used to - in its place, was sadder, tired energy. He had grown.

He had grown so much and she wasn't there to see it.

It was fitting. Arthur was a fully grown man with his own life, he wouldn't listen to her anymore. Dylan and Angus were more compliant towards the rest of the family, but only out of their own loyal nature.

Boadicea whipped her head towards the stairs when footsteps descended down them. Arthur had changed into a sweater and his suitcase was in his hand as he walked down the stairs. When he looked her way, Boadicea found herself turning back to her cup of tea.

Should she say anything? No. She had said enough. What with scolding him after his fight with Angus and whatnot. But she was scared. She didn't know why her sons fought that fiercely. Angus had confessed that he wanted justice for what had happened in the past. Of course, she had forgiven Arthur long ago. Angus never seemed to understand that, however. Arthur… well, he had been hurt, and now he was leaving.

For a while, there was only the sound of the rain. There weren't any sounds of Arthur leaving the house, walking out and closing the door behind him forever. Boadicea straightened her posture, clutching the mug of tea. He was waiting for her to talk to him. No, she wouldn't talk him out of it this time. Even if she did, she would fall into an incomprehensible mess of tears again. Arthur didn't want to talk to her, fine. She couldn't change that.

It was raining outside. Since Arthur didn't like the cold, she wondered if she should drive him to the station.

"Mum, do you have an umbrella?" Arthur asked. Boadicea gripped her mug tighter. An umbrella wasn't enough. With only an umbrella and his ratty old sweater, he'll freeze. Standing up, she walked to the counter and picked up the car keys. But realising that he hadn't asked yet, she put her keys down.

"Would you like me to drive you there? The car would be warmer." She had been expecting Arthur to say no - Arthur didn't want anything to do with her anymore. He wasn't a child to be fussed over, but a fully grown man. Of course, he shook his head. "Oh. I see." Boadicea dug into the drawers to get the umbrella.

As she handed the umbrella to Arthur, Arthur tried to muster up a small smile. But trying to smile bearing a nose and a purple bruise on his cheek was obviously difficult. Boadicea cringed and had to look away. Arthur's smile went down.

There was a long silence in between, filled by the sounds of rain. "Bye mum."

The door closed.

Despite pulling his coat tighter around himself, the icy evening wind bit under his skin, flicking flecks of rain onto his face. With his nose too blocked to be of any use, Arthur inhaled the cold nighttime air through his mouth. The icy wind froze his lungs and windpipes as he inhaled, returning into the chilly air as opaque dragon smoke when he breathed out. Train horns blared in the empty, infinite night, an echo responded to only by the rain showering down as bullets of water.

Arthur cracked the cigarette pack from the convenience store open and pulled out a single white cigarette. He used to smoke a lot during uni, and it was a good escape now it seemed his mum would no longer look at him - she would've never allowed smoking. Flicking on the lighter, he lit the tip of the cigarette and watched it as he inhaled that good, familiar warmth of nicotine and felt it filling his lungs. The tobacco smell was almost nonexistent in the rain, but that was ok, the warmth it gave made up for it.

How long would it be till the train came? He checked his watch. About… now. On cue, the train to London arrived. The doors hissed open, the warm yellow lights flickering inside.

But as his foot hit the metal step, he stopped. A gut feeling told him that this was the point of no return. If he stepped on that train, that was it. He will be whisked to London, and he wouldn't see Mum or his siblings ever again.

Arthur glanced to the side. He would have to go back fast if he wanted to wash out the blood stains. At least Francis will follow him tomorrow morning.

But what about Dylan? Dylan… he thought back to his brother's words while he was behind the door. He had sounded sad. Sad, but trying his best to be supportive. Not only Dylan but Mum. She seemed like she had a lot to say. He should've accepted her offer to drive him here. And what about Peter? They never had a proper conversation even once. Angus was still angry with him, but at least he was conflicted. They were all conflicted and confused. Once he went back, they would be left, muddled in their labyrinth of confusion forever.

"OI! You coming on or what?" The conductor roared through the rain. Arthur whipped his head up, the yellow lighting of the train framing the conductor in a silhouette. He turned his head back, where Carroll lay hidden behind the station.

He couldn't leave again just now. Angus had a point. If he started this mess, he'd just have to fix it. No use leaving it alone. Taking a deep breath in, he stepped off of the train, dropped the cigarette and slipped back into the night.

If you squint you can see SuFin in Peter's segment (saffron cake is a Swedish treat)

Thank you for the review in the last chapter, everyone!

A round of applause to GokuSuperSaiyanTime for editing this chapter!